Chris In China

Any Westerner living in China can tell you about them, about their persistence, about how they can be slightly unnerving and about how they can sometimes be indispensable to a happy existence. And riding through the streets of any city — big or small — reveals a multitude of them making their presence known with a chorus of "helllooos" as you pass. Their accents are thick and their opening dialogues are predictable: "Nice-eh to meeet you! Do you know Yao Ming?"
Occasionally, you find a diamond in the rough.

The past two decades of development in China has produced more English-speaking Chinese people than ever before. According to reports, there are currently more people learning English in China that the entire population of the United States. As a result, everyone knows how to say hello, and most everyone with even the slightest English ability wants to be friends.
At first, I thought, "This is great! Everyone is so friendly and willing to be my friend." But days and weeks passed, and sooner than later I felt like the calls were beginning to mock me. The individual who usually says something does so a few moments too late, as I am passing, and I am unable to understand why. Did the person have to take a moment to get over the initial shock of seeing a foreigner before searching his or her memory for the right word; or was it a rabble-rouser waiting until I pass to say hello, so that I would have to turn around and look back? Was this person just trying to annoy me and cause a possible head-on collision with the next unyielding light post?
Probably not.
But, when I’m inundated by requests for my phone number from people who want to be my friend solely based on me being foreign, I can’t help but feel a little cynical. So, I began to adopt a dubiety when being asked to be someone’s friend, and although this may seem a little haughty, I think it has helped cut down the quantity of friends I have while raising the quality of the friends I have.
This weekend, I am traveling with two friends to Xian, home of the famous Terracotta Warriors. One of my friends is Sarah, an American who also went to MCLA, and the other is Gao Yusi, a Chinese man whose English is nearly perfect. He’s got a real knack for languages; including Chinese and English, Yusi is also fluent in Russian.
I am looking forward to this trip for many reasons. I am excited to travel, as usual, to see the sights of Xian and to sample different foods of China, but most importantly, I am excited to spend time with these two friends.
Yusi, also known as "Noodles," is from Baoding and just graduated from Hebei University with a degree in English (he also spent two years in Siberia). His passionate interest in music, literature and language, along with his seemingly endless tact and patience, set him apart from most people I know. He is a likable 22-year-old, slender, with short dark hair. He wears glasses and when he smiles tiny crow’s feet wrinkles reveal a maturity and wisdom that most people in their early 20s do not demonstrate. Yusi has seen a little more of the world than many Chinese, and this has nurtured his desire to travel beyond the Great Wall.
I like Yusi because we can talk about music, culture, politics and other things that Chinese people shouldn’t talk to foreigners about. He possesses the worldly knowledge of an educated man, and his enthusiasm for learning, encouraged by his middle-class parents, is unwavering. Yusi will probably attend graduate school in the States. He has his sights set on Harvard, but I’m trying to convince him to check out Williams or MCLA.
Another close friend is my Chinese tutor Lu Cong Liang, but I call her Sunny. I met her on the tennis courts one day as she throttled backhand after backhand past me. She usually lets her wavy dark hair down during the day when she studies Human Resource Management and during our Chinese classes, but while she is hitting little green felt balls, it is tied in a ponytail. We struck up a quick friendship that has lead to many evenings of frustration as I butcher her native language with my awful American accent. She’s got a great spirit about it, though, and seems to enjoy the time we spend studying and talking about China.
Sunny is a pretty 24-year-old from a tiny village south of the provincial capital of Shijiazhuang, where her parents farm corn and wheat. She returns home only twice a semester, despite being only two and a half hours away; in October, she went home to help with the corn harvest; she also went home at the beginning of December for her sister’s wedding.
Family is obviously important to Sunny, and I admire her dedication to school while the rest of her family is working and raising families of their own. Sunny is the only one of her siblings to go to college, and it is evident that she views this commitment with honor and only wants to make everyone else happy.
Yusi and Sunny should be very proud of themselves; they are both amazing individuals full of kindness, intelligence and patience. They have become my friends not because I’m a foreigner, but because I am a fellow human. They have taken on the burden of dealing with my cultural blunders and with my inability to communicate in Chinese with a great deal of humor.
There are also a handful of others that I have become friends with, so many that I could write many books about each one. All of them help me appreciate the importance of having quality friends, especially in a foreign land. I am one lucky waiguoren helping to bridge the gap between China and America. And thanks to my friends, that gap continues to shrink as time passes.

Chris Gauthier is a recent Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts graduate who is spending a year in China teaching English at Hebei University. He is writing regular columns for The Advocate during his stay in China. To read all of his Advocate columns, visit blogtheberkshires.com. Readers can also read more about his experiences on his own blog at chrisinchina.wordpress.com.

Posted by Rebecca Dravis at 10:59 AM | Permalink

I feel like I should offer a counterbalance to my last column, which highlighted some of the more nauseating incidents that happen around me. This column will strive to shed some light on some of the more pleasurable parts of my daily life.
I am well settled into a social network that extends beyond my coworkers and students, and I have fallen in step with the routine of cold coal dust mornings, back alley noodle-shop lunches and dazzling four o’clock sunsets. The sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures of every day, although sometimes repulsive, are uniquely Chinese, and for that they are wonderful. Each day finds me learning from the experience of the day before, like a 24-hour cultural education that even infiltrates my dreams.
In short, I am no longer on a trip to China — I am living in China. The change has been gradual, but noticeable. Right now, this is what I am doing, and I like it.

Mondays are my favorite; sometimes I sleep until 10, have a guang bing for breakfast, return to my apartment and spend the rest of the day reading, writing and preparing lessons for my classes. I don’t even have to shower.
This Monday has been the best so far. Snow fell Sunday night, and it was the first snow I’ve seen in Baoding. I awoke to a white blanket dotted with dark tufts of grass poking through it covering the campus. Downstairs, in the building manager’s office, a heavy package from my mother, who lives in Georgia, waited patiently for me to receive it. I brought it to my room, tore it open and found gift-wrapped items with “From Santa” tags on them. It was a perfect way to welcome the Christmas season in China. But I couldn’t wait until Christmas Day to open the presents. My bedroom is still littered with orange and green wrapping paper and packing popcorn. (Thanks, Mom!)
Aside from this welcome break in the normal schedule, Mondays have typically been the same, just like the rest of my week.
From Tuesday through Friday, I have class on the new campus of Hebei University. I do not teach many classes, only four per week, but every day, I must spend time preparing and correcting vocabulary quizzes and editing student compositions. It’s not quite a full-time job, but it keeps me reasonably occupied. The students tend to do very well on my vocabulary quizzes; this week’s words included “condone,” “anecdote” and “fortuitous.” And I always ask them to read their compositions aloud during class. One student, who recently won a speech competition, always stands out as being unique and funny. He even makes fun of himself: “Nobody wants to see a boy with his eyebrows connected together saying a speech, but I must do it to improve my English and win the prize.”
I like my job.
The new campus is located 15 minutes (by bus) from where I live on the old campus. The university provides transportation for all the teachers who must travel between the two campuses.
The normal bus schedule is posted in Chinese, but when the bus started coming 10 minutes earlier for no immediately apparent reason, I was perplexed. I missed it a few times, but I adapted by biking — instead of walking — the 100-meter distance from the bike lot behind my building to the bus stop. Otherwise, I have to grab a taxi, which does not take long, but it is hard for me to justify spending 10 Yuan, even if that is only a dollar and a half.
This is not only a glimpse into my daily life, but also into the lives of many of my coworkers. Here, a major difference between the United States and China emerges.
Back home, I lived in an apartment on East Main Street in North Adams. I worked a few blocks away, went to school down the street and came home to roommates and neighbors that had little to do with my daily life. North Adams is small, so I would inevitably run into neighbors during certain parts of my day, but it was not a normal occurrence. In China, the people I work with are also the people I live next to, the people I share rides with and even the people I see at the same stores. I see Teacher Li in the mornings, Teacher Hou in the campus restaurant and Mr. Kim on the fourth floor of my building.
Behind my building stands another just as tall full of my coworkers and their families. To the east there is a large rubberized running track and sports field permeated with weeds. The complex is bordered by five-story brick apartment buildings that house employees of the college.
We are all part of the same danwei. There is no literal translation for the word, but an approximation would be “work corps.”
It is a relatively new term too. When the Communists took over in 1949, they introduced the danwei system as a new way to organize the people for the benefit of the nation. That collective mindset has continued through the population explosion of the 1950s and ’60s until today. This marks another difference between China and America. Where Americans value the individual and his or her ability to persevere through difficulty, for the Chinese, the individual is looked upon as selfish and much more emphasis is placed on the success of the community in a “we’re all in the together” mentality.
It is apparent within my danwei, but this is changing rapidly across the middle classes in China. Each day there are more cars on the road, bigger apartments being built and more things to buy. The danwei system is in danger of being phased out.
It seems that the new open market continues to encourage individuals in making money, getting rich, and living fat and happy.
It sounds familiar.
I like the way things are right now. I like my routine, I like my life and I like my part in this society. I feel like I am very lucky to experience these aspects of China.
Is it possible to feel nostalgic for something that has not yet past?

Chris Gauthier is a recent Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts graduate who is spending a year in China teaching English at Hebei University. He is writing regular columns for The Advocate during his stay in China. To read all of his Advocate columns, visit blogtheberkshires.com. Readers can also read more about his experiences on his own blog at chrisinchina.wordpress.com.

Posted by Rebecca Dravis at 10:20 AM | Permalink