Finally...

It's time; I'm outta here. See you in 19 days China. I hope your frozen spit decorating the sidewalks has melted by then.

Zaijian!

Anna

A far ra ra rar holiday.

I'm not sure how to spell the Chinese botchery of fa la la la la that occurs on A Christmas Story (you know the scene at the Chinese restaurant), however, I do understand the meaning of the added r (pander, bananar, Chiner) and now, what it means to be in China for the Christmas season.

The P.R.C. is a religious wasteland, that is, it's almost entirely devoid of religion. Sure, there are a few monks, Buddhist temples, but by and large, they're tourist traps and the population as a whole avoids the mess of picking a religion. It's not taboo to talk about, unless you're speaking about the two largest fractions of religion that have a tumultuous past with the government of China. Then, you're questioning the government and you don't want to do that. Those being the Muslim Uighurs of northwestern China and the Buddhist Tibetans.

For these reasons, I expected Christmas to come and go, without a Santa or snowflake to recognize it. China isn't Christian, I would have understood and respected that. In Zhengzhou many times I'm the first non-Chinese person they've met and I'm an oddity they don't get. How would they understand Christmas?

I first noticed it on the first of December, a Santa hat. As I was purchasing my yogurt at Zendo, a mini-market near my apartment where I regularly go, I looked up to pay. Atop the cashier's black hair sat a red velvety hat.

At the time, I thought it had been a unique exception and I believe I acknowledged it with a weird smile. Huh? Since then, however, it's been an explosion of confused yuletide spirit. "Merry Christmas" has popped up on almost every available window store front. On one display, Santa's riding a jet airplane exclaiming, ho, ho, ho. I've seen more than one life-size Santa shaking it. Most of all, large wire Christmas trees have made company with the trash on the street. It's almost frightening, really. I'm not sure if I want to welcome it or curse it. It's not that they have it so wrong, but because they have it almost admittedly right (in the Chinese landscape). I must consent that its my terrible egotistical inclinations that don't want it that way. They can't have Christmas; they don't understand it!

In reality, Christmas in China, even if it is Zhengzhou, shouldn't have shocked me. China has embraced the commercialism of the new world to the upteemth degree. They are pioneers, the creators of it all. The world's factories claim the Chinese countryside. Look at the t-shirt you're wearing, unless you purposely purchased something that was USA made, I think we both would be surprised if "Made in China" wasn't stamped onto its tag.

When I first started teaching, I would ask, "How was your weekend? What did you do?" Every time the answer remained the same, "Shopping." I wasn't sure if it was the limitation of their vocabulary so I would press further, but after several months and many classes, it still hasn't changed. China's economy is booming. You don't have to be in China to know this. However, my relocation has shown me the great depth of what that sentence means. Clothing boutiques swallow up entire blocks in every direction; sometimes I wonder how they survive, but then I see the masses and hear their answers. The Yuan is accelerating in value and while the Chinese have it, they love to spend it by shopping. Exporting a shopping holiday like Christmas is the perfect time to celebrate and exploit that.

Yet, my opinion remains unchanged. Christmas stripped of its core values, family, friends, and yes, Jesus, is a Christmas that I don't want and I hope never seizes the U.S., even as much as I do love the presents.

In China, the magic of the season fades quite quickly. Fa rar rar ra rar.

"I have what you call, KTV fever."

One of my favorite Zhengzhou quotes. 

Refreshment.

"Shanghai is the new America, the new L.A.--the new land of opportunity," Jack, one of the other teachers who joined the same program as me, Go China, Appalachians Abroad, (which is a great falsehood of a lie, clearly, as I'm not from Appalachia, but I digress). He wasn't directly referring to the other 20,000+ Americans sharing the city of Shanghai with him, though it was true; Jack was quoting the Chinese and their realization of China's forthcoming dominance. The Shanghainese, unlike those in Henan province, knew.

I listened as I clutched the hang bars of Shanghai's immaculate and extensive 14 line metro system. I already felt a world apart from the China I thought I was beginning to understand, the agricultural Henan province that still teemed with an alarming amount of people and money. My travel companion of the weekend, Wes, and I knew instantaneously once we exited the train from Zhengzhou; we were in Shanghai. It wasn't the sudden immensity of tall buildings, we still had quite of few of those in Zhengzhou. No, it was the great blanketing of English--what my job was doing to create--it was everywhere, or so it seemed in comparison. And while Shanghai didn't have the cleanest air of the country, in fact, the China Daily recently showed the smog to be at a recording setting high, it did have streets that were undeniably clean. Something else Zhengzhou lacked.

"Here," Jack continued, popping my thoughts, "you can be an English teacher by day and anyone you choose by night."

I imagined the possibilities for a moment, what it all could mean for me. What my experience could have been reversely instead had I applied early and selected Shanghai as my new home. In fact, Jack told me, so L.A. it was he had already auditioned for a small role in a movie. He didn't have to be good, he continued. I knew, face. Even Shanghai still revolved around the foreign face, for now. At the young age of 22 and a recent graduate just like me, Jack already had a Chinese business card. He wanted to be a part of China's next wave.

It was weird, but as I listened to this and more Shanghai talk, I felt more out of touch and out of place. As I savored the familiar food at an American chain restaurant based in Iowa's neighboring, Chicago, Illinois, called Morton's, with Wes' visiting grandparents, the feeling continued. As we talked about country club arguments and college basketball, neither of which I had any strong opinions about, the itch persisted. As I danced for hours to American imported club songs with some of our Shanghai acquaintances, all fellow AAers--Appalachians Abroad, who again, weren't from Appalachia. The nagging remained.

I felt overwhelmed and in shock. Was it possible to get culture shock in the same country? In reality, the truth was, the Shanghai I was experiencing wasn't the China that I had categorized in my mind based from my past 3 1/2 month time here. I was in an American sense of place, which included a dappling of Chinese characteristics. However, I felt if one blinked hard enough (and lived in downtown Pudong), one wouldn't even notice the Chinese nature of it all. Pudong is the financial district of Shanghai; it's new, sparkly and littered with Prada, Gucci and Louis Vuitton. Also calling it home are Shanghai's Pearl Tower and the world's third tallest building, the World Financial Center. I felt as foreign as I ever have here in China. I tossed my head back in an awkward neck extension. I was transfixed by all the imposing tall buildings. I imagined I was in a time machine to the future, even though I knew I was here in the now. Culture shock, in China, oh my Lady Gaga, it was true.

(Yes, that cut off picture is a store for Prada.)

I continued to be perplexed as I tried to respond to the Chinese waiters with a polite xiexie. "You're welcome," most everyone, it seemed, replied back.

I was confused. Where was I?

To no surprise, there is a KFC (in fact, there are more KFCs in China than in the U.S.) and a Starbucks on every corner, or so it seemed, again. However, on Saturday afternoon, I chose to get my caffeine kick from another locale, something more original Shanghai. So instead, I sipped my cafe latte on the top deck of the Signal Tower. It's a historic building from 1907, just like it's called, it used to be a signal tower for the important port town Shanghai used to be during that time. The signal tower is the only one of its kind in the far east that still retains a Spanish style of architecture. Shanghai's old European influence is still very evident today, especially on the Bund, where I was sitting. I opened my English book and relaxed. I had decided to venture the city solo for the day and wanted to unwind with the words of Kurt Vonnegut. Yet, I didn't protest when the man next to me prodded, where are you from? The question a traveler can never avoid.

Though quite older, he too was a traveler and as he later revealed, from Taiwan (or Chinese Taipei as the people of mainland China will tell you officially). Now, however, he lived in Beijing. Before that he had been a Los Angeles resident of 6 years. He knew Iowa, he said. I responded, yes, undoubtedly you've probably driven through it like so many have, but few know or truly understand Iowa.

He did, however, understand the grandness of Shanghai and how different it was from the rest of the country. Even its second largest city and capital to the north, Beijing, was a great contrast. We both knew.

I told him I was here to meet up with some friends, escape from Zhengzhou, and relax in the big city. As he told me, he was there for refreshment. Refreshment from Beijing? Yes, indeed, he said.

I continued to ignore Vonnegut and listened to Edward, as he told me his English name was, regale me with tales of how he thought China had changed, just in the past 10 years. Half a century ago you wouldn't even be able to recognize it now. I nodded, while my emphasis in Asian studies hadn't quite made sense to my Iowa college mates or me, to be frank; back in China, it did. I imagined the Cultural Revolution, the Hundred Flowers Campaign, the Great Leap Forward and all the cultural repercussions of these historical events. Occasionally I still think about the stories some of the older people I pass in the streets have to tell.

Edward chatted with an enthusiasm I couldn't help but catch. Indeed, we were living in an exciting time to be in China.

As he said, I already felt refreshed.

Then the weekend was gone and I was very aware of my position, on a train heading back to Zhengzhou. As we emerged from the train station's exit, we looked at Zhengzhou and its lack of English or pinyin with fresh eyes, "Welcome back to China."

As I take stock now, of my own time thus far in China, I imagine how my life would be different if I was living in Shanghai. I've realized I'm actually quite thankful for where I am. Zhengzhou may be the backwater to Shanghai, but I've actually grown to love it. Maybe. I do know this, when I reflect back on my experience as an English professor, it will have been different and perhaps refreshing in its own sense.

A "Thanksgiving" like no other.

I count myself lucky as one of the few Americans abroad to celebrate Thanksgiving with a glorified day off.

However, HMC wasn't about to just count that as their thanks. Rather, when President Li found out that we already had plans for Thursday afternoon, he felt embarrassed. The digitaries of HMC wanted to personally thank us for our hard work in China. We were soon notified by several emails and a face-to-face chat that we would be having a Thanksgiving feast with Mr. Li and the rest of the gang. The President had created an opening in his busy schedule, just for us.

I was intrigued. What would a Chinese Thanksgiving feast entail? Would the cooks attempt to Americanize their classic Chinese fare?

Perplexed, I sat down to a table of thousand-year-old eggs, green matter and muck. My table, which consisted exclusively of foreign teachers, ate little to none. I like Chinese food, don't get me wrong. I eat it everyday, but these choices were not among my favorites. Instead, we feasted on the Tsingtao beer that was getting passed out like water bottles.

Yet, or perhaps because of the empty stomaches and full beers, the atmosphere was light-hearted and joyous. It was (almost) Thanksgiving and we were free, for a least a few days.

However, I should have known, all Chinese banquets, whether originally American-inspired or not, end with a surprise---the baijiu surprise.

Thanksgiving was no exception.

I looked at Gill, "Oh no, not again."

Gao Wen, our waiban and boss, had a curious bottle of spirits in her hand. It could be only one thing. The Chinese call it a white wine, but by most countries' standards, that's a bold lie. By now, however, I was a China veteran and knew how to deflect. At a table of cheers, I strategized. Take a nip, never down the entire goblet, especially if no one is watching.

I felt a wiggle pulse through my body as I sniffed the potent crystal clear jiu. I still remembered the baijiu burps that remained long after my first banquet with HMC.

As Gao Wen refilled everyone's glasses for round two, Gill and I swished some Sprite in for a slightly enhanced taste. We knew it was questionable and perhaps even traceable with its newly clouded appearance, but it was certainly worth a shot, I reasoned.

Maybe I added too much or more likely, President Li could smell my fear, because as he made his guided way to me for his individual baijiu rounds, he took one look at me and said what I can only imagine to be, I don't think so. I protested to no avail. This, however, only attracted the entire room's attention. As he sniffed it for clarification, Mr. Li knew, this was no baijiu.

"NO!" I tried to wail.

I wouldn't go down without a fight. I detest the white spirit, just as a some Christians abhor alcohol of any form. I persuaded him to take a sip. Then, without a pause, President Li threw the liquor mix directly into my soup bowl and refilled the wine glass. This time it was more than half-full. He nudged me and I knew, I had to drink all of it.

"Happy--you must drink more alcohol--Thanksgiving Day!" he cheered.

I couldn't stop laughing at the hilarity of it all. Seriously, I couldn't. As I tried to force the baijiu down my throat like a big pill, I felt everyone's eyes on me and then the sting of the baijiu smell and taste. Then, moments later, another taste, that of the few contents within my stomach coming back up. My throat burned as I tried to chock it all down. Blllllahhhhh....it felt terrible and my face burned with laughter and contortion. Confused eyes bore down on me and I knew what they were thinking. Ew...I'm pretty sure she's not only laughing anymore. Actually, I know this because Gill told me that's what she was thinking.

As I attempted to sit down, my body gave an uncontrolled wiggle and finally I chocked down the last shallow of baijiu barf.

Never again.

Turkey. Gobble, Gobble.

While the fourth of July may be the nation's holiday, I believe Thanksgiving is what it's all about.

To me, Thanksgiving is America and it's my favorite.

However, I've realized as I've spent the past T-day with friends, not family (last year I was Chile, we had salmon) and soon to be this year's blessing of Thanksgiving (we'll have chicken, again, there is no turkey) that my idea of Thanksgiving is extremely skewed whether I'm in the country or not.

See, for me, it's about the Swedish meatballs, the Red Oak and Bishop Hill.

Still, I was determined to teach my students about the great Thanksgiving, the one where most people relish the great turkey. I made it simple. I excluded details of my own celebrations, i.e. chasing tomtes, yulebuks and drinking lingonberry creme coffee (something most Americans don't really understand either, I get it!).

To my students, however, simple is relative. Just as America is as different as the language that defines it.

I tried to explain "mash" potatoes, but without a dictionary of simple vocabulary at hand, most of my students just looked dazed as if they too understood the spell of a turkey coma, which they didn't either. See, they thought the white outline of food filling the bowl signaled rice.

As an ESL (English as a second language) teacher, suddenly you realize the limits and great expansions of your own language. Why does that word mean that? I've had to question myself on a better way to explain something several times over. Luckily and not so luckily, I have 6 classes and 6 times to attempt my explanations.

"Carrot, you know, it's orange, a vegetable, you eat it here in China."

"Huh?"

Sometimes teaching English as a second language is like a long, never-ending game of charades. Of course, when you are not playing charades, you also find yourself doing all sorts of weird things at the expense of understanding. Like today, I found myself using baby talk to illustrate slang. Why? Only a student in that classroom could explain, but oddly enough to the Chinese mind, it worked, I think. As so, I've also scared some students silly in trying to get them to truly understand the element of surprise; they didn't see it coming-- BOO! I'm sure this has never happened in their Chinese classes and only enhanced their joy, confusion and hopefully--surprise.

Yet when it comes to teaching English abroad, it can be a weird sort of therapy.

Language and your knowledge of it, can either sprout a wall blocking you out of a culture or usher you in to its most intimate circumstances. My Chinese is such that without my student's English striving, I would only be tapping on the window display glass of understanding into the Zhengzhou lifestyle.

However, once the bell rings, it's my time. English is the mode of communication and I can revel in stories about vampires and ghosts (if Halloween is our muse), songs that teach like Bruce Springsteen's Glory Days, episodes of Friends that exemplify the inevitable failures of Thanksgiving, and the like.

It's therapeutic in a world where most girls enjoy gnawing on the talons of chicken feet. I'm still observing that one. Not all interests to human beings are universal.

So, while I can't eat turkey yet again this Thanksgiving (or Swedish meatballs). In China, I can at least hear its name and talk about its grave absence from my new world.

"Hmmm....sounds delircous," my students chime (in their traditional Chinese accent of an added r).

"Yes, yes it is," I assure them. "It's deLICious."

Yet, this also means I can't stop thinking about America and all that I am missing in the holiday season.

So, Happy Thanksgiving to the land of unlimited freedoms and wild turkeys. I'll be thinking about you all week long with chicken cordon bleu and imported apple pie as my Thanksgiving imitators.

We do what we can ;)

"Oh my Lady Gaga."

It's a favorite expression among my students and the greater Zhengzhou population alike. While we were sipping on our mango milkshakes at the Christmas tree (a real & amazing place), we overheard the older man behind us mumble it.

"Oh my lady gaga," indeed.

This was the great inspiration for my Halloween costume.