a letter to Frank, first night in Zhuzhou, Sep. 29, 2003, in response to, "how's China, Dan?"
Frank,
Dusty. That's how China is. Everywhere I go it seems the town has been destroyed by war or revolution and is starting over. Buildings are being toppled and re-built daily, although no road graders or skidloaders -- instead, dumptruck after dumptruck filled with topless dudes, all smoking, wielding picks and axes and sledgehammers, taxiing from one scene of destruction to the next, swerving in between the endless squadrons of kamikaze mini-bikers, kids on bikes, loose dogs, chickens, naked babies, old ladies and taxicabs. Even the highway from Changsha, Hunan's capital, to Zhuzhou is under construction, and thus impassable. So, we opted for the road through the countryside, which is also under construction and about as smooth -- and wide -- as the McCarthy Road in Alaska. That felt almost dangerous, scraping by dumptrucks, narrowly missing old ladies and never once slowing down, while swerving in and out of endless obstacles on a road fit for passage of two cars, exactly, mirrors scraping, and bumpety-bump-bump through potholes the whole way. At one point, my waiban said, "So sorry, traffic jam." This caused by the telephone pole snapping in half in the middle of some village just ahead, with live wires down and cars and mini-bikes racing to get around it, not a care about getting juiced by the downed wires, about ten feet away. Our guy steered the taxi basically into a storefront, sending patrons fleeing, slowing only a bit, and we kept cruising.
That will be my journey every Wednesday. Check out this schedule: teach all day in Zhuzhou Monday and Friday, teach all day in Changsha Wednesday, Tuesday and Thursday freakin free! And, I write this from my third-floor penthouse sa-weet, which is four rooms and overlooks this massive garden plot, which turns into a ginormous tree-covered hill in the distance. Despite the absolute shithole that surrounds it on every side, the campus itself is a sanctuary, with greenery covering every wall and trees freakin everywhere. I guess it is the Garden Campus after all. Birds have their own orchestra outside my window, which is good because I didn't think any birds could exist in this place. As far as I've seen so far, those are the only birds in China.
I spent the past few days at Zhaoqing University visiting Alyssa. She's in the same school that Cathy Frederick taught at, and everyone still raves about Cathy. Seriously. As I'm sure they'll be raving still about Alyssa for years after she's gone. She has a devoted student fan club, and is amazingly proficient at turning elementary conversations into exhilarating, provocative experiences. And she's also incredibly proficient at driving the hardest bargain, in busted Cantonese, with cabbies or waiters. She's there by herself this year, as Maryknoll didn't sponsor ANY new teachers, so her only friends -- and they number in the 100s -- are her students, ex-students and one funky old priest named Larry. He lived in Bolivia for 30 years prior to this and has prostate cancer. He had surgery, the clinical name of which is orchiectomy, or nut-removal, three years ago. He waits, patiently, for his chemo meds to come every month and keep him alive. But he's always smiling and talks endlessly about Bolivia "during the wo-ah." Once a Bostonian, always a Bostonian.
I participated in "free chat" with some of Alyssa's students -- Honey-Dew Melon, Crystal, Panda, Tree and Happy -- last night. God, Chinese girls are 22 going on 12! Actually, it was quite enjoyable for most of the night. They asked me to show them my stories, so I did. Memorable was my attempt to explain my story about the hole-in-one guy, titled "Ace in the Hole." "What do you think 'ace' means in the context of golf?" I asked them. Tree got all giddy and giggly and shot back, "it mean, kick it just one time and, Bingo!" Yes, indeed, I couldn't say it more colorfully myself, Tree. Then, on to fly fishing. "Why not you just put fly on end of line, instead of fake fly?" That from Panda. And then, "Atrial fibrillation." Aunt Tilly in Bismarck may understand the Health Letter, but I was a long time explaining "upper part of heart shake like Jell-o." And off they went to the dictionary to find out what exactly I meant by "Jell-o." Overall, it was a total freakin hoot, and makes me all the more stoked to start classes next week.
It's strange to think I was on planet Saweden just weeks ago, surely many galaxies away from this one. The two could not be more opposite, and I'm glad I'm here instead of there. When dust settles, a year from now, I will look at a place vastly different from the one obscured by all that dust now. This is a developing country, emphasis on developing!
Good night,
Dan
