Well it’s time for a long awaited update after a month of chaos and intrigue in Central America. We need not start from the beginning, however, as the adventure is too ridiculous to be confined to a mere timeline. A quick recap in case life finds you busy: El Salvador--Guatemala--Belize--Mexico--Guatemala--Honduras--Nicaragua--Costa Rica (currently).
Let’s start with a quick scene from Antigua, Guatemala. This is a pleasant, UNESCO preserved, colonial town with two active volcanoes towering over it. It’s also filled to the brim with gringos, but nice none the less. Bootleg DVDs are plentiful at the market and the over-eager vendors are happy to tell you their camcorder masterpieces (not all, some are copied DVDs!) are “for sure” in English. Are they? Three out of five DVDs say no. Despite a general lack of dialogue anyway, Commando still loses something in the translation (“Let off some steam!”).
Now it’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m up searching for food before the day starts (some of you who know me well have stopped believing this story already, but I swear I was up). Around the corner I hear “Leche! Leche!” (Milk! Milk!). Here comes this kid, maybe 17, with a goat practically dragging its udders on the sidewalk--and plastic cups.
Currently I am in Nicaragua, shortly on my way to Costa Rica (actually in CR now, this is old). I spent two weeks training from Antigua up to Merida, Mexico with four other trainees learning all sorts of budgeting/accounting/group dynamics/transportation logistics. Essentially all the ways I don’t get to have fun. Ergo, not fun. But I have seen some cool places nonetheless. After that they flew me down to Guatemala again so I could start shadowing another tour leader on her trip down to San Jose, Costa Rica. That means it’s Dawna (leader), me and 14 passengers. My role is generally to observe and hang out and see how things work, but of course that would have been too easy. As I will explain later, this group is not easily (if at all) appeased.
Now what story of my travels would be complete without a trip to the hospital? That’s right! I nearly beat my Las Vegas record for shortest time spent traveling before a doctor’s visit. Central America was a 3:2 favorite. So close. We’ll avoid details, but suffice as to say there were intestinal issues. This resulted in me going to a laboratory in Antigua to drop some things off, then taking the results all the way across town to a doctor’s office to find out not only did I have amoebas, but a bacterial infection as well. How lucky am I!? About $75 later I had drugs and abandoned training for the day, feeling like death in my hotel bed. And then there was rumbling. I assume I’ve taken a major turn for the worse, except that my lamp is walking itself off the nightstand. Earthquake!! I’m from Iowa. My only experience with earthquakes is from Saved by the Bell when leather-jacket clad Tori (who showed up for one season when Tiffani Thiessen thought she was too good for Saturday morning television) has an earthquake-induced panic attack. With the memory of this, I choose not to have said panic attack, but make my way to the door frame (‘cause that’s what you do, yeah?) only to watch the maids continue to sweep and mop outside while the ceramic floor churned below them. No damage done, but a 6.8 with an epicenter about 100km (60miles) away.
I spent the first week down here visiting Melanie in El Salvador. I managed to make it nearly end to end since she is on the far eastern side and I had to head in the opposite direction to Guatemala afterward. This brought some confusion in the airport at Salvadoran customs when I was trying to explain what I was doing down here and why I didn’t have an onward ticket. When I explained I was visiting my fiancee in Morazán (east) he looked confused and said, “But Guatemala is the opposite way. Not so close.” Thanks, buddy, I know. We spent two nights in San Salvador, which as far as I remember is the first place I’ve ever been and had a really bad vibe about my safety. Not sure how many big cities I’ve visited with high crime rates--it’s in the many range--but San Sal was the first I wasn’t excited to even walk around in the daylight. Although now I’ve seen there’s plenty of that going around down here. As my shadow trainer Dawna says about everything that goes sketchy down here: It’s an adventure! So one week together, not nearly enough time. We made it to her first training site, which was rural. And I use that term loosely as it was not the same kind of rural as Ainsworth, Iowa. Cows, chickens, dogs, kittens, etc. wandering around the yard. And the latrine toilet, which was…special. Probably the last place I would want to spend “quality time” with a bout of amoebas. Somehow Melanie managed, though, for ten weeks here. The family was wonderful and very sweet despite the fact that like the rest of El Salvador I couldn’t understand a damn thing anyone was saying. This resulted in everyone speaking to Mel instead of me. Poor girl. It was also not the best way to build confidence in my Spanish and my impending job. Turns out it’s just El Salvador. Six other countries have been perfectly fine and I get complemented on my speaking all the time. I’m chalking it up to El Salvador being a mess in general. This will also be my defense against Melanie who certainly will continue to show me up in the Spanish department for the indefinite future. “No baby, I’m proud, speak your whack Spanish, it’s cute.” Meanwhile she’s learned in the two countries (Chile too) with the worst accents I’ve heard. I’m surprised I can even understand her.
The rest of the trip we visited her current site with her crazy host mother who brought home a new van she threw $2000 down for to get the inside refurnished and a new paint job. Apparently fixing the giant crack across the expanse of the windshield was a secondary matter. It does accent the sweet Thundercats logo, however. Thundercats, ho! Anyway, crazy host mom puts out creepy Salvadoran vibes despite being rather sweet most of the time. It’s hard to explain, but I wouldn’t leave her alone with my husband or 50 bucks for that matter. I got dragged around to houses and the countryside (cows, fields, forests, etc) like a show pony so everyone could meet me. I did a lot of nodding whilst still not understanding more than three words at a clip. After an incident where we visited a little old lady who runs a store nearby who claimed something about the earth being flat--or the sun rotating around the earth, I forget--I realized a big part of my problem was I understood a lot but didn’t think anyone would actually say these things.
Later we went north to Perquin, which was gorgeous and not scorching like the rest of El Salvador to that point. On the way there we (mostly I) got harassed by some glue sniffing kid covered in pink spray paint. Melanie says I engaged him, so it was my fault. I say he was on my hip, talkin crazy, playing with a hex key long enough to puncture vital organs (I like my liver, it‘s worked nicely thus far). Come to find out I’m like a magnet for cracked out Latin guys. About three paragraphs ago some guy walked into the breakfast place I’m at, passed four tables to come directly to mine and give me several minutes of a very animated Scarface impression. He kept telling me not to be angry while trying to shake my hand. Not angry buddy, I said, just confused why you’re so excited. But I digress. Perquin was great, we had out own little cabin in a kind of cheesy, but enjoyable hotel. We did enter the room to find to gigantic cockroaches. Mel thrust her flip flop at me and told me to get to work. I told her I didn’t think that was going to cut it. They were huge! I think one of them had a knife. I considered handing over my wallet, but instead smashed him in a fantastic explosion of bug parts. “Huzzah to you, Jurassic cockroach!” I said secretly to myself.
Switching gears, there were goodbyes, etc. Went through office training and now I’m in a van traveling from the Honduran/Nicaraguan border toward Leon, Nicaragua. Our driver decided to take a different border than normal for whatever reason that resulted in the systematic demise of group dynamics for this trip. First--it took two hours there despite almost zero other people. Our pax (passengers) in the van waiting for us were not pleased. Most of the time was spent with Dawna and I traveling through each window with everyone’s passport trying to pay all the fees while our driver negotiated with the police about his license, insurance and everything. Finally we’re in the van about to get past. We get stopped again and our driver has to get out and fill out more paperwork despite telling them he just did it all with the police. He got charged for “Nicaraguan insurance” despite the fact he already had insurance for ALL of Central America. The border officials took this opportunity to try and charge Dawna more money for exit fees. Welcome to Central America!
This border also resulted in us taking another 6 hour journey on the worst road I’ve ever seen. There were more potholes than road, and I’m not exaggerating. In our 15 person van we were stuck at a snails pace navigating the holes in the road. This did not sit well with the pax. In particular the one sitting next to me in the front seat (I was in middle-front. Super uncomfortable). I can’t get specific here for work reasons, but the final straw was criticizing my music playing over the stereo and telling me to change it. I had one of those moments like in the movies where I imagined opening her door and kicking said pax into a Nicaraguan ditch. But I did not. However, I actually enjoyed this ride a lot. The view was incredible. Sun setting, rolling countryside with volcanoes in the background and really, when else would you ever have an adventure like this? Who knows why some people can’t enjoy that aspect of a trip, such great stories to tell when you get home. For instance, we’re forced to drive so slowly that intrepid children stand on opposite sides of the road holding a rope with a flag on it. When you have to slow down so you don’t drag them below the car they try to charge a toll. Very clever if not so successful. Really, though, it’s not a whole lot different than the old 218 route to Missouri with the old couple and the toll “shack.”
The aftermath of this journey was epic. We nearly had Mutiny on the Bounty. Especially after the following day when Dawna and I got stuck trying to get back from the beach (Pacific, incredible, though it looked like a haven for riptides) to make the meeting time for volcano boarding. Fate brought a taxi of the unhappiest pax past us that we shared long enough to be screamed at in one of the more nonsensical tirades I‘ve heard. Good times.
I spent the next several days repairing group relationships and doing damage control. The cranky pax systematically isolated themselves from the group which made my life much easier. Then we had some sweet activity days. We spent a whole day visiting some artesan markets and watching pottery being made, then to Volcano Masaya (active) for a bit of a hike to the top of the crater and intense sulfur fumes. I had to drag my group off another, higher, crater later on due to very nearby lightning. Little intense. Also resulted in me sort of yelling at the two teenage park rangers. Then we did a night hike into a cave full of bats that ran under one of the dormant craters about 200 meters deep.
After two days on the island Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua with (no electricity, but a great beach) we made it to Monteverde, Costa Rica. I got to do ziplines over the rainforest canopy, about 15 in total. Some of them were 1000 ft (300m) long. It also meant I got to put on a climbing harness for the first time in 6 weeks, which made me a little anxious. Unfortunately the closest I got to climbing was playing with some carabiners. The following night in La Fortuna I drove with Dawna and the owners of an adventure guiding company to watch molten rocks cascade down Volcano Arenal. It’s crazy to watch because from far away it looks like lava, but it’s really only rocks forced up out of the crater that fall glowing red. Even from several kilometers away you can hear them falling.
If that wasn’t cool enough, I made my best attempt to OD on norepinephrine the next day. The morning was canonizing (waterfall rappelling) down three small and two very tall waterfalls. In between we had to hike through the streams and down some falls, all of which I may have enjoyed more than the actual rappelling. This was on my life goal list, so I was pretty thrilled. Then the afternoon was whitewater rafting class III rapids. I got tossed from the boat twice rather violently. The first time we all went…the second time was just me. I’m still hoping all the water I took down wasn’t full of giardia and crypto. And if that wasn’t enough, that night Dawna and I went bungee jumping. It was an artificial platform, not a cool bridge or anything. We did go at night, which added enough flair to make it worthwhile. On top of that there was a pool underneath and we had our choice to “touch the water” if we wanted. Dawna went first and I watched from above as she grazed the water with her hand and bounced a few times. To this point I was still cool as a cucumber as they say and relatively unconcerned. This continued through the entire process of strapping my ankles in right up until I was standing on the edge of the platform looking down. Undoubtedly, this was the most scared I have ever been. By the time I could start thinking about turning around they guys were already counting down from five. Next thing I knew I had let myself careen of the edge on my way to “touch the water.” Oh I touched it. Before I knew what was going on I was completely underwater from my head to my waist and then immediately ripped out, forcing water into my sinuses that I think might still be there.
I had a wicked headache the next day that was probably a combo of the jumping, water and coming down from my adrenaline high. Now I’m in San Jose, finished with training and today begins my first solo trip. I’m already battling lots of fun problems that go along with this job and lifestyle. I did manage to see Transformers (pretty good, Independence Day rip off in parts) and Fantastic Four (boring, however did see my favorite childhood comic book character on screen!). The night showings also allowed me to pass through San Jose at night to see its seedy underbelly. It’s oddly very pleasant and enjoyable during the day, but at night all that’s open are brothels, casinos and liquor stores. Trust no guy who says he’s going to Costa Rica on a “fishing trip.”
Hope this finds you all well. Impressive if you made it through this whole thing. I’ll put some photos up in a little while. Send me emails or post comments. I have no idea what’s happening with any of you. Cheers and pura vida!
7.11.2007
3.26.2007
Monday Survival Story
In case anyone missed it while CNN and Fox News I'm sure (I don't have cable) inundated America with this kid who wandered off from his Boy Scout troop and got lost in the woods for a few days.
Turns out he and his family are crediting The Hatchet by Gary Paulson as one of several reasons he was able to make it on his own so long.
I don't recall when I read this book, but I do remember it had a huge impact on what I thought my potential was. It's the story of a kid who survives a plane crash in the Canadian wilderness and lives off the land with nothing more than a hatchet. I would definitely credit this book for some of my adventurous spirit.
I imagine most people could never imagine themselves stuck in a similar situation as either of these two kids. And that's a shame. Everyone deserves to have a chance at adventure and to see what they're made of. So if you have a kid, might have kids someday or need a break for an afternoon: buy this book.
3.23.2007
A Friday update of randomness
I figure it's time to move out of the foray of reminiscing and get some timely postings here.
"Why do you know things like that?!"
This was asked of me earlier this week, and for those of you who know me, it was not the first time. It was in response to my reply of "Acolyte" for a seven-letter word for a church candle lighter. And to be honest I have no idea why I know things like that. I just remember random junk I hear and collect them in my brain like your grandma collects empty margarine containers in the cupboard next to the sink (mostly useless and largely from the 80s. Sorry, grandma).
Filling out an application recently, I was asked to give three words that would describe me, that should one of my best friends hear them, would know exactly who was being described. One friend suggested: loyal, esoteric and another TBD (I chose "witty"). Not bad, flattering even, but would my friends know for sure it was me? After discussing this briefly with Doug and trading ideas we arrived at his ubiquitous nickname for me--Random Fact Guy. Sold. However, I should note I still have yet to hear from that company.
So what to do with a brain full of tidbits like buffalo can jump six feet, wheras elephants are the only animals that cannot jump? Well, recalling the lineup from the US World Cup teams in the mid-90s got me through a night of dinner and drinking with strangers in Argentina. Really I think that's what it's all about; being able to have a conversation with someone regardless of background or history. Because, frankly, I've never been one to excel at staring contests.
On the other hand, should the world succomb to nuclear armageddon (see here or here) and the world's history is lost, I'm sure I would be an invaluable resource. Hopefully the future won't mind that gaps in the annals of history are filled in with episodes from the Simpsons and Silver Surfer panels.
"Why do you know things like that?!"
This was asked of me earlier this week, and for those of you who know me, it was not the first time. It was in response to my reply of "Acolyte" for a seven-letter word for a church candle lighter. And to be honest I have no idea why I know things like that. I just remember random junk I hear and collect them in my brain like your grandma collects empty margarine containers in the cupboard next to the sink (mostly useless and largely from the 80s. Sorry, grandma).
Filling out an application recently, I was asked to give three words that would describe me, that should one of my best friends hear them, would know exactly who was being described. One friend suggested: loyal, esoteric and another TBD (I chose "witty"). Not bad, flattering even, but would my friends know for sure it was me? After discussing this briefly with Doug and trading ideas we arrived at his ubiquitous nickname for me--Random Fact Guy. Sold. However, I should note I still have yet to hear from that company.
So what to do with a brain full of tidbits like buffalo can jump six feet, wheras elephants are the only animals that cannot jump? Well, recalling the lineup from the US World Cup teams in the mid-90s got me through a night of dinner and drinking with strangers in Argentina. Really I think that's what it's all about; being able to have a conversation with someone regardless of background or history. Because, frankly, I've never been one to excel at staring contests.
On the other hand, should the world succomb to nuclear armageddon (see here or here) and the world's history is lost, I'm sure I would be an invaluable resource. Hopefully the future won't mind that gaps in the annals of history are filled in with episodes from the Simpsons and Silver Surfer panels.
3.22.2007
Feliz dia de la primavera!
I realize this is a day late, however I haven't been paying very studious attention to dates lately as the weeks are starting to run together now. Senioritis perhaps. Though now that I'm in my third senior year, perhaps it's some sort of senior senility.
It was a year-and-a-half ago yesterday (Spring is in on the other half of the calendar in South America) that Kevin and I were in Argentina and met our professors in the downtown plaza rather than the classroom so we could enjoy the brisk (read: cold) Patagonian Spring. This turned out in fact to be a thinly veiled ploy to make us talk to locals in the plaza. The first day of Spring is a bit of a holiday for students, and the children make flowers out of paper with little "Happy Spring!" messages on them. Our goal was to retrieve a couple of said flowers from a group of 20 children...the photo is of Kevin doing just that.
It was a year-and-a-half ago yesterday (Spring is in on the other half of the calendar in South America) that Kevin and I were in Argentina and met our professors in the downtown plaza rather than the classroom so we could enjoy the brisk (read: cold) Patagonian Spring. This turned out in fact to be a thinly veiled ploy to make us talk to locals in the plaza. The first day of Spring is a bit of a holiday for students, and the children make flowers out of paper with little "Happy Spring!" messages on them. Our goal was to retrieve a couple of said flowers from a group of 20 children...the photo is of Kevin doing just that.
3.02.2007
Intramural Soccer
I found this in some old folders of stuff I wrote for a few friends back yonder...
January 2004
Rogue U of I Ultimate Frisbee team attempts indoor soccer league
So it starts out like this…
DK, Berry, Robinson, Mark show up to play. Games call for five on each side, so a slight panic sets in, nothing we can’t handle. While we warm up by tossing 40 yard forehands with a stack of frisbees across the field, our competition shows up.
Our competition--this is where it gets ridiculous. They were approximately 15 grad-student aged players (and older), decked out in matching green uniforms with shin guards and socks. They practice some set drills with a few of the provided practice balls and take shots on goal in succession. In contrast, our team is dressed in assorted colors sans shin guards, and our warm up ball (as I mentioned earlier) is flat, plastic and weighs 175 grams. Our first strategy is to petition for the authenticity of the other team’s student IDs and/or INS papers.
By this point we already mentally conceded defeat and are more in tune with the hilarity of the impending contest. Luckily, Andrew shows up with his floor-neighbor Brian and we can now at least field a team. As Andrew has fallen into the "Edwards Curse" and broken himself prior to the game, we are left with the no-subs minimum of five rag tag players against what we find out is a legitimate indoor soccer team.
Action. The game moves quickly in the first half as IHUC adjusts to the spherical nature of the game and learns how to play together. It’s mostly an offensive onslaught by the opposing team who, while color coordinated, does not take very good shots. Robinson puts on a show as goalie, blocking some 15 shots in the first half and skying a forward to gain control of the ball. To this point it has been a solid and energetic performance on defense. Half comes after 20 minutes with a surprising score of 0-0. Our team estimates we took 2 or 3 legitimate shots on goal.
Second Half. Our opponent is just as surprised as we are by the score, and are even more so when their goalie is led out of the box and DK capitalizes with a quick score on the lone defender in the net. The ref finally notices DK is bleeding and he takes a quick injury time to get his knee taped up while IHUC soaks in the sudden success. Once play resumes, the other team is noticeably upset. Our attempts to control the tempo and stall are met by a frenzy of shots on our goal and Brian being tackled at midfield. Robinson continues to display raw talent in goal while Mark and DK keep the ball moving around to Brian and Berry. As time winds down and our opponent is deep in the throws of desperation, Berry steals the ball from an offender at midfield. Two defenders attack and the first is dispelled with a quick move to the inside. The other couldn’t quite match speed and the shot goes left upper 90; goal. There’s a quick kick-off, and a few seconds of erratic play before the whistle blows and IHUC claims its first round-ball victory 2-0.
Paece.
January 2004
Rogue U of I Ultimate Frisbee team attempts indoor soccer league
So it starts out like this…
DK, Berry, Robinson, Mark show up to play. Games call for five on each side, so a slight panic sets in, nothing we can’t handle. While we warm up by tossing 40 yard forehands with a stack of frisbees across the field, our competition shows up.
Our competition--this is where it gets ridiculous. They were approximately 15 grad-student aged players (and older), decked out in matching green uniforms with shin guards and socks. They practice some set drills with a few of the provided practice balls and take shots on goal in succession. In contrast, our team is dressed in assorted colors sans shin guards, and our warm up ball (as I mentioned earlier) is flat, plastic and weighs 175 grams. Our first strategy is to petition for the authenticity of the other team’s student IDs and/or INS papers.
By this point we already mentally conceded defeat and are more in tune with the hilarity of the impending contest. Luckily, Andrew shows up with his floor-neighbor Brian and we can now at least field a team. As Andrew has fallen into the "Edwards Curse" and broken himself prior to the game, we are left with the no-subs minimum of five rag tag players against what we find out is a legitimate indoor soccer team.
Action. The game moves quickly in the first half as IHUC adjusts to the spherical nature of the game and learns how to play together. It’s mostly an offensive onslaught by the opposing team who, while color coordinated, does not take very good shots. Robinson puts on a show as goalie, blocking some 15 shots in the first half and skying a forward to gain control of the ball. To this point it has been a solid and energetic performance on defense. Half comes after 20 minutes with a surprising score of 0-0. Our team estimates we took 2 or 3 legitimate shots on goal.
Second Half. Our opponent is just as surprised as we are by the score, and are even more so when their goalie is led out of the box and DK capitalizes with a quick score on the lone defender in the net. The ref finally notices DK is bleeding and he takes a quick injury time to get his knee taped up while IHUC soaks in the sudden success. Once play resumes, the other team is noticeably upset. Our attempts to control the tempo and stall are met by a frenzy of shots on our goal and Brian being tackled at midfield. Robinson continues to display raw talent in goal while Mark and DK keep the ball moving around to Brian and Berry. As time winds down and our opponent is deep in the throws of desperation, Berry steals the ball from an offender at midfield. Two defenders attack and the first is dispelled with a quick move to the inside. The other couldn’t quite match speed and the shot goes left upper 90; goal. There’s a quick kick-off, and a few seconds of erratic play before the whistle blows and IHUC claims its first round-ball victory 2-0.
Paece.
Backposting
So you'll notice that the previous several entries are from 2005. Indeed it is now 2007, but I thought it relevant to include a bit of my writing from those travels for a little context. It also makes it look like I've been doing something since last April.
A few of them were written for assignment, the majority just for me and interested parties. Hope you enjoy.
A few of them were written for assignment, the majority just for me and interested parties. Hope you enjoy.
3.01.2007
Argentina (November 2005)
November 2005
Hello again from the mountains of Patagonia.
Lots going on since I bombarded all of you with my last novella.
My friend Melanie came to visit me from Santiago for a couple weeks and managed to survive my multiple attempts on her life. First, she came with Kevin and me down to El Bolsón for a trip with our professor to check out the city attuned with nature (hippies). There was excellent ice cream, a good artisan fair where you can actually have a conversation with the people who make the clothes and jewelry and food, and great weather. At least during the day. Mel and I decided to camp in Bolsón for the night at the local beer brewery (20 different flavors!). We talked to the owner and he said the camping season didn't start for another month and a half, but we could stay for the night anyway since the weather was nice. Six hours later once the sun had set and our fire was out, we were freezing to death inside our tent because the temp dropped to about freezing. We were awake shivering all night until the sun finally came up and warmed the tent enough to get a little sleep. Or to be more exact, nap in between the local rooster crowing his lungs out. I now own a personal vendetta against chicken.
We did make it back to Bariloche the next night and even got a little hiking in beforehand. Our next adventure was some broke fun to Colonia Suiza, a little town 25km from here with access to the national park for $1 round trip. Once we got there we had about two hours to kill until the bus came back, so we walked the road a bit, got bored and decided to jump the fence \into some more interesting terrain. Everything was fine until we abandoned the river and moved farther into the park. A half hour later I mentioned I was the most in the middle of nowhere I had ever been. Another half hour later and we were definitely lost, with differing opinions about how to get back to the river and daylight falling behind the mountains. After we hopped our fourth of seven fences I think we were both concerned, but neither of us wanted to admit it. The situation reminded me of a movie I had seen, so it seemed appropriate to tell Melanie how much I enjoyed the movie Gerry (only Josh will get that). Once we found some old horse trails to follow we tore through trees and brush and even more fences to find the street and our bus home with a couple minutes to spare.
And if that weren't enough, on her last night we decided to grill once more. She still claims it was my idea, which is false. Mel bought the hamburger, I grilled it. A few hours later she was sick and I was soon to follow. I can't remember the last time I was that sick and felt so miserable. We slept for about 22 of the next 24 hours because we couldn't do much else. It was bad enough that Melanie had to cancel her bus tickets home for the next day. Once my coordinator down here, Stella, found out it took quite a bit of convincing for her to not drag us to the hospital. She was very sweet to us though, changing Melanie's tickets and bringing us 7up, (*note that I still don’t know how to ask for this here. Is it “siete arriba,” “siete up,” or “seven up”? Somebody help me out.) which ended up being the only thing either of us could eat for several days.
So Melanie finally made it home and I had a couple rough days (by the way, much nicer being miserable with company. Kevin's good health was of no use to me.), but decided to head to San Martin that weekend for the second day of the Patagonian Climbing Competition. I climbed pretty well, especially considering I hadn't gone to the gym for a couple weeks and had been sick, and narrowly missed the finals for my division. I did meet a bunch of interesting people there. There was a German guy who was traveling around South America to climb until Christmas, who still spoke to me in Spanish even though he knew English. And I also met a climber from San Martin named Walter, who was about 40, but still hanging out with the younger guys. He let me stay at his house for the night, but on the way there, he brought me to his friend's birthday party. I ended up hanging out at this family's house with 30 people I had never met before, but brought me in like I was an invited guest. I found out his friend was the coach of the very successful Argentine mountain biking team. I met another one of his friends who joked with me about how he learned to be a thief in Tucuman, Argentine soccer and, oddly, mid-90s US soccer.
I think we stayed at the party until about 2:00 and then got up fairly early the next morning to go climb in this amazing area I guess had just been opened by the military for public use. It was a pretty unique trip because it was a split group of climbers from Bariloche and San Martin who were all going out to inspect the area and place bolts in some brand new routes. The San Martin people would eventually bring people out for lessons and excursions since most of them are mountain guides and the Bariloche people came out to help (and do a little climbing too). All in all, probably the best weekend I've had down here. An all-Spanish weekend, made some friends, and got to see some amazing places.
But of course all my fun down here has to have consequences. When I got back Sunday night I itched all over, but I figured since I had been outside and traipsing through thick trees and bushes it was normal. I woke up in the morning and had what seemed to be ant bites to me on my arm and a couple on my torso, they itched, but not a big deal. After class I noticed a few more and joked with Kevin about it, until two hours later when I looked at my stomach again and I was completely covered with raised, red, horrible marks all over myself. Apparently I had found whatever the Argentine version of Poison Oak is and did the equivalent of rolling around in it until I hadn't missed a spot. When I showed Kevin the second time, he flopped pretty quickly from laughing to, "Umm...maybe we need to call someone?" It was not pretty. I called Stella again and told her I definitely needed a doctor this time, so I took my first trip to an Argentine Emergency Room. There was a ridiculous discussion with the doctor where he tried to tell me I at some bad sausage at the competition, but it didn't affect the other people because they were all Argentine and were used to it (every person down here I related this to, also thought it was ridiculous). Eventually I convinced him it was a plant-related reaction, and that it probably didn't matter because I would be getting the same treatment. This le
d to the following conversation, probably only appreciated by those of you who know me and my trepidation with shots...
Doctor: "Bueno, entonces, necesitas una inyección de cortisona por la vena."
*he leaves*
Me (to myself): "Did I hear 'injection in the vein'?"
*nurse enters, with syringe*
Me: "Discúlpame…por la vena?" (Excuse me...in the vein?)
Nurse: "Si." *taps syringe*
Me: "Ah. Bueno." *panic*
Yet another journey survived, though, as the wrath of San Martin's foliage was gone by the following day.
Once again, sorry for the half-hour I sucked from you day, but that's what's up in the daily life of: Matthew Berry--Argentine adventurer and disaster seeker. I wish all of you well and a Happy Thanksgiving (or a plain Happy Thursday to Alex and Julia). Eat some turkey and pumpkin pie for me.
Ciao all,
Hello again from the mountains of Patagonia.
Lots going on since I bombarded all of you with my last novella.
My friend Melanie came to visit me from Santiago for a couple weeks and managed to survive my multiple attempts on her life. First, she came with Kevin and me down to El Bolsón for a trip with our professor to check out the city attuned with nature (hippies). There was excellent ice cream, a good artisan fair where you can actually have a conversation with the people who make the clothes and jewelry and food, and great weather. At least during the day. Mel and I decided to camp in Bolsón for the night at the local beer brewery (20 different flavors!). We talked to the owner and he said the camping season didn't start for another month and a half, but we could stay for the night anyway since the weather was nice. Six hours later once the sun had set and our fire was out, we were freezing to death inside our tent because the temp dropped to about freezing. We were awake shivering all night until the sun finally came up and warmed the tent enough to get a little sleep. Or to be more exact, nap in between the local rooster crowing his lungs out. I now own a personal vendetta against chicken.
We did make it back to Bariloche the next night and even got a little hiking in beforehand. Our next adventure was some broke fun to Colonia Suiza, a little town 25km from here with access to the national park for $1 round trip. Once we got there we had about two hours to kill until the bus came back, so we walked the road a bit, got bored and decided to jump the fence \into some more interesting terrain. Everything was fine until we abandoned the river and moved farther into the park. A half hour later I mentioned I was the most in the middle of nowhere I had ever been. Another half hour later and we were definitely lost, with differing opinions about how to get back to the river and daylight falling behind the mountains. After we hopped our fourth of seven fences I think we were both concerned, but neither of us wanted to admit it. The situation reminded me of a movie I had seen, so it seemed appropriate to tell Melanie how much I enjoyed the movie Gerry (only Josh will get that). Once we found some old horse trails to follow we tore through trees and brush and even more fences to find the street and our bus home with a couple minutes to spare.
And if that weren't enough, on her last night we decided to grill once more. She still claims it was my idea, which is false. Mel bought the hamburger, I grilled it. A few hours later she was sick and I was soon to follow. I can't remember the last time I was that sick and felt so miserable. We slept for about 22 of the next 24 hours because we couldn't do much else. It was bad enough that Melanie had to cancel her bus tickets home for the next day. Once my coordinator down here, Stella, found out it took quite a bit of convincing for her to not drag us to the hospital. She was very sweet to us though, changing Melanie's tickets and bringing us 7up, (*note that I still don’t know how to ask for this here. Is it “siete arriba,” “siete up,” or “seven up”? Somebody help me out.) which ended up being the only thing either of us could eat for several days.
So Melanie finally made it home and I had a couple rough days (by the way, much nicer being miserable with company. Kevin's good health was of no use to me.), but decided to head to San Martin that weekend for the second day of the Patagonian Climbing Competition. I climbed pretty well, especially considering I hadn't gone to the gym for a couple weeks and had been sick, and narrowly missed the finals for my division. I did meet a bunch of interesting people there. There was a German guy who was traveling around South America to climb until Christmas, who still spoke to me in Spanish even though he knew English. And I also met a climber from San Martin named Walter, who was about 40, but still hanging out with the younger guys. He let me stay at his house for the night, but on the way there, he brought me to his friend's birthday party. I ended up hanging out at this family's house with 30 people I had never met before, but brought me in like I was an invited guest. I found out his friend was the coach of the very successful Argentine mountain biking team. I met another one of his friends who joked with me about how he learned to be a thief in Tucuman, Argentine soccer and, oddly, mid-90s US soccer.
I think we stayed at the party until about 2:00 and then got up fairly early the next morning to go climb in this amazing area I guess had just been opened by the military for public use. It was a pretty unique trip because it was a split group of climbers from Bariloche and San Martin who were all going out to inspect the area and place bolts in some brand new routes. The San Martin people would eventually bring people out for lessons and excursions since most of them are mountain guides and the Bariloche people came out to help (and do a little climbing too). All in all, probably the best weekend I've had down here. An all-Spanish weekend, made some friends, and got to see some amazing places.
But of course all my fun down here has to have consequences. When I got back Sunday night I itched all over, but I figured since I had been outside and traipsing through thick trees and bushes it was normal. I woke up in the morning and had what seemed to be ant bites to me on my arm and a couple on my torso, they itched, but not a big deal. After class I noticed a few more and joked with Kevin about it, until two hours later when I looked at my stomach again and I was completely covered with raised, red, horrible marks all over myself. Apparently I had found whatever the Argentine version of Poison Oak is and did the equivalent of rolling around in it until I hadn't missed a spot. When I showed Kevin the second time, he flopped pretty quickly from laughing to, "Umm...maybe we need to call someone?" It was not pretty. I called Stella again and told her I definitely needed a doctor this time, so I took my first trip to an Argentine Emergency Room. There was a ridiculous discussion with the doctor where he tried to tell me I at some bad sausage at the competition, but it didn't affect the other people because they were all Argentine and were used to it (every person down here I related this to, also thought it was ridiculous). Eventually I convinced him it was a plant-related reaction, and that it probably didn't matter because I would be getting the same treatment. This le
d to the following conversation, probably only appreciated by those of you who know me and my trepidation with shots...Doctor: "Bueno, entonces, necesitas una inyección de cortisona por la vena."
*he leaves*
Me (to myself): "Did I hear 'injection in the vein'?"
*nurse enters, with syringe*
Me: "Discúlpame…por la vena?" (Excuse me...in the vein?)
Nurse: "Si." *taps syringe*
Me: "Ah. Bueno." *panic*
Yet another journey survived, though, as the wrath of San Martin's foliage was gone by the following day.
Once again, sorry for the half-hour I sucked from you day, but that's what's up in the daily life of: Matthew Berry--Argentine adventurer and disaster seeker. I wish all of you well and a Happy Thanksgiving (or a plain Happy Thursday to Alex and Julia). Eat some turkey and pumpkin pie for me.
Ciao all,
Argentina (October 2005)
October 2005
Well well, hello to everybody back home and beyond. It’s been quite the journey since I last sent an update, so here’s what’s been going on...
Kevin and I are definitely settled now and into a sort of daily life routine here. It finally hit me a couple weeks ago that Argentina is home now, which is very very strange for me after 22 years in glorious Iowa City. I’m climbing and going to the gym every day and trying to get outdoors during the weekends.
I finally checked out the trail next to our house. It starts maybe three meters from our doorstep and we see mountain bikers coming down the hill all the time. I headed out last Sunday for a run--with the dogs--and it turns out it’s a giant system of mountain bike and ATV trails that go all over the hill/mountain behind our house. It was pretty incredible, I ran for about 15 minutes and hit this huge clearing that opens up into a field where there are mountains with green trees on one side and snow capped mountains on the other.
I can’t really describe how amazing it is to run through trails with mountains on either side of you and no people. I kept heading up the mountain to definitely the best view I’ve seen of the city so far (lake, city, Andes...) until I realized I had gotten lost. Luckily the dogs figured out I didn’t know where I was and led me home without much trouble, though Roco about killed me every time he wanted to run next to me.
We’ve also checked out the city a bit more and made it to Oktoberfest at the German high school here. It was really more like an elaborate German-themed kegger, but there was dancing, accordions, sawing competitions and high school girls strutting about as they do here. Watching drunk mothers trying to saw off a chunk of tree in front of their children was pure comedy.
A couple weeks ago we also managed to escape to Chile for a few days to avoid paying for Argentine Visas. We met up with my friend Melanie from the China trip and some of her friends from school in Santiago to climb an active volcano in Pucón. It was definitely an unforgettable experience: a six-plus hour exhausting ascent up a snow covered volcano, with a two to three hour descent to follow. Eight of us started at the bottom and only six made it to the top.
It was a little different than we expected, since you had to wait around for an explosion in the really deep crater to see any lava. But the sound was incredible; it was like huge waves crashing onto the beach, only it was liquid hot magma (sorry, couldn’t pass up the chance to say that). Unfortunately, not everybody survived so well the next day. Pretty much everyone was sunburned. Three kids went to the ER that night after they severely burned their corneas trying to share one pair of sunglasses. I took second-degree burns to the face, which had some unpleasant symptoms and resulted in a very uncomfortable following week. I didn’t follow a certain somebody’s advice and use sunscreen--so lesson learned.
The trip back from Pucón was a little problematic too, as Kevin and I were stranded four hours away from home in San Martin de los Andes because all the buses had already left for the day once we got there. The city is gorgeous and reminded me a lot of Vermont, but when you only want to get home and enjoy a hot shower and your own bed, we were a little irritated. Though many thanks to Sherlock for the hostel advice, which ended up being cheap and right next to the bus station. Obviously we made it back, though several days later than expected.
In other news, last weekend was the "First Annual North Patagonian Climbing Competition" at the gym where I climb. Very good time. My friend from the gym won our division, I managed to beat all the 12-year-olds that came down from San Martin (I swear this was an accomplishment, those kids were ridiculous) and I got some great photos of some of us slacklining in between rounds. The second day is in a couple weeks in San Martin, where I hope to slip into the semifinals so I can make a fool of myself :)
Otherwise, my Spanish is improving I guess. At least my ability to understand is 100 times better. The speaking is frustrating as we keep learning more intricacies about the language and I feel like I’ve been speaking some rudimentary Spanish-like language until now. It’s frustrating at times, but necessary I think to motivate me to improve. My greatest accomplishment thus far was a series of phone calls I had to make to our coordinator and then to the customer service menu of my cell phone provider and finally to a customer service rep. An hour or more all in an effort to find out the security code to hear my voicemails. I got it done, though, with my fancy language skills, but only fans of Spaceballs would truly appreciate the result.
Then this weekend Melanie is coming down from Santiago and Kevin and I are going to El Bolsón with one of professors to experience the community there, which is known for being "very in tune with nature." Basically it’s a hippie town where they have a huge art/foods fair every Saturday and they brew some good beer. So as Jeff would say, I’m going to commune with my people, throw Frisbees and talk about our dirty feet. Should be fun, and nobody but the WCTU can argue with a school-organized visit to a microbrewery.
That’s all for now, I apologize for the length. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves wherever you might be. Keep in touch, I haven’t heard from a few of you in some time.
Well well, hello to everybody back home and beyond. It’s been quite the journey since I last sent an update, so here’s what’s been going on...
Kevin and I are definitely settled now and into a sort of daily life routine here. It finally hit me a couple weeks ago that Argentina is home now, which is very very strange for me after 22 years in glorious Iowa City. I’m climbing and going to the gym every day and trying to get outdoors during the weekends.
I finally checked out the trail next to our house. It starts maybe three meters from our doorstep and we see mountain bikers coming down the hill all the time. I headed out last Sunday for a run--with the dogs--and it turns out it’s a giant system of mountain bike and ATV trails that go all over the hill/mountain behind our house. It was pretty incredible, I ran for about 15 minutes and hit this huge clearing that opens up into a field where there are mountains with green trees on one side and snow capped mountains on the other.
I can’t really describe how amazing it is to run through trails with mountains on either side of you and no people. I kept heading up the mountain to definitely the best view I’ve seen of the city so far (lake, city, Andes...) until I realized I had gotten lost. Luckily the dogs figured out I didn’t know where I was and led me home without much trouble, though Roco about killed me every time he wanted to run next to me.
We’ve also checked out the city a bit more and made it to Oktoberfest at the German high school here. It was really more like an elaborate German-themed kegger, but there was dancing, accordions, sawing competitions and high school girls strutting about as they do here. Watching drunk mothers trying to saw off a chunk of tree in front of their children was pure comedy.
A couple weeks ago we also managed to escape to Chile for a few days to avoid paying for Argentine Visas. We met up with my friend Melanie from the China trip and some of her friends from school in Santiago to climb an active volcano in Pucón. It was definitely an unforgettable experience: a six-plus hour exhausting ascent up a snow covered volcano, with a two to three hour descent to follow. Eight of us started at the bottom and only six made it to the top.
It was a little different than we expected, since you had to wait around for an explosion in the really deep crater to see any lava. But the sound was incredible; it was like huge waves crashing onto the beach, only it was liquid hot magma (sorry, couldn’t pass up the chance to say that). Unfortunately, not everybody survived so well the next day. Pretty much everyone was sunburned. Three kids went to the ER that night after they severely burned their corneas trying to share one pair of sunglasses. I took second-degree burns to the face, which had some unpleasant symptoms and resulted in a very uncomfortable following week. I didn’t follow a certain somebody’s advice and use sunscreen--so lesson learned.
The trip back from Pucón was a little problematic too, as Kevin and I were stranded four hours away from home in San Martin de los Andes because all the buses had already left for the day once we got there. The city is gorgeous and reminded me a lot of Vermont, but when you only want to get home and enjoy a hot shower and your own bed, we were a little irritated. Though many thanks to Sherlock for the hostel advice, which ended up being cheap and right next to the bus station. Obviously we made it back, though several days later than expected.
In other news, last weekend was the "First Annual North Patagonian Climbing Competition" at the gym where I climb. Very good time. My friend from the gym won our division, I managed to beat all the 12-year-olds that came down from San Martin (I swear this was an accomplishment, those kids were ridiculous) and I got some great photos of some of us slacklining in between rounds. The second day is in a couple weeks in San Martin, where I hope to slip into the semifinals so I can make a fool of myself :)
Otherwise, my Spanish is improving I guess. At least my ability to understand is 100 times better. The speaking is frustrating as we keep learning more intricacies about the language and I feel like I’ve been speaking some rudimentary Spanish-like language until now. It’s frustrating at times, but necessary I think to motivate me to improve. My greatest accomplishment thus far was a series of phone calls I had to make to our coordinator and then to the customer service menu of my cell phone provider and finally to a customer service rep. An hour or more all in an effort to find out the security code to hear my voicemails. I got it done, though, with my fancy language skills, but only fans of Spaceballs would truly appreciate the result.
Then this weekend Melanie is coming down from Santiago and Kevin and I are going to El Bolsón with one of professors to experience the community there, which is known for being "very in tune with nature." Basically it’s a hippie town where they have a huge art/foods fair every Saturday and they brew some good beer. So as Jeff would say, I’m going to commune with my people, throw Frisbees and talk about our dirty feet. Should be fun, and nobody but the WCTU can argue with a school-organized visit to a microbrewery.
That’s all for now, I apologize for the length. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves wherever you might be. Keep in touch, I haven’t heard from a few of you in some time.
Communicating in Chinese
June 28, 2005
We were on at least the fifteenth word I had “learned” during the 30 minute car ride to my host family’s apartment.
“Chi-ow,” my host mother, Fan Chenling, implored me to repeat after her. I silently implored her to pay more attention to the road. Beijing traffic is notoriously chaotic and, to me, appeared to require the full attention and reflexes of a stunt driver.
“Chi-ow,” she repronounced.
Qiao meant bridge and I tried feverishly to commit it to memory, realizing I had already forgotten most of the previous words in the last few minutes. More would follow.
Entering my three-day home-stay in Beijing, I was made fully aware my family spoke very little English--I would have a daunting task of communication ahead of me. I wasn’t a novice in the situation by any means. A home-stay in Spain during high school and four years experience in a photo studio with a high frequency of immigration and passport photography had prepared me to live with a foreign family in a foreign culture. I was ready for any conceivable language-related dilemma. So I thought.
There I was in her car, eight weeks of university Chinese study and a little over two weeks of “field” study in China, and the only legitimate conversation between Fan and me was translating words back and forth. Our comfort level eventually improved and we discussed her job as editor for a health magazine and her son Stuart, but it would still be days before I discovered she was a former sports journalist and Olympic caliber gymnast.
Communication quickly became the focus of my stay.
When we arrived at her apartment, Stuart met us outside and greeted me with a meek head nod before he rushed several steps ahead of Fan and me toward our lunch destination. Fan tried to encourage him to talk to me, insisting his English was excellent and that we both had an affinity for sports. But Stuart, 13, and about a head shorter than me would only give me a sly half-smile that I would see plenty more of then guided us toward the restaurant.
Lunch came and went, marked mostly by Fan and Stuart debating whether or not I would like certain dishes. Without my professor there I didn’t know names for any of the foods, or know much about what had been in anything I liked. All I could say was anything would be fine and hope for the best.
That night I was introduced to Fan’s husband Wu Kaiping and to a stack of scrap paper that would soon be filled with our messages back and forth to one another. It turned out Wu and Fan were much more comfortable writing messages in English on paper and having me do the same for them. It alleviated many of the pronunciation issues (like confusing “hungry” and “angry”) and opened the door to a wider range of topics.
Wu tried explaining his job to me, writing “International” and “Police” in slanted cursive. Each time I said I didn’t understand he would write another few words and look at me with his eyebrows raised in anticipation of my comprehension. Eventually I fibbed and said I got it. He set the pen down triumphantly while I thought to myself it might be a trying few days ahead.
Bed was a welcome respite.
*-------*
My new family let Stuart and me sleep in a little late the next morning and had breakfast waiting for us. I was hoping for cereal or even a croissant, but was greeted by the leftovers of chicken and fried green beans from the night before.
After I finished my glass of room temperature yoghurt, Fan suggested Stuart and I head out shopping and that I could borrow her bike for the trip. I said it sounded great, but I was secretly terrified. I assumed it meant imminent death for me on the streets where there seemed to be no tangible law governing man, bike and machine. Yet we made it through safely.
Stuart took me to Hong Qiao, which he said was the touristy shopping area nearby. Indeed it was, as the different indoor levels were packed with a variety of electronics, fabrics and souvenirs for sale and foreigners everywhere. Slightly overwhelmed, I managed my way through bartering for gifts by exchanging broken Chinese and English, or battling back and forth with prices on a calculator. Eventually I asked if there was somewhere to go without so many tourists and Stuart said he had a place in mind.
So we rode to the pet store. At least that’s how Stuart described it on the way. Naively I expected puppies and kittens, free to pet and ease some of my anxiety.
Of course, I was wrong.
It was more outdoor animal wholesale than pet shop. Imagine the local farmer’s market, but instead of boxes of corn and green beans and fresh lettuce there were tiny cramped boxes of puppies and baby ducks as far as I could see. Two week old kittens wandered the streets lost, unnoticed by shopkeepers and passerby alike, while others lay stacked on top of one another inside rows of cages. I hurried Stuart through before I could consider too seriously how many animals I should smuggle to freedom in my bike’s basket.
Our route continued through less-populated parts of southern Beijing, passing in and out of neighborhoods on dusty, unpaved roads. We made our way home and passed the ride with Stuart reciting the hundreds of NBA players he knew while I tried to decode names from his heavy accent. Each player was a puzzle of tones, consonants and my own knowledge of basketball. It was impressive how much he had learned about the sport from TV and video games, and how amusing some of his pronunciations were. His attempt at Latrell Spreewell was definitely my favorite. It wasn’t a question of knowing points, rebounds or any statistics. It was a simple game of, “Here is a name. Do you know this name?”
Though we were getting along well, the stress of communicating began to wear on me. As much as I appreciated everyone’s effort to speak to me, the process of deciphering their English while simplifying my own was taxing.
For the first time during any trip I had been on, I felt seriously homesick. I was slightly traumatized from the animal market and cycling through Beijing, but mostly I was tired and felt isolated from my language.
It would get better.
That night I convinced Stuart to come outside and throw a Frisbee I brought with me. Doing something repetitive like throwing was soothing and Stuart seemed to enjoy learning something new. He was a quick learner and we began to draw passerby to a stop so they could watch the strange game. Fan came down to the courtyard to play too, so did Wu when he passed by on his way home from work. We stayed outside until it was too dark to see each other then headed inside. I think all of us went back in feeling a little satisfied.
As I started to develop more of a rapport with the family, it became obvious Stuart had the best English skills in the house. Though he was reluctant to talk to me at first, he was quick to correct his parents’ grammatical errors when they spoke with me. It occurred to me his apprehension might have been equal parts shyness and anxiety over his language skills. He had only studied English for two years, yet was learning how light travels and reflects in English textbooks, I was already plenty impressed.
We managed to bond over his homework. It was the week before his examinations, so he had spent most of his time during my stay studying--notably math and English. Fan asked me if I could help him with the English homework, and I was more than happy to do so. I hoped it would give me a chance to talk with Stuart more, which it did while I fumbled over explanations of the strange laws and nature of the English language.
Stuart’s math homework went much more smoothly. At 13-years-old his exams covered algebra I did when I was 15 or 16. Some of it proved pretty difficult, but I felt like I had some sort of US national pride (read: ego) riding on my shoulders to get it right. Thankfully, I was able to solve all of his questions (score one for US education) and in turn explain the process to him.
Once Stuart was content he had studied enough for the day, Fan told us to head out and enjoy the rest of the day, so Stuart grabbed a basketball and led us down to a park we had passed during our shopping excursion.
I played basketball with a bunch of 14-year-old Chinese boys that afternoon. It started as a small game of three-on-three against a few kids Stuart seemed to know. Most of the time I tried to take it easy on them--I’m not an all-star by any means, but I am pretty athletic and I had a solid half-foot height advantage over every other player. We joked around with one another as each kid who tried to jump over me would shake his head and repeat one of the other few phrases I knew, “ta hen gao” (he’s very tall)
Soon another group of five or six kids came over. There was a bunch of commotion, some discussion (in Chinese) and then pointing in my direction. Surreally, the kids parted in half and the shortest boy came out and asked me hesitantly, “Do you understand English?” I replied “yes,” though I was slightly confused since I distinctly heard myself referred to as the “meiguoren” (American) multiple times. Quickly, he flew into a string of fluent English explaining how we were splitting up teams and starting a different game. I was completely drawn aback by his speed and his perfect accent. Then I chuckled to myself at how ceremoniously the other kids had ushered out their translator.
Our Beijing duck dinner that night was the last thing all four of us did together. Wu had to leave town on some international police business later that night, Fan had a meeting she couldn’t miss in the morning and Stuart would be at school. It was a typical moment of the entire stay, with more discussion about what foods to order and Stuart sighing in annoyance of his parents’ English. I was comfortable, though. We settled on dishes, talked about the basketball game and the travel shows I watched that morning.
There was a little confusion as always, but mostly there was understanding that came from the short time we had spent together. We knew what topics were understood across the languages, what sparked interest and what always seemed to be funny--usually me looking out of place somewhere.
The following afternoon Fan drove me back to the hotel to reunite with my equally displaced students. The car ride was similar to the first one, though now I proudly recalled several of the words I was taught in the last few days. Fan was delighted and so was I, since she had to pay attention to the road in order to point out a bus, or a car, or a bike for me to translate into Chinese.
It was strange how the time had gone by so quickly. Two days earlier I was convinced I wouldn’t make it, but after Fan and I said our goodbyes I was ready to do it all over again. Now it’s a story for me to carry whenever I feel lost without English. All I need is a little time . . . and maybe a little homework.
We were on at least the fifteenth word I had “learned” during the 30 minute car ride to my host family’s apartment.
“Chi-ow,” my host mother, Fan Chenling, implored me to repeat after her. I silently implored her to pay more attention to the road. Beijing traffic is notoriously chaotic and, to me, appeared to require the full attention and reflexes of a stunt driver.
“Chi-ow,” she repronounced.
Qiao meant bridge and I tried feverishly to commit it to memory, realizing I had already forgotten most of the previous words in the last few minutes. More would follow.
Entering my three-day home-stay in Beijing, I was made fully aware my family spoke very little English--I would have a daunting task of communication ahead of me. I wasn’t a novice in the situation by any means. A home-stay in Spain during high school and four years experience in a photo studio with a high frequency of immigration and passport photography had prepared me to live with a foreign family in a foreign culture. I was ready for any conceivable language-related dilemma. So I thought.
There I was in her car, eight weeks of university Chinese study and a little over two weeks of “field” study in China, and the only legitimate conversation between Fan and me was translating words back and forth. Our comfort level eventually improved and we discussed her job as editor for a health magazine and her son Stuart, but it would still be days before I discovered she was a former sports journalist and Olympic caliber gymnast.
Communication quickly became the focus of my stay.
When we arrived at her apartment, Stuart met us outside and greeted me with a meek head nod before he rushed several steps ahead of Fan and me toward our lunch destination. Fan tried to encourage him to talk to me, insisting his English was excellent and that we both had an affinity for sports. But Stuart, 13, and about a head shorter than me would only give me a sly half-smile that I would see plenty more of then guided us toward the restaurant.
Lunch came and went, marked mostly by Fan and Stuart debating whether or not I would like certain dishes. Without my professor there I didn’t know names for any of the foods, or know much about what had been in anything I liked. All I could say was anything would be fine and hope for the best.
That night I was introduced to Fan’s husband Wu Kaiping and to a stack of scrap paper that would soon be filled with our messages back and forth to one another. It turned out Wu and Fan were much more comfortable writing messages in English on paper and having me do the same for them. It alleviated many of the pronunciation issues (like confusing “hungry” and “angry”) and opened the door to a wider range of topics.
Wu tried explaining his job to me, writing “International” and “Police” in slanted cursive. Each time I said I didn’t understand he would write another few words and look at me with his eyebrows raised in anticipation of my comprehension. Eventually I fibbed and said I got it. He set the pen down triumphantly while I thought to myself it might be a trying few days ahead.
Bed was a welcome respite.
*-------*
My new family let Stuart and me sleep in a little late the next morning and had breakfast waiting for us. I was hoping for cereal or even a croissant, but was greeted by the leftovers of chicken and fried green beans from the night before.
After I finished my glass of room temperature yoghurt, Fan suggested Stuart and I head out shopping and that I could borrow her bike for the trip. I said it sounded great, but I was secretly terrified. I assumed it meant imminent death for me on the streets where there seemed to be no tangible law governing man, bike and machine. Yet we made it through safely.
Stuart took me to Hong Qiao, which he said was the touristy shopping area nearby. Indeed it was, as the different indoor levels were packed with a variety of electronics, fabrics and souvenirs for sale and foreigners everywhere. Slightly overwhelmed, I managed my way through bartering for gifts by exchanging broken Chinese and English, or battling back and forth with prices on a calculator. Eventually I asked if there was somewhere to go without so many tourists and Stuart said he had a place in mind.
So we rode to the pet store. At least that’s how Stuart described it on the way. Naively I expected puppies and kittens, free to pet and ease some of my anxiety.
Of course, I was wrong.
It was more outdoor animal wholesale than pet shop. Imagine the local farmer’s market, but instead of boxes of corn and green beans and fresh lettuce there were tiny cramped boxes of puppies and baby ducks as far as I could see. Two week old kittens wandered the streets lost, unnoticed by shopkeepers and passerby alike, while others lay stacked on top of one another inside rows of cages. I hurried Stuart through before I could consider too seriously how many animals I should smuggle to freedom in my bike’s basket.
Our route continued through less-populated parts of southern Beijing, passing in and out of neighborhoods on dusty, unpaved roads. We made our way home and passed the ride with Stuart reciting the hundreds of NBA players he knew while I tried to decode names from his heavy accent. Each player was a puzzle of tones, consonants and my own knowledge of basketball. It was impressive how much he had learned about the sport from TV and video games, and how amusing some of his pronunciations were. His attempt at Latrell Spreewell was definitely my favorite. It wasn’t a question of knowing points, rebounds or any statistics. It was a simple game of, “Here is a name. Do you know this name?”
Though we were getting along well, the stress of communicating began to wear on me. As much as I appreciated everyone’s effort to speak to me, the process of deciphering their English while simplifying my own was taxing.
For the first time during any trip I had been on, I felt seriously homesick. I was slightly traumatized from the animal market and cycling through Beijing, but mostly I was tired and felt isolated from my language.
It would get better.
That night I convinced Stuart to come outside and throw a Frisbee I brought with me. Doing something repetitive like throwing was soothing and Stuart seemed to enjoy learning something new. He was a quick learner and we began to draw passerby to a stop so they could watch the strange game. Fan came down to the courtyard to play too, so did Wu when he passed by on his way home from work. We stayed outside until it was too dark to see each other then headed inside. I think all of us went back in feeling a little satisfied.
As I started to develop more of a rapport with the family, it became obvious Stuart had the best English skills in the house. Though he was reluctant to talk to me at first, he was quick to correct his parents’ grammatical errors when they spoke with me. It occurred to me his apprehension might have been equal parts shyness and anxiety over his language skills. He had only studied English for two years, yet was learning how light travels and reflects in English textbooks, I was already plenty impressed.
We managed to bond over his homework. It was the week before his examinations, so he had spent most of his time during my stay studying--notably math and English. Fan asked me if I could help him with the English homework, and I was more than happy to do so. I hoped it would give me a chance to talk with Stuart more, which it did while I fumbled over explanations of the strange laws and nature of the English language.
Stuart’s math homework went much more smoothly. At 13-years-old his exams covered algebra I did when I was 15 or 16. Some of it proved pretty difficult, but I felt like I had some sort of US national pride (read: ego) riding on my shoulders to get it right. Thankfully, I was able to solve all of his questions (score one for US education) and in turn explain the process to him.
Once Stuart was content he had studied enough for the day, Fan told us to head out and enjoy the rest of the day, so Stuart grabbed a basketball and led us down to a park we had passed during our shopping excursion.
I played basketball with a bunch of 14-year-old Chinese boys that afternoon. It started as a small game of three-on-three against a few kids Stuart seemed to know. Most of the time I tried to take it easy on them--I’m not an all-star by any means, but I am pretty athletic and I had a solid half-foot height advantage over every other player. We joked around with one another as each kid who tried to jump over me would shake his head and repeat one of the other few phrases I knew, “ta hen gao” (he’s very tall)
Soon another group of five or six kids came over. There was a bunch of commotion, some discussion (in Chinese) and then pointing in my direction. Surreally, the kids parted in half and the shortest boy came out and asked me hesitantly, “Do you understand English?” I replied “yes,” though I was slightly confused since I distinctly heard myself referred to as the “meiguoren” (American) multiple times. Quickly, he flew into a string of fluent English explaining how we were splitting up teams and starting a different game. I was completely drawn aback by his speed and his perfect accent. Then I chuckled to myself at how ceremoniously the other kids had ushered out their translator.
Our Beijing duck dinner that night was the last thing all four of us did together. Wu had to leave town on some international police business later that night, Fan had a meeting she couldn’t miss in the morning and Stuart would be at school. It was a typical moment of the entire stay, with more discussion about what foods to order and Stuart sighing in annoyance of his parents’ English. I was comfortable, though. We settled on dishes, talked about the basketball game and the travel shows I watched that morning.
There was a little confusion as always, but mostly there was understanding that came from the short time we had spent together. We knew what topics were understood across the languages, what sparked interest and what always seemed to be funny--usually me looking out of place somewhere.
The following afternoon Fan drove me back to the hotel to reunite with my equally displaced students. The car ride was similar to the first one, though now I proudly recalled several of the words I was taught in the last few days. Fan was delighted and so was I, since she had to pay attention to the road in order to point out a bus, or a car, or a bike for me to translate into Chinese.
It was strange how the time had gone by so quickly. Two days earlier I was convinced I wouldn’t make it, but after Fan and I said our goodbyes I was ready to do it all over again. Now it’s a story for me to carry whenever I feel lost without English. All I need is a little time . . . and maybe a little homework.
Shanghai Ultimate Tournament
June 11, 2005
Weekend in Shanghai Ultimate
I was exhausted.
It was the deciding point of the semi-finals against Korea and they only needed one more score to finish us off. I had been chasing their all-tournament team member up and down the field the last two points, but it felt like hours to me. I knew the pressure well--a big game, top-notch opponent--I had been in similar situations in the States during College Regionals and Nationals. But this time I was in China, with 20 people I had met only two days earlier relying on me to shut my man down.
My guard slipped just for a second and he flashed up the sideline. Bam! Score. Game over.
After three days in Beijing on my first visit to China, I had left my fellow students for Shanghai. My professor described our trip to Beijing as a way to learn about Chinese life and culture, so I wanted to learn how parts of my culture interacted directly with Chinese culture—I wanted to play Ultimate Frisbee.
A week before I arrived, I decided find out if there was a team in Beijing I could practice with while I was there. It turned out there was a team, Big Brother, and they would be travelling to Shanghai the first weekend I was in the country. I exchanged a flurry of emails in the short time before I left from America to get a flight to Shanghai from Beijing, a hotel room and a spot on the team arranged. Thankfully, Michelle and Zhalen from Big Brother worked quickly to arrange everything with me, even though we had never officially met.
Back home, nearly every university has an ultimate team and there are numerous teams across America and Canada that include more experienced players and a very high level of competition. I have played four years at my university, where we have qualified twice for College Nationals. There is a great sense of community and personality between players. Although differences exist in jobs and studies, Ultimate players share a fun-loving bond of athleticism and sportsmanship in a sport with much less coverage than basketball or football.
I found very quickly from students in Beijing that most Chinese people are not familiar with Frisbee (fei pan) or at least not with the game of Ultimate. The game was started in America and combines a combination of skills and strategies from games like soccer, football, basketball and
hockey. What makes Ultimate Frisbee unique among many sports though, is that spirit of play (sportsmanship) is respected above all other things. It is a non-contact sport with many rules, but there are no referees to make calls, all players make their own foul calls and resolve their own disputes.
My team’s tournament had ended with that point, but I never felt like I let them down. I was only passing through for one tournament, but the team included me in all respects. They welcomed me immediately, as each player made an effort to get to know me and make me feel like part of the team.
Most of the players were from America or Canada, but there were many from other parts of China and Asia. I discovered that everyone had found the game a different way in Asia. Some played in America, like one of Beijing’s captains, Zhalen. And others like Michelle started playing nine years ago after she arrived in Beijing.
“A friend introduced me to it,” she said. “I had never heard of the game before and I found out it’s not just passing the disc, it’s a structured game.”
Zhalen said he’s, “always chattin’ to people about ultimate. It spreads through word-of-mouth.”
In my case, I searched for an internet site and was lucky to find such great team-mates in Beijing.
Like any good ultimate tournament I had been to, Shanghai featured a party the night after the first day of games. Each team was to dress in a certain theme and Zhalen chose the colour pink to be ours. I was outfitted with a bright pink t-shirt emblazoned with Care Bears that said “Free Hugs” and pink pants that Zhalen threw at me to wear on our way out of the hotel.
Properly emasculated, I was ready to party.
At the bar it was hard to believe the number of players from other teams who introduced themselves to me and asked who I was because they didn’t recognize me. They wanted to know why I was in China, how long I was staying, where I was from and what experience I had playing. I had people offer to show me around their country if I visited, or come play with their team sometime and even one person I talked to had attended my university.
Then I met Sandy from the Beijing ‘B’ team, who insisted since it was my only weekend in Shanghai I needed to see at least some of the city. She was nice enough to take me outside to The Bund walkway along the river at 10:00 at night. I was a six-foot American on one of the busiest streets in Shanghai, dressed entirely in an obnoxious pink ensemble. I was not inconspicuous.
Many people stared at us, a few asked Sandy (a native Chinese speaker) where I was from and what “Free Hugs” meant. I felt awkward and occasionally like escaping, but the view of the lighted street was incredible and the people were amiable and good natured about the all-pink spectacle. More importantly, I didn’t know how to get back to the bar.
I survived the ordeal unscathed and with another memorable experience from the weekend. It was another memory for me to tuck away that I otherwise would have missed had it not been for Ultimate.
The Asian Ultimate scene was described to me as a “transient” community. Although some players stay in one city for many years working for a school or a corporation, most only spend a year or two before they are gone to somewhere else. I still find it amazing how closely a group of people can come together through a sport. In Shanghai, Ultimate Frisbee transcended countries, genders and cultures. My team didn’t win the tournament (Shanghai did against Korea), but I could not have had a better time or a better experience.
It’s rare to be able to travel to a foreign place and meet so many different people who share something similar and special to you. Luckily, Ultimate has become an international culture where players can find their compatriots wherever they go.*
Anyone looking for information on how or where to play Ultimate Frisbee in China can visit these websites: http://www.beijingultimate.com/, http://www.shanghaiultimate.com/, http://portal.hkupa.com/.
Weekend in Shanghai Ultimate
I was exhausted.
It was the deciding point of the semi-finals against Korea and they only needed one more score to finish us off. I had been chasing their all-tournament team member up and down the field the last two points, but it felt like hours to me. I knew the pressure well--a big game, top-notch opponent--I had been in similar situations in the States during College Regionals and Nationals. But this time I was in China, with 20 people I had met only two days earlier relying on me to shut my man down.
My guard slipped just for a second and he flashed up the sideline. Bam! Score. Game over.
After three days in Beijing on my first visit to China, I had left my fellow students for Shanghai. My professor described our trip to Beijing as a way to learn about Chinese life and culture, so I wanted to learn how parts of my culture interacted directly with Chinese culture—I wanted to play Ultimate Frisbee.
A week before I arrived, I decided find out if there was a team in Beijing I could practice with while I was there. It turned out there was a team, Big Brother, and they would be travelling to Shanghai the first weekend I was in the country. I exchanged a flurry of emails in the short time before I left from America to get a flight to Shanghai from Beijing, a hotel room and a spot on the team arranged. Thankfully, Michelle and Zhalen from Big Brother worked quickly to arrange everything with me, even though we had never officially met.
Back home, nearly every university has an ultimate team and there are numerous teams across America and Canada that include more experienced players and a very high level of competition. I have played four years at my university, where we have qualified twice for College Nationals. There is a great sense of community and personality between players. Although differences exist in jobs and studies, Ultimate players share a fun-loving bond of athleticism and sportsmanship in a sport with much less coverage than basketball or football.
I found very quickly from students in Beijing that most Chinese people are not familiar with Frisbee (fei pan) or at least not with the game of Ultimate. The game was started in America and combines a combination of skills and strategies from games like soccer, football, basketball and
hockey. What makes Ultimate Frisbee unique among many sports though, is that spirit of play (sportsmanship) is respected above all other things. It is a non-contact sport with many rules, but there are no referees to make calls, all players make their own foul calls and resolve their own disputes.My team’s tournament had ended with that point, but I never felt like I let them down. I was only passing through for one tournament, but the team included me in all respects. They welcomed me immediately, as each player made an effort to get to know me and make me feel like part of the team.
Most of the players were from America or Canada, but there were many from other parts of China and Asia. I discovered that everyone had found the game a different way in Asia. Some played in America, like one of Beijing’s captains, Zhalen. And others like Michelle started playing nine years ago after she arrived in Beijing.
“A friend introduced me to it,” she said. “I had never heard of the game before and I found out it’s not just passing the disc, it’s a structured game.”
Zhalen said he’s, “always chattin’ to people about ultimate. It spreads through word-of-mouth.”
In my case, I searched for an internet site and was lucky to find such great team-mates in Beijing.
Like any good ultimate tournament I had been to, Shanghai featured a party the night after the first day of games. Each team was to dress in a certain theme and Zhalen chose the colour pink to be ours. I was outfitted with a bright pink t-shirt emblazoned with Care Bears that said “Free Hugs” and pink pants that Zhalen threw at me to wear on our way out of the hotel.
Properly emasculated, I was ready to party.
At the bar it was hard to believe the number of players from other teams who introduced themselves to me and asked who I was because they didn’t recognize me. They wanted to know why I was in China, how long I was staying, where I was from and what experience I had playing. I had people offer to show me around their country if I visited, or come play with their team sometime and even one person I talked to had attended my university.
Then I met Sandy from the Beijing ‘B’ team, who insisted since it was my only weekend in Shanghai I needed to see at least some of the city. She was nice enough to take me outside to The Bund walkway along the river at 10:00 at night. I was a six-foot American on one of the busiest streets in Shanghai, dressed entirely in an obnoxious pink ensemble. I was not inconspicuous.
Many people stared at us, a few asked Sandy (a native Chinese speaker) where I was from and what “Free Hugs” meant. I felt awkward and occasionally like escaping, but the view of the lighted street was incredible and the people were amiable and good natured about the all-pink spectacle. More importantly, I didn’t know how to get back to the bar.
I survived the ordeal unscathed and with another memorable experience from the weekend. It was another memory for me to tuck away that I otherwise would have missed had it not been for Ultimate.
The Asian Ultimate scene was described to me as a “transient” community. Although some players stay in one city for many years working for a school or a corporation, most only spend a year or two before they are gone to somewhere else. I still find it amazing how closely a group of people can come together through a sport. In Shanghai, Ultimate Frisbee transcended countries, genders and cultures. My team didn’t win the tournament (Shanghai did against Korea), but I could not have had a better time or a better experience.
It’s rare to be able to travel to a foreign place and meet so many different people who share something similar and special to you. Luckily, Ultimate has become an international culture where players can find their compatriots wherever they go.*
Anyone looking for information on how or where to play Ultimate Frisbee in China can visit these websites: http://www.beijingultimate.com/, http://www.shanghaiultimate.com/, http://portal.hkupa.com/.
China: the first two days
Tuesday, June 7, 2005
It has been a slightly inauspicious start to the trip thus far. We spent an extra two hours in O’Hare Airport after our flight was continually delayed, but finally we left the ground at two o’ clock CST. Thirteen hours, four movies and three unattended children later, we arrived at the Beijing Airport, 11 students and one chaperone in tow.
We took a small transit/taxi bus to our hotel/hostel/boarding room and were given a half hour to roam about outside while Judy took care of some bureaucratic business. Almost immediately after leaving, Jeff, Eric and I were accosted by a woman with a baby at a nearby park. She tried to lead us off behind a person-sized boulder and in hurried Chinese tried to hustle DVDs she pulled out from underneath the baby’s blanket. We scurried quickly trying to be polite about refusing as she hollered at us for another 100 feet or so.
The accommodations are decent here. Our room is a triple with three single beds, a TV, a fridge and a little patio with a couple of chairs. The only serious drawback was our shower which was missing an important component allowing it to actually function as a shower. It took four service people, Judy and her student friend to get a pair of pliers so they could cobble it back together enough to spray water out of the shower head. We were informed later by another student of Judy’s that it was all-too common to require three times as many people as needed for a simple job. For example, it took three to tell us the price of a power plug converter, write the receipt and then take our cash.
Our first dinner was an experience in itself as well. Nearly everyone looked dazed or frightened or a combination of both. The culture shock of immersion in Beijing combined with sleep deprivation and unconventional food may have brought most of the group to their breaking point. It took 15 minutes for our waitress and Judy’s student Yeng to decide on a dinner menu, which eventually included a banana dish, snap peas, tofu, eggplant and a whole fish. I was told to simply dig into the fish and grab a few pieces with my chopsticks, but eventually had to be shown how to separate the meat from the spine/head/tail. It looked far more interesting than it tasted, but an experience nonetheless. We also sampled some Chinese beers for the first time. Jeddin and I tried the local Beijing brew [name escapes me…] while everyone else had the Qingdao.
Grocery shopping followed, nothing exciting there, although everything was ridiculously cheap. Wine is about $3US with the nicest bottles at maybe $10. Good night for now, two hours sleep in the last 48. Rock.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
An early 8:00 start was the greeting for our day. Some group members had been awake for several hours already, while others looked to have already been suffering from the confusion and exhaustion of jet lag.
We met a group of female students from the University of International Business and Economics (the school where we’re staying) in a classroom close to our rooms. The students introduced themselves with their respective English names. Some of the names were given to them by professors early in their English learning careers (Elaine, Helen) based on the similarity to the pronunciation of the Chinese names. Others chose their own names based on how they sounded (Crystal), their fondness of a movie character (Dory, from Finding Nemo), or their simplicity compared the Chinese (Emma).
Everyone separated and split into smaller groups that would be together for touring Beijing on Saturday. My group consisted of me and three Chinese students: Emma, Elaine and Helen. All of them were incredibly cordial and sweet and had a good grasp of English, although their pronunciation failed at some points (“Friends” sounds like “France” and so forth). It was slightly uncomfortable to be in a group of Chinese speakers when I didn’t know the language. They continually would say something to me in English and then whisper or quip something at one another in Chinese knowing I was completely oblivious to its meaning. I’m grateful I know the Chinese that I do at this point, however. Even the miniscule amount I picked up in eight weeks has proven helpful from hello (Ni Hao), goodbye (Zaijian) and thank you (xie xie).
Another quick interesting note; they must be taught that pointing is impolite in American culture, as Helen seemed to catch herself multiple times pointing at me when asking a question, and if not, Emma would stop her if she did. I couldn’t have cared either way, but somebody must have told them it was important.
Then to the Olympic Media center, which was in an upscale hotel a cab ride away from our “joint” as Judy calls it, since we can’t decide if it’s a hostel or a hotel. It ended up as two cab rides for some. The first cab to leave was given slightly skewed directions and ended up somewhere else than the rest of us. The car full of girls was AWOL when we arrived at the hotel and it was a half hour later before they called Judy and she could give directions to the correct address. Nobody was harmed and we learned an important lesson about what to do should that situation arise again (which it did).
What they missed, though, were some clips and videos about the 2008 Olympic Games. We watched three videos about the upcoming event. The first was a broadcast by CNN about China hosting the games featuring Wang Wei from the Bejing Olympic Committee (BOCOG). He was interviewed about how China was preparing for the games, to prepare the cities and meet its contractual obligations for hosting, and what behavior they expected from their own athletes. Wang was very composed and diplomatic when giving answers, always responding with the politically minded and uncontroversial answer about fair play and sportsmanship and success for all nations.
The second video was directed by famous Chinese director Johnny Mo. It was an all out production of cinematography about the formation of the Olympic logo and the meaning behind it. It was all done visually, with only ambient Chinese music playing in the background, no words. Afterwards I felt inspired to compete in some sort of athletic competition, to visit the games in China and to get myself accredited as a journalist here to work them. I think the film did its job.
The last of the three was the video shown to the International Olympic Committee about the progress Beijing has made in its preparations for 2008 and what more to expect. Beijing is working diligently to honor the environmental and structural commitments made in their 2001 bid.
Press Coordinator, Chen Ping, showed us a model of what the Olympic Park will look like. The model was about 8 feet long, representing 10 km of distance and prominently featuring the Olympic Stadium (Bird’s Nest) and the swimming facility (Water Que), which features a translucent membrane covering the entire building that lets in natural light without affecting change in pool temperature and is also self-cleaning. From the way Chen described it, it would be worth coming to the games just to see the building.
That night we traveled to an eastern suburb and the Beijing Broadcasting College. We were greeted by 11 broadcasting students who paired up with us and led us around their campus. George, a 6’3” Mongolian student grabbed me first out of the other students, I think because of our similar heights. He spoke excellent English for a freshman student. We were taken to a running track with a large field in the middle where some students were playing football. George then asked if I played ping-pong and brought Eric and me down under the bleachers into a ping-pong room to play a little. I’m not terrible at ping-pong, but George definitely made me look like it. I guess it’s hard to compete with anyone at their national sport.
We left ping-pong for the school cafeteria and our host students helped us pick out different dishes to try. I met a female student, Sapphire, here who was paired with Sarah and very excited to meet as many American students as she can. There seems to be a large number of girls who choose their English names on their own based on how they sound, rather than translate. Candy, Cherry, Crystal, Sapphire, Ocean…I can’t help but think it sounds like the Saturday night lineup at a gentlemen’s club in Reno.
After dinner we walked more around campus and I spent some time talking to their group leader [can’t remember her name…], who was quickly joined by a classmate of hers who happened to be walking by, Leona. She had a ton of questions about me and about American students and I spent most of the next two hours talking with her about all kinds of topics. We discussed parents, sports, dating, love at first sight, journalism, and her impressive use of English colloquialisms. I was amused by her expressions like “youngsters” and “social butterfly.” She came to Beijing from Shanghai in order to get away from her parents who she said are too conservative and protective of her, but she understands it’s because they love her so much.
Leona said she wanted to go out at night with me sometime while I’m in Beijing, but apparently because she was disappointed that she had no way to get in contact with me, she gave me one of her two cell phones to use so she can get in contact with me. She also gave me two odd pear/
potato-like fruits, “in case you get hungry.” I have no idea what the connotations of this are in China as far as girl-boy relationships go. She mentioned earlier that traditionally boys and girls meet, then a month later maybe they hold hands, then a month later they might kiss and so forth. She skipped the fruit and cell-phone exchange part. But Leona also conceded that “youngsters” were moving much more quickly now and she liked it. I don’t know what’s up, but I’m fairly certain my girlfriend would not be pleased.
It has been a slightly inauspicious start to the trip thus far. We spent an extra two hours in O’Hare Airport after our flight was continually delayed, but finally we left the ground at two o’ clock CST. Thirteen hours, four movies and three unattended children later, we arrived at the Beijing Airport, 11 students and one chaperone in tow.
We took a small transit/taxi bus to our hotel/hostel/boarding room and were given a half hour to roam about outside while Judy took care of some bureaucratic business. Almost immediately after leaving, Jeff, Eric and I were accosted by a woman with a baby at a nearby park. She tried to lead us off behind a person-sized boulder and in hurried Chinese tried to hustle DVDs she pulled out from underneath the baby’s blanket. We scurried quickly trying to be polite about refusing as she hollered at us for another 100 feet or so.
The accommodations are decent here. Our room is a triple with three single beds, a TV, a fridge and a little patio with a couple of chairs. The only serious drawback was our shower which was missing an important component allowing it to actually function as a shower. It took four service people, Judy and her student friend to get a pair of pliers so they could cobble it back together enough to spray water out of the shower head. We were informed later by another student of Judy’s that it was all-too common to require three times as many people as needed for a simple job. For example, it took three to tell us the price of a power plug converter, write the receipt and then take our cash.
Our first dinner was an experience in itself as well. Nearly everyone looked dazed or frightened or a combination of both. The culture shock of immersion in Beijing combined with sleep deprivation and unconventional food may have brought most of the group to their breaking point. It took 15 minutes for our waitress and Judy’s student Yeng to decide on a dinner menu, which eventually included a banana dish, snap peas, tofu, eggplant and a whole fish. I was told to simply dig into the fish and grab a few pieces with my chopsticks, but eventually had to be shown how to separate the meat from the spine/head/tail. It looked far more interesting than it tasted, but an experience nonetheless. We also sampled some Chinese beers for the first time. Jeddin and I tried the local Beijing brew [name escapes me…] while everyone else had the Qingdao.
Grocery shopping followed, nothing exciting there, although everything was ridiculously cheap. Wine is about $3US with the nicest bottles at maybe $10. Good night for now, two hours sleep in the last 48. Rock.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
An early 8:00 start was the greeting for our day. Some group members had been awake for several hours already, while others looked to have already been suffering from the confusion and exhaustion of jet lag.
We met a group of female students from the University of International Business and Economics (the school where we’re staying) in a classroom close to our rooms. The students introduced themselves with their respective English names. Some of the names were given to them by professors early in their English learning careers (Elaine, Helen) based on the similarity to the pronunciation of the Chinese names. Others chose their own names based on how they sounded (Crystal), their fondness of a movie character (Dory, from Finding Nemo), or their simplicity compared the Chinese (Emma).
Everyone separated and split into smaller groups that would be together for touring Beijing on Saturday. My group consisted of me and three Chinese students: Emma, Elaine and Helen. All of them were incredibly cordial and sweet and had a good grasp of English, although their pronunciation failed at some points (“Friends” sounds like “France” and so forth). It was slightly uncomfortable to be in a group of Chinese speakers when I didn’t know the language. They continually would say something to me in English and then whisper or quip something at one another in Chinese knowing I was completely oblivious to its meaning. I’m grateful I know the Chinese that I do at this point, however. Even the miniscule amount I picked up in eight weeks has proven helpful from hello (Ni Hao), goodbye (Zaijian) and thank you (xie xie).
Another quick interesting note; they must be taught that pointing is impolite in American culture, as Helen seemed to catch herself multiple times pointing at me when asking a question, and if not, Emma would stop her if she did. I couldn’t have cared either way, but somebody must have told them it was important.
Then to the Olympic Media center, which was in an upscale hotel a cab ride away from our “joint” as Judy calls it, since we can’t decide if it’s a hostel or a hotel. It ended up as two cab rides for some. The first cab to leave was given slightly skewed directions and ended up somewhere else than the rest of us. The car full of girls was AWOL when we arrived at the hotel and it was a half hour later before they called Judy and she could give directions to the correct address. Nobody was harmed and we learned an important lesson about what to do should that situation arise again (which it did).
What they missed, though, were some clips and videos about the 2008 Olympic Games. We watched three videos about the upcoming event. The first was a broadcast by CNN about China hosting the games featuring Wang Wei from the Bejing Olympic Committee (BOCOG). He was interviewed about how China was preparing for the games, to prepare the cities and meet its contractual obligations for hosting, and what behavior they expected from their own athletes. Wang was very composed and diplomatic when giving answers, always responding with the politically minded and uncontroversial answer about fair play and sportsmanship and success for all nations.
The second video was directed by famous Chinese director Johnny Mo. It was an all out production of cinematography about the formation of the Olympic logo and the meaning behind it. It was all done visually, with only ambient Chinese music playing in the background, no words. Afterwards I felt inspired to compete in some sort of athletic competition, to visit the games in China and to get myself accredited as a journalist here to work them. I think the film did its job.
The last of the three was the video shown to the International Olympic Committee about the progress Beijing has made in its preparations for 2008 and what more to expect. Beijing is working diligently to honor the environmental and structural commitments made in their 2001 bid.
Press Coordinator, Chen Ping, showed us a model of what the Olympic Park will look like. The model was about 8 feet long, representing 10 km of distance and prominently featuring the Olympic Stadium (Bird’s Nest) and the swimming facility (Water Que), which features a translucent membrane covering the entire building that lets in natural light without affecting change in pool temperature and is also self-cleaning. From the way Chen described it, it would be worth coming to the games just to see the building.
That night we traveled to an eastern suburb and the Beijing Broadcasting College. We were greeted by 11 broadcasting students who paired up with us and led us around their campus. George, a 6’3” Mongolian student grabbed me first out of the other students, I think because of our similar heights. He spoke excellent English for a freshman student. We were taken to a running track with a large field in the middle where some students were playing football. George then asked if I played ping-pong and brought Eric and me down under the bleachers into a ping-pong room to play a little. I’m not terrible at ping-pong, but George definitely made me look like it. I guess it’s hard to compete with anyone at their national sport.
We left ping-pong for the school cafeteria and our host students helped us pick out different dishes to try. I met a female student, Sapphire, here who was paired with Sarah and very excited to meet as many American students as she can. There seems to be a large number of girls who choose their English names on their own based on how they sound, rather than translate. Candy, Cherry, Crystal, Sapphire, Ocean…I can’t help but think it sounds like the Saturday night lineup at a gentlemen’s club in Reno.
After dinner we walked more around campus and I spent some time talking to their group leader [can’t remember her name…], who was quickly joined by a classmate of hers who happened to be walking by, Leona. She had a ton of questions about me and about American students and I spent most of the next two hours talking with her about all kinds of topics. We discussed parents, sports, dating, love at first sight, journalism, and her impressive use of English colloquialisms. I was amused by her expressions like “youngsters” and “social butterfly.” She came to Beijing from Shanghai in order to get away from her parents who she said are too conservative and protective of her, but she understands it’s because they love her so much.
Leona said she wanted to go out at night with me sometime while I’m in Beijing, but apparently because she was disappointed that she had no way to get in contact with me, she gave me one of her two cell phones to use so she can get in contact with me. She also gave me two odd pear/
potato-like fruits, “in case you get hungry.” I have no idea what the connotations of this are in China as far as girl-boy relationships go. She mentioned earlier that traditionally boys and girls meet, then a month later maybe they hold hands, then a month later they might kiss and so forth. She skipped the fruit and cell-phone exchange part. But Leona also conceded that “youngsters” were moving much more quickly now and she liked it. I don’t know what’s up, but I’m fairly certain my girlfriend would not be pleased.
4.18.2006
an introduction of sorts
Where is the line in the sand drawn between pessimism and optimism? Is it irrational to assume the best, that the universe is a sea of dark matter and silver linings? Or is it a life entrenched in meloncholy to expect the worst and be surprised by those sprinkled moments of unexpected ecstasy?
Rather, the truth most likely lies somewhere in between. That's where you'll find me: standing on that line cursing the sand in my shoes and basking in the open air.
"Trust in Allah, but tie your camel."--Arabian proverb
Rather, the truth most likely lies somewhere in between. That's where you'll find me: standing on that line cursing the sand in my shoes and basking in the open air.
because there are roaches in the basement
Few things in life can illicit both praise and scolding. Photographing an F2 tornado from 2 blocks away is one of them.
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