Dan in La Crosse

On fire

Hunan food is famous throughout China, coated as it is in layers of sizzling red peppers, which turn even eggplant into edible flames. People here are astounded that I can chow such spicy grub. I tell them that I have stomachs to feed, and the hot stuff is all that's on offer. Plus, it's a form of exercise -- I sweat as though I've just run the mile after eating a plate of cabbage.

Most weeknights, around 10:30 p.m., Manabu and I head to the "restaurant row," a street just outside campus lined with brick shack restaurants, with sloped corrugated steel roofs, dirt floors and husband-and-wife teams cooking in front of them. This campus, thankfully, is too far from civilization to have been colonized by chain restaurants or sanitized by health inspectors.

The narrow street is a glutton's paradise. From pre-dawn to post-dusk, an enormous variety of food is available -- name your vegetable, name your meat, name your fish. The food comes from the farm fields and small river tributaries that surround the university, and it's displayed in neat lines. Red bell peppers on a stick are next to cilantro on a stick are next to chicken drums on a stick are next to fish heads on a stick are next to eggplant on a stick are next to bananas on a stick are next to octopi on a stick. Visually, it's sublime. Ogling is the first step.

Then, you order. Some outfits grill your food, cutting little trenches into it, applying oil with a paintbrush and coating it in la jiao (red cayenne pepper). Others fry it in vats of boiling black oil, which can't be quite healthy, taking it out after a few minutes and, of course, submerging it in a bowl of la jiao and sprinkling it with another concoction of spices. Others stir-fry; some cook on a stove-top.

On Monday night, Manabu and I undertook our usual pilgrimmage, made our usual fumbling attempts at ordering in Chinese -- the vendors depend on us for their night's entertainment -- and devoured the night's treats with our usual glee. Manabu got his standard grilled beef on a stick and grilled potatoes on a stick; I ordered deep fried cilantro-, cabbage-, banana- and mushroom-on-a-stick. Then, we both ate a bowl of fried rice.

Immediately upon eating my fare, my stomach voiced its displeasure. Often, my mouth smiles at la jiao while my stomach grimaces, but the fire's usually put out quickly enough, no harm done. On Monday night, however, the food seemed even fierier than usual, and from the first swallow, I could tell something wasn't right. I went to sleep a few hours later with an upset stomach; I awoke Tuesday morning, at 5:24, with an irate stomach. Soon last night's treats became this morning's projectiles, and the loo became my home.

Once I was emptied, completely, a crippling bout of extreme lethargy, compounded by a gnarly headache, took hold of me and rendered me useless for Tuesday and Wednesday. It couldn't be worse timing, as all my nine classes occur on those two days. I canceled all of them. Bummer.

When sick and far away from home, it's easy to feel lonelier than usual, to lament your fate and to miss your mother. I'm allowed no such self-pity. Within minutes of my first call to a student, asking her to inform the others that class was off today, my home became a switchboard. Cell phone rings competed with normal-phone rings competed with doorbell rings as seemingly every freshman English major rushed to my bedside, either in person or in voice, to express sorrow and admonish me to please, please, "have a rest." I couldn't agree more -- all I had the energy to do was lie on my bed and shut my eyes. Even reading was too much work.

Except that rest was hardly possible, given the steady parade of phone calls and visits. One group of students, leaving a dozen oranges, was hardly out the door before the next group arrived, bestowing upon me four cucumbers, which "cool your body and make you better," who were gone five minutes before the next crew arrived with a bowl of bitter-melon soup.

Meanwhile, messages of support were flooding my email Inbox, my cell-out phone was getting confused, as it could hardly keep track of when to vibrate, for a new text message of support, and when to ring, for a new live message of support, and my actual phone's ringer was getting hoarse from overuse. I felt like Ferris Bueller, except that I actually was sick. Class seemed like a breeze compared to this, and I actually considered retracting my offer to cancel class.

In China, even more so than in America, people cannot resist the urge to be my mother. On every holiday of any significance, I am inundated with messages and cards and presents from my students. Every time the weather is going to turn for the worse, a student will call and remind me to dress appropriately. Whenever I travel, my students will accompany me to the train station and actually offer to go with me wherever I'm going, even when it's Shanghai or Beijing. When I tell them it's not necessary, they'll write out, in Chinese, every conceivable phrase I might need to use to a hotel clerk or a cab driver. They cook meals for me. They offer to do my laundry. They pay the bill when we go out to eat.

All of these gestures are deeply touching and point to the immense reverence the Chinese hold both for foreigners and for teachers. I happen to fit both categories, and so I'm twice blessed by their extreme kindness which, like la jiao, can be so intense at times as to seem almost smothering. For both things, though, I can only be thankful -- the Hunan la jiao that fires up my blood and the Hunan people's kindness that warms my soul.

Two Thumbs Erected!

If only I could unlearn English and relearn it again, writing would be so much more fun. Alas, I can live vicariously through my students' prose, another lovely example of which follows below . . .

Dear Daniel:
How are you !
I was in the seventh heaven to known that
you have already recieved my letter which also means I
have mastered how to send a email.
Today is nice, and the fine weather made me
have a desire to write to you.
After several cold rainy days, the sun
finally comes out. The sunshine inspired me doing some
sports. Well, after class, I went straight to play
tennice. I was so excitting and played so hard that I
got very hot and out of breath.
Back to the dormitory, I washed my hair.
Standing in front of the mirror, to my great surprise,
my hair has been so long. No wander my classmates envy
my hair grows so fast that they even can not believe
it. Then, I can not help wandering how time flies .
Looking back to one and a half college life, I have
changed a lot . Not only my hair style(When I was a
freshman, my hair is as short as the boys'. Now I wear
my hair in plait.),but also my habit of life and
study.
As a matter of fact, my hair does not grow
at an extraordinary speed. Just try to think what will
be if you never cut your hair from the cradle to the
grave, it does not mean your hair grows fast, but you
do have a terrible long hair which is the result of
accumulation. Yes, my long hair proves nothing but the
great strength of accumulation. If I keep on
practising reading English eveyday, I can communicate
with you more fluently. If I insist on keeping a diary
everyday, I may have several books of autobiography.
If I take care of my eyes and keep them from being too
tired,I may not have to wear the heavy glasses. If
....
Well, the strength of accumulation has
changed me from normal sight to short sight(wear heavy
glasses), from obesience to rebellion, from shy to
confidence. Studying is a process of accummlation,
habit is the accummulation of life, history is the
accummulation of time. So, if we can make most use of
the strength of accummulation, we can benifit a lot,
change a lot.
You are always paitent with us and kind to
us, encourage us to speak out what we want to say
bravely, then you erect your thumb and say:" very
good." Your praise enhance our confidence to learn, to
say. You did a good job, and the accummulation of your
sedulous working makes you happy, proude. You are
also full of confidence to teach us well, aren't you?
What I say may be nonsence, but until today
I just realized the strengh of accummulation deeply in
my heart .The big discovery made me very happy and
energetic. So my college life is supposed to be very
fruitful and charming.
I am glad to share my discovry with you,
you are also supposed to be very successful and
fruitful in China or in any other places!
Happy eveyday!

More from Mary

I had dinner with Mary and her aunt, who's also 18 and also a first-year student at this university. As always, Mary entertained and made me heartsick that I no longer teach her classes (the university switched my classes this semester). Among the many gems:

"Now, the university has said it is a crime for the man and the woman to walk hand-by-hand. If you are caught doing such a thing, you will be blamed by the leaders. They will write your name down in the history book and you will have that terrible mark on your record forever. Last night, I was walking home with my brother [that means her close friend, not her relative or boyfriend] and I saw the policeman following us closely, looking at us. I told my brother we must part at once."

Re. study hall, which every student is required to attend every night (including Fridays and Sundays!) from 7-9: "I don't think it's so unnecessary to be forced to go there. If we are not forced, we will do something else, like watch the movie or read the novel. You see, we Chinese have no self-control. We do not do things unless we will be forced to do it."

I tried to take a photograph of Mary and her aunt. Mary immediately turned her head away, protesting, refusing to be in the photo. I asked her why. "You know, I am such an ugly girl. To take the photograph only is a reminder that I am so fat and ugly. Please, you must respect my wishes."

GWB and a great white

I tried an activity with my classes that seemed doomed to bomb. It's called "Making connections," and involves giving small groups of students two different, seemingly unrelated photos from a magazine and challenging them to find every conceivable connection between the two.

The photo pairs we used were: GWB and a great white shark; John Kerry and a bunch of green grapes; Albert Einstein and a car tire; a dog jumping for a frisbee and a motocross racer; a blonde, gorgeous Benetton sweater model and a cup of coffee; a cougar in snow and a pair of Columbia-brand shorts.

To my shock and delight, the students devoured this activity with an intensity and passion that they haven't displayed for any of my previous lesson plans. Einstein's mind is always in motion, spinning, just like the car tire; Einstein's theory of relativity, and the invention of the tire, changed human history; the dog jumping for the frisbee and the motocrosser each has four legs (sort of true, if you think about it); the pupils of the model's eyes are the same color as coffee; John Kerry's face looks like a raisin (i.e. a dried grape); the Columbia shorts were all that's left of the cougar's latest victim.

Drawing by far the most spirited response, of course, was GWB and the shark. Here's one group's (all shy, respectful first-year girls) list:
1) cruel
2) both like swimming
3) both are dictators
4) both powerful
5) both fearful
6) both white
7) big nose
8) sly
9) both have a cruel partner
10) both a little fat
11) both hurt others
12) meat eaters
13) both ugly
14) nimble
15) both have children
16) active
17) brave
18) going fast
19) smart
20) both animals

In my night class on Tuesday, a boy in the front row, who's ordinarily quite active but not outspoken, and always respectful, rose excitedly and started laying in to me: "How can you elect such a killer? How can you look in the eyes of a crying mother who's lost her son? How can you see a girl who lost her father? How can you destroy civilizations with your bombs? If that vicious man ever attacks the mainland, I want to tell you, I will stand and fight to the death for my country!"

We were both standing, our faces inches apart, close enough that I absorbed a healthy shower of his venomous saliva. His classmates were laughing loudly during his rant, which I've come to know is more out of discomfort than glee. Still, the laughter added to my feeling of isolation.

Through it all, I stood silently and listened. He obviously was not to be reasoned with, and I have no great defense for many of my country's recent actions, and no defense whatsoever for our current leader.

At the end of it, when he was red in the face and seemed eager to go on but almost too exhausted to do so, there was a pregnant pause, which I broke by saying, "But what about the shark?" The class broke into earth-shattering laughter.

In a strange way, the episode stands as a real breakthrough in my teaching career. If only I could stir the passions of my students so deeply every class, life would be a whole lot more interesting. Chinese students, despite all their great qualities, are painfully shy and agonizingly polite. Both qualities inhibit their English studies, for the only way to learn a language well is to gab incessantly in it, making mistakes like it's your job to do so, mimicking a three-year-old.

And here this kid was, breaking all the rules, giving a blunt piece of his angry mind straight to the foreign teacher, who's supposed to be Mr. Untouchable, saying whatever came to his mind in whatever form it burst forth from his lips, all in clear, crisp English, without pause, without apology, about the topic no one in China is supposed to touch: politics. Such rants should be the norm in college, not the exception, and ranting in your second language has got to garner extra credit, at least in my class.

After class, he sent me this text message on my cell-out phone: "i am your student in speak class. in class i do not talk to you, just about bush. if my talking make you a little sadness, i want to say sorry. i and many classmate like you. because you bring the happyness to us. my china name is [ ]. my english name is dan. could i make a friend with you? have a good dream."

I wrote back, said I wasn't offended and understood his frustration, commended him on his use of English, and complimented him on his English name.

More gems

As the law professor noted in the previous letter, thank the God for email! My students continue to flood my Inbox, and in their letters they reveal so much more of their soul than is possible in speech. The two that follow are from one of my first-year students who's taking my elective oral English class. Again, she's a face in a crowd of 66 students every Tuesday night, but a passionate, lively voice on the screen. We're watching the movie "Billy Elliot" in her class, as she mentions . . .

Daniel:
Hello!
Right now,the first time I use the modern
technique - email to write letters.I thought I would
not use such a thing until I graduate.You give me the
chance, I should thank you!
For me, my English grammer is a disaster.
Making mistakes is a common thing that happens to me.
My poor oral English is my headache too. But I am very
optimistic and full of confidence to learn English
well. Most Friday or Saturday, I go to watch films
which speak English. My passion of learning English
encourage to go to your class. After one class, I an
sure that I made a right and perfect choice , because
on your class I can not only improve my oral English
level, but also learn how to achieve our goal and
fullfill our ambitious dream from your attitude and
passion to life.
I shoud say my purpose of leaning English is
not to pass the CET-4 or get a good job or something
like that, but to communicate with more people, to
learn advanced technique, to enjoy the happiness of
learning.
My major is biology technique, I hope that
one day I can journey to America to develop my study
and contribute all my strength to my country.
I heard that you have a lot of trouble every
day and you love them.I think the rational explanation
about trouble is that trouble means you get things to
do and you can make most of your time. I have no
culture shock problems, but I still have trouble,
sometimes, trouble makes me happy. For example, I love
English but it is not easy to learn, I made lots of
jokes on English writting and speaking, I find the
mistakes are really funny and I can not help laughing.
At the same time, I benefit from it because I will not
make the same mistake for the second time.Trouble
makes up our life , does not it?
I wish you are on your way to do whatever
you want to do . I hope that you can fullfill your
dreams in china. I am sure you can learn chinese well
no matter how hard it is, right?
If you have spare time , please write to me
.I will be very glad.
Best wishes!

Dear Daniel:
How are you!
The weather here is varied which I do not
like at all.You should take care of your self. You
would probably say:" It is alright for me, I will try
my best to adapt." In this circumstance, you are
optimistic, I am the oppsite one. But I am never
pessimistic to my dream. I would like to share one of
my dreams with you that I want to master English not
only on reading but also on speaking. To fullfill my
dream, I try my best not to miss any chance to impove
my English level. You always say Chinese students are
diligent, sure, we are hardworking, are not you? Now,
suffering from culture shock,communication, food and
numerous problems, you are energetic and full of
enthusiasm to overcome all of them. I should say you
are also a number of the diligent family.
I like the movie you showed on the class.
I like Bill's character. He firmly followed the dream
no matter how hard it would be, he never gave up the
faith to live confidently and happily as his mother
said. Billy sets a good example for me. Although talk
to you and express clearly what I want to say is too
hard for me,I should just try to follow the star in my
own heart.
I like watching films very much, such as
Gump.I can benefit a lot from the character in the
movie. And I believe if Gump can do it, I can do it
too. Am I right?
In my opinion, the Americans are good at
expressing themselves especially in public, almost
everyone can give a speech freely on the platform.
Your exaggerate expression and action attracts our
attention every second where is quite different from
Chinese teachers who always keep a distance to us. On
the contrary, you are close to us, like friends, we
can talk freely, just like I can write to you whatever
I want.
Well, I'd better to stop because it is
time to go to class. See you next week.
I wish you happy eveyday!

Letter from a law professor

In addition to being gratingly annoying, she is often insightful and always, always provocative. Read on.

Hi daniel
thank for the God arrange me stay in a era which have the comunicate way named e-mail.Through it I can talk with you,and I needn't worried about that you will see my face turn red,that's so great .I really like to talk with you ,do you know? you induce me to a new world which is so fresh and exciting for me .you give me a kind of special expearance I never have. but how can I do,I found sometimes I 'm in a very embarassment condition when we face to face.i 'm nervouse,and you are easy.that's unfair.because you use the native lauguage,i use the second,you are flunent,and i have so much obstacle,it's a pity,oh,sometime,i love it,because i can learn more.

last time,you told about the independance declaration in the class.that's the fourtune your ancestor left .but do you know ,now ,every country are struggle to escape the controll from the american cultrure.such as the english .macdona,hoolywood.gays.tofle test and all that jazz.you are fourtunate that you have the bequest of the independance of the declaration,but you should know the independance also belongs to other culture who has his own history and charactor.and it is not a goal,it is also a way ,a procedure.


when i open the news channel on tv,i see so much conflict and blood,i think the proud americans should go back and look after himself,the most powerful country should denote more energy for the world peace,but not the idea of their own.every cultrue is equal,but i think americans is too proud now,do you think you are superior because you have more rich,more free and independance life?it's a pity,if you think so,i 'm also proud because we have so long history,so much cultrure resouces,so good relationship among peoples.if we all be proud,we 'll not open and accpet others,if we didn't open,there would be more misunderstandind and hate.no one love it.

because the limitation of the lauguage ,i canot discuss too far,but i really are thinking what's the future ,and so much truth i didn't know,i'm ignorance about the world.so i don't know whether i was right,of couse i say so because the modesty is traditional virtrue.

Second opinion

Q. Ahh, Daniel. I must know- did you write Betsy back?
Gene Stutzman, Bluegill Krik, IA

A. Yep, I wrote Betsy back and told her she needs to be a writer. I thought her letter was deeply, touchingly honest -- she admires my independence but is obviously puzzled by it; she connects this thought to the broader idea of the Chinese people being deeply rooted in home and family, while Westerners have the urge, and the opportunity, to "fly and fly, over moutains;" she misspells artfully (e.g. "moutains," "problom," "wheather"); she writes with such typical Chinese humility and modesty, taking pains to draw attention away from herself; she expresses exuberance freely, whether about her feelings upon my opening her letter ("I would be in the seventh heaven") or about my learning the Chinese language ("You will find her charming"); and she directly states the obvious ("you ultimitely have it made") about those of us who won the lottery and were born into English-speaking countries.

She says so much with so few words, in such a sincere tone, that I can only be inspired. To use her words, it's her basic nature that charms me. Now, I have to figure out who she freakin is! I asked for her to identify herself in my classes last week, but no one would admit to being Betsy.

Email alert

Some messages to and from both my accounts (danieltsimmons@hotmail.com and danieltsimmons2003@yahoo.com) aren't making it through. Perhaps the Commies are putting the e-clamps on me, or there's some snafu with the routing. In any case, my apologies to anyone who's sent me a message and received no response.

In related news, the government recently shut down the two major blog providers in China and stuck 57 or so bloggers in the clink. Apparently they're guilty of thought.

Two Reasons . . .

. . . that Rochester just got much, much cooler:
1) Frank Bendewald, Mayo Surgery resident, starting July
2) Gen Shinozaki ("Crazy Man from Japan"), Mayo Psychiatry resident, starting July

Congrats, fellas!

Great read: http://www.mcgillreport.com/laffairbreast.htm.

It's by a friend of mine, Doug McGill, who writes about his visit to a travel medicine clinic at Mayo prior to his trip to Ethiopia. I had the same experience and felt the same message as he did: go abroad, but be sure to avoid anything and anywhere that may pose the slightest risk to your health or safety. Where you're going, that applies to pretty much everything and everywhere. This way, you can go to a foreign country and avoid the hassle of experiencing the culture.

Before I went to China, doomsayers abounded. Surely, I'll die in China, or catch a terrible disease, or get scammed by my employer, or starve, or get locked in the gulag, or race straight back to America when I see the wretched condition of Chinese toilets.

First, such concerns are disrespectful. Implicitly, they suggest that China, home of 1.3 billion people, is barely habitable, a place best avoided by anyone not forced to live there. What does that stance say about the doomsayers' respect for Chinese people and culture? My philosophy is that, anywhere on earth, a lot of people somehow manage to survive. Why would my odds of survival be any different?

Second, these concerns are cynical. They mock or ignore the one value most essential to human relations: trust. Do I know everything about where I'm going? Am I in control of my situation every day? Of course not. Nor do I want to be. But, I trust my own instincts and, more importantly, I trust the people -- total strangers -- who surround me every day. In every case, in every country I've visited, this trust has been affirmed.

And so, when I'm in America, I do my utmost to return the favor, and affirm this global trust, every time I see a harried traveler looking lost. It's what makes the world go round, and what makes it so absolutely invigorating -- and, indeed, necessary -- about going around the world.

Ronaldo and the beggar

There's a bench in front of the Zhuzhou City McD's, with a life-sized plastic statue of Ronaldo McDonald, flashing a wide grin and with both arms extended out from the shoulders, as if to have his arm around people who sit on either side of him. It's intended as a photo-op for McKids to have their picture taken sitting next to Ronaldo.

Well, often it's not a kid but a Chinese beggar lady, with no teeth and drab, tattered clothes, sitting next to Ronaldo on the bench, with Ronaldo's arm around her. What a delicious scene -- this destitute old villager, resting from another day of begging, completely unaware of the implications of sitting next to shiny happy Ronaldo McDonald. I'd take a photograph, but it just seems too cruel to the poor old woman. The image, though, will never leave my mind.

Good read: http://www.nytimes.com/2004/03/13/business/worldbusiness/13SCRA.html?hp=&pagewanted=all&position=

It's about the insatiable appetite of Chinese steel companies for American scrap metal. What would be buried in an American landfill is instead shipped to China, recycled, and used to manufacture new products, which are then exported, often back to America. I'd be interested to know the process by which scrap metal is recycled into usuable material, and whether recycled metal is of similar quality as the fresh stuff.

In any case, the article talks of how China's massive supply of low-wage workers gives it an advantage in this regard. While Americans don't have workers willing to sort through mountains of rubble, extracting the useful from the useless, the Chinese definitely do.

Everywhere in this culture are signs of this resourcefulness -- every scrap of available dirt is used as soil to grow stuff; every part of the pig, save the squeal, goes into the frying pan.

During the past few weeks, the bus trip from Zhuzhou to Changsha has been particularly thrilling. Along one six-block stretch of road at the southern edge of Changsha, every building has been systematically reduced to rubble. What would probably be no sweat for an American crane is instead a lot of sweat for hundreds of sledgehammer-wielding Chinese men.

At dawn, as the bus rumbles by, they're out, swinging away furiously at the two-story brick buildings, not a hardhat on any of them, or safety goggles, or shirts; at dusk, as we pass again, the same guys are two or three buildings down, still swinging away furiously, as a team of women sort through the piles of rubble the men have left behind. The women stack bricks in one cart, pile steel rebar in another cart, load concrete blocks into another. A bobcat is close behind them, loading scrap into blue dumptrucks.

I'll be interested to see the construction process, once the destruction is complete. Probably, the same workers will use the same materials to rebuild the buildings they spent the past two months systemically destroying. Sisyphus, welcome to Changsha.

Have tissue at the ready

Here's a stunning email I just received from one of my students who, among the hundreds, I've managed not ever to notice.

Hello, Daniel !
I would be in the seventh heaven when you get on line and find this email . But then ,"who is Betsy ?" will be how you greet the first sight of my English name.
I can't either introduce myself as a famous person ,or the one you known well of. I simply to say I am just one of your students of the oral English training this term, a girl who has no noticeable character,or a flrent English.
Daniel ,you known what?It is your basic nature charm me .I already have the urge to talk with you fluently,But my broken English give me a big problom.Indeed your way of thinking ,of living have attracted me so much. The culture of your own courntry is so different from ours , and it ,sometimes ,invites shocks.
You seem to extrodinery to us.Like you like traveling a lot even without
a companient like a bird in the sky which fly and fly ,over a moutain and a moutain.I wonder wheather you feel lonely or missing home sometimes,and how do you overcome,if anything, this passive mood.
This's the different between two nationalities. Chinese most will always miss hometown when in the other province ,miss the motherland when abroad, and miss the earth when in other planet.They, if they can,would rather born in it and died in it.
But you ,fly and fly ,and the English give you the freedom to do what you like .You ultimitely have it made.
There is the very way of your life,I would venture to say, with breath of genuine life, with excitement.That's what I wonder and interested.
I wish that day that I can say a fluent English come earlier.Then,we can talk with other freely.And I have suggest that you should learn the chinese language; it is interesting and worth of learning. I love this language ,not because of being a chiese .You will find her charming .
Now, I think I have to finish the email, maybe it's too long or has no much meaning .However , I wish you like it .
I wait for your answer if it not bring too much trouble to you .
best wish ,
sincere
Betsy

Sock salesman

Scene on the train ride from Changsha to Yueyang last October:

Halfway through the train trip, as I dozed, Manabu poked my arm and woke me up. “Daniel, ohmygod, look here.”

And there was Manabu tugging on one end of a beige men's dress sock, with a hefty sock salesman, dressed in a spiffy brown suit, tugging on the other end. Immersed in this tug-of-war, the sock was three times its normal length. The sock salesman then screamed something in Chinese and, with dramatic flair, and still yanking on the sock, pulled out his lighter.

He lit it, and held the flame against the sock, moving it up and down the sock. Beneath the sock, you could see the lighter; above it, you could see the flame. And the sock didn’t light up! Oohs and ahhs came from the other passengers.

This was followed by numerous other feats of sock strength: the man played tug-of-war with another, very burly passenger, the sock as rope; the man did a pull-up, suspended from the luggage rack by the sock; the man poured water on the sock, and the sock stayed dry; the man rubbed dirt onto the sock, and the sock stayed clean; the man jabbed a knife at the sock, but the sock didn’t puncture. I half expected the man to put a sock on either arm and fly away. Then, I would have forked over 10 yuan for a pair.

As it was, the man nearly emptied his cart -- the train was standing-room-only, packed with Chinese people. They fought over the right to purchase a pair of the indestructable foot covers. I suppose it's a bargain for the only pair of socks a person will ever need. No washing or changing required. Walk without fear through a campfire. Rappel down mountains. Do pull-ups. All without packing any equipment, save for what you'd wear under your shoes anyway. All this for just a buck twenty-five. Opportunity of a lifetime, squandered.

Dog to Man: Still best friends, or what?

By Da Gou (Big Dog)
Zhuzhou City, Hunan Province

First, let me thank you for some steps you've taken recently to uphold and extend our historic alliance. Perhaps you've not noticed the improved quantity and variety of delicious litter on the roads, but, trust me, we have!

I attribute this development to a few things. Foremost among them, though, is Da Hui Lang's (Big Gray Wolf) -- the waigoren -- refusal to touch some of life's treats. His discards are our treasure: piles of cow liver, sheep brain, peacock neck, carp head and pig's heart are readily available on the streets of Zhuzhou City, thanks largely to him. Among us, he is a popular man, especially immediately following dinner. Hence the papparazzi-like gathering outside the door of whichever restaurant he's in that night.

Regarding that point, we've done our best to keep our troops outside the restaurants, although a few, in their zeal, still wander in while you, humans, are eating.

Now, we appreciate the efforts of some restaurant owners to help with enforcement. Their methods? When one of us snoops too closely to the oil-drum stove on which they're stir-frying, or wanders within sniffing distance of the cow carcasses that hang on hooks beside the State Highway for the Insane, the restaurant owner showers the offending canine with boiling oil from his or her wok. We applaud these brave acts and recognize them for what they are: tough love.

Further, let me reiterate my gratitude for your opposition to the proposed One Puppy Policy. You show amazing selflessness in defending our right to unlimited procreation, given that you, humans, don't enjoy this same right. You continue to point out our undeniable value to your society: friendship, obedience, protection, protein.

We feel that we hold up our end of the bargain, too. You asked that we resist our strong temptation to sink our rabid fangs into the exposed calves of Da Hui Lang as he runs along our roads. Not only have we resisted this temptation, but we've also done our best to bark at him exclusively in English. And he, in turn, has given us a profound education in English vulgarities. We greet him as a friend, doing our best to perfect our barken English, and he responds with phrases that, well, it's a family blog.

Perhaps Da Hui Lang, not being born into this culture, fails to understand the importance of our species. He comes from America, where farmland is plentiful, available food supply far outstrips demand for it, and you humans have the luxury of viewing us, dogs, as best friends, to be petted, adored, taken for walks and given pedicures, but never stir-fried with cauliflower.

We, Chinese dogs, understand the culture into which we're born, and cherish our role as best friends, whether in being tail-wagging companions or tender, juicy meat cubes. In fact, our eventual status in the wok works very much in our favor: you want more and more of us, which encourages us to procreate more and more. As a male dog, I have two words: Aw yeah!

That said, recent actions by you regarding this last point have given rise to our eyebrows and caused our tails to cease wagging. If they were done to elicit a response, here it is.

First, what's with packaging our heads, with fur, eyes, teeth and nose still intact, in the frozen meat department at the grocery store? When my wife was taken away, I recognized the glorious role she was about to play in keeping the pure, virtuous Chinese people well-fed. How else can they protect this great land from Capitalist Roaders, or stand in brave defense of Chairman Mao? To be honest, I wished it was me, not her, who was off to the wok. I trust that, someday, I'll get my chance.

Imagine my horror, then, to see her entire head in a plastic tray, wrapped in transparent cellophane, her unbrushed teeth exposed, her eyes dull and sunken, her thinning hair still attached, her ears flat against her head? While I understand the necessity of her going away, I wish that my memory of her alive, walking proudly and resigned to her fate, would last in my memory. Instead, I'm faced with her post-mortem, still intact. This sight, I must say, was provocative.

A trip through the grocery store revealed the intact head of only one other creature: fish, specifically carp. Pigs' heads? Nope. Cows' heads? Nope. Sheep's heads? Nada. No, among mammals, only we dogs are displayed with fully intact heads, there for family members to view and weep over.

Have you ever read The Oresteia? Neither have I. But, I do know that a pretty massive feud erupts, the resolution of which requires three Greek epics, because one man served another man his children. For supper. Let that be a warning.

Further, you can imagine our horror at the discovery, yesterday, of two of our fallen comrades, inert and with blood dripping from their mouths, in the bed of a Toyota Tacoma. Are we upset that they were slaughtered? Of course not. Were we surprised? No.

We were, however, shaken by the lack of respect given to them. You humans don't face the reality of the butcher's knife. Imagine for a moment if you did. After the fact, would you want your freshly dead body, still dripping blood, to be laid to rest in the bed of a Toyota Tacoma? At the campus gate? For all to see as they wandered by? I didn't think so.

Worse, the freshly killed dogs were stunning because of their symbolism. If you didn't notice, they were close likenesses of one of our heroes, Benji. For us, Benji embodied doghood at its height -- such loyalty, but with an independent streak; such comfort in his own fur; such resourcefulness; such grace. To view the Benji-like colleagues, inert and blood-soaked, was to lose a bit of hope in the values Benji embodied.

Imagine, again, that your life was lived in the constant awareness of the premature death you'd meet. Now, imagine encountering the freshly butchered body of one of your heroes, or of someone who closely resembles one of your heroes, in the bed of a Toyota Tacoma.

All we ask is that, as meat sources, you at least keep us anonymous. Our fate in the wok is glorious; our appearance under cellophane, or in the bed of a Toyota Tacoma, is not.

Attempt to explain China, take 10

A part of a recent letter to a friend of mine in Saweden, who asked about whether I like China:

You asked about my life in China -- I freakin love it! It's impossible to express in words the magic of daily life. I guess I can say that every experience is lived so deeply -- everywhere I go, crowds gather and say things to me, so there's no being anonymous, ever. My every word, action, look, gesture is noticed and commented on.

Everyone I meet wants to be my friend, show me around, teach me Chinese, sell me an octopus, on and on and on. This means that I must constantly respond to situations -- I cannot be passive, I cannot ignore people or problems. No, I must deal directly and immediately with people and problems constantly, in a language I don't know and in a culture I don't quite understand. Is there any better way to learn about myself, about another culture, about humanity in general? I don't think so. Is there any greater adventure? Nope.

My emotions run so strongly, all the time -- I swear more and with more passion here than ever before, but I laugh more and with more vigor than ever before. I've encountered kindness and hospitality among new friends in a more touching way than ever before, but also faced down some of the most crooked, evil bastards I could ever meet. I've seen natural beauty that makes my heart stop, but live among squalor and filth that I didn't know it was possible for human beings to live under.

I guess the true beauty of China lies in its extremes -- so many warm hearts, but so many cold ones; so much beauty, so much squalor; such wealth, such choking poverty; boundless hopes for a better future, backward policies that cripple those hopes. And I think it's luxurious to live as an outsider in this culture -- I get to experience life in all its richness and complexity, but I have a permanent opt-out clause. Unlike the people I live among, I can leave this great adventure anytime, and my actions in it are not constrained, as theirs' are, by fears of my future being ruined.

Every day, as I run through the countryside, with terraced plots of
green farmland stretching forever, and armies of little kids ride by in bikes and scream "hello," and families gather in front of their brick shacks, staring
in wonder at this exotic creature passing by, and a farmer butchers a pig on
a table beside the road, and an old woman sits outside the little brick "medical" shack, her arm attached to an IV, and smiles at me with no teeth, and a blue dumptruck rumbles by, turning my world into dustland, and a pregnant black goat baaahs at me, and a dinosaur-sized ox plows through the sodden field, a peasant with a cone-shaped straw hat pushing him along, I realize how lucky I am to be here, observing the sights and sounds and smells of a beautiful, utterly foreign culture. And I realize my luck in being able to leave it any time I want. And I realize that, each day I'm here, leaving it seems less appealing, even though it's an option.

Ah, my fingers caught giardia and just wouldn't stop spouting. As I said
to begin, it's hard to find words for what I experience every day, but I
do love everything about it.

I best be running now, as the sun is rising and the birds are chirping and
the village is emerging from its sleep.

Second opinion

In response to Carol Olson's question about religious freedom in China:

Great question about religious freedom in China. I've found reasons for hope -- there are at least two active Catholic churches in Zhuzhou City, which is quite a feat for a small town (by Chinese standards) in which less than .5% of residents identify themselves as "Christian." One of the churches, which I attend, is spanking new and atop the highest hill in the city.

The congregants at both churches are almost exclusively older folks, holdovers from pre-Communist days (ie pre-1949), when missionaries were allowed in and active in China. After 1949, missionaries were expelled or imprisoned, atheism was promoted as the official belief of China, and many, many churches were toppled. It's been just in the past decade, I think, that a modicum of religious freedom has returned to China, and public worship has again become part -- albeit a limited part -- of civic life.

There is no greater symbol of hope, in Zhuzhou, than the shining new church on the hill. It symbolizes renewed religious freedom which, inevitably, symbolizes new political freedom. Every aspect of life in China is political, especially religion, so a new feeling of religious freedom can only mean a new feeling of general freedom.

As Chinese history teaches all too clearly, though, that freedom can be quashed at any time by the all-powerful government. For now, though, it's spring all the time in people's minds. Thoughts and expressions of a new freedom are sprouting everywhere, and hope floats through the air as refreshingly as a spring breeze.

For more info, I'll suggest a new book, entitled "Jesus in Beijing." I've not read it, but I'd like to read it soon (an impossibility, of course, since such a book would never grace the shelves in China). In it, the author talks of a coming re-emergence of Christianity in China, on a massive scale. Again, who knows how the government will respond, but for now hopes sprout for a freer tomorrow.

Post-mortem

Thoughts have not wandered far from Monday night's showdown with the noveau-riche, so here are a few of them:

First, I agree with my chief literary critic/mother, who said:
I fear you are losing your English:
"Her female friend and her told me I was handsome, asked if I thought they
were beautiful, I responded that yes, I think they're beautiful, they
complimented me for 'being so honest." Within minutes, the entire office -- six
or seven
other corporate types -- surrounded me. Word spread quickly. Over and over, I
told them I'm from America, I'm a teacher, blah freakin blah blah. The woman
to whom I was supposed to give a lesson fiddled with a computer. I figured,
naively, that she must be loading some sort of English tutorial, and that she
wanted my help with it once loaded."

Second, I realize that I wasn't completely honest. If I was completely honest, I would have said: "I won't drink myself sick with you because I'm not your friend and I don't want to be your friend." In previous situations, I have drank myself beyond my limits, because it's custom and, rightly or wrongly, this behavior symbolizes camaradarie in some circles of Chinese culture. When in the company of people, such as colleagues in the English department, whom I feel are legitimately my friends, I participate, sometimes even enthusiastically.

Monday night, everything was different: these people had no respect for my time, they had the audacity to ask me the most personal of questions without a hint of shame, they showed zero interest in getting to know me beyond the condescending stereotypes they tried to paint me into. So, when Ivan said, over and over, that we're drinking to friendship, I knew that it was a frienship I never felt and never desired to feel. Thus, I won't drink to it, because it would be a lie, to them and to me. I feel better, day by day, about my taking a stand, alone, against a custom I don't agree with that symbolizes a frienship that felt utterly false.

Third, the experience seems almost heaven-sent. My students are in the midst of preparing for a speech contest, with the topic, "What independence means to me." I've struggled mightily with trying to find the right approach for them to deal with this topic. After Monday night, it was clear: tell the story, explain how it was an example of my declaring independence from a social custom I didn't agree with, and from people I found to be a bunch of chumps. Then, I asked the students to think about and write about a time in their life where they declared independence.

My students loved the story to pieces. They generally laughed throughout, and finally applauded when it ended. In one of my sophomore classes, a student asked me, before class began, "what is a yuppy?" She pronounced it like "UP," as in someone who comes from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. "Let me tell you about some yuppies," I said.

In each of my classes, the students fell completely silent for ten minutes after the story, pens marching across pages, eyes downward, trained on the penstrokes. I've never felt more satisfied as a teacher -- I had told a story that had resonated with my students, and, even better, had inspired them to connect the lesson to their own lives. I can't wait to see what they wrote, and to hear their speeches, and I'll give a lot of credit for them to Ivan and his band of yuppy chumps.

What a night

It began at 2 p.m., at McDonald's. As promised, I met a Zhuzhou City woman whom I had first met a few weeks ago. She caught my eye at the Western restaurant, where she cut floor rather soulfully with the chef-hatted Philippinos.

After her dancing display, and then mine, she and her husband invited me over to their table for dinner. They were young -- he's 27, she's 25 -- extremely well-dressed in black sweaters, mannerly and almost completely non-conversant in the English language. Through arm gestures, and over French wine which they paid for, the husband invited me to teach English to the wife, beginning when I return from America. He rubbed his right thumb against his other fingertips. "You teach, we pay," he said. Right on.

Today, at McDonald's, was our first meeting. I had prepared a lesson during the busride from the village, and was worried that the textbook I had chosen would be a bit over her head. Nonetheless, I prepared a lesson, Chapter 1 in the textbook, expecting to have to work extra hard and begin at the absolute beginning.

Well, she arrived and immediately started spouting Chinese sentences at me. I had no clue what she was saying, and said so in Chinese. She kept talking, then started writing her sentences in Chinese characters. I don't understand, I repeated.

Next, I showed her the textbook. She showed virtually no interest, continuing to blather in Chinese, I continuing to be baffled. Her cell phone would ring, she'd answer and talk for five minutes, I would sit there, fuming.

Finally, she communicated through arm gestures that we would go to her office. It was ritzy -- the eighth floor of one of the glittering new highrises that have sprouted in the past few years in Zhuzhou City.

Her female friend and her told me I was handsome, asked if I thought they were beautiful, I responded that yes, I think they're beautiful, they complimented me for "being so honest." Within minutes, the entire office -- six or seven other corporate types -- surrounded me. Word spread quickly. Over and over, I told them I'm from America, I'm a teacher, blah freakin blah blah. The woman to whom I was supposed to give a lesson fiddled with a computer. I figured, naively, that she must be loading some sort of English tutorial, and that she wanted my help with it once loaded.

Well, the women asked me if I have a girlfriend. I told them, in Chinese, that I have seven wives, one for every day of the week, and that they're all born on exactly the same day as me, and all exactly the same height as me, and all want exactly ten children, so that we might hold five-on-five family hoops fests. Just kidding, I said. No girlfriend. Excited shrieks followed, followed quickly by cell phone calls. "Tonight, we will go to dinner with beautiful girl," my student announced. "No husband, no boyfriend. Her name is CiCi." Swell.

Hours passed, with the women making desperate trips through the dictionary, trying to find just the right euphemisms to ask me personal questions: how old, ever been married, any kids, blah freakin blah blah. And no mention was made of the supposed English lesson, and the women sat idly, on the clock, not doing a thing except annoying me. What a waste of my existence.

I had another errand to run: buy a flight for this weekend's trip south, to my friends' Liz and Kevin's college. Over and over, I told them about it, and over and over they tried to call travel agents, book the flight for me, be my unwanted helpers. Finally, 4:30 came, and I said, in forceful Chinese, that I must leave, for my preferred travel agent will close soon.

We got in a cab, went to the travel agent, I conducted the entire transaction in Chinese, without a word of interference from my two unwanted, "so beautiful" Chinese friends. A round-trip flight for about 80 U.S. dollars. Score.

Next, we were at the restaurant. I've been treated to some upper-crust feasts, but no place I've been is ritzier than the place we went. At every table was a Chinese "host," a beautiful girl in a traditional gown, with a white polar-bear afghan draped over her shoulder, whose sole job it was to stand there, the entire time, and smile.

Quickly, our table of eight chairs filled up. First came the business tycoon husband of my supposed student, dressed all in black, smoking, exuding rich-guy-ness. Next came his friend, a subordinate in his real-estate company, a man of rather normal appearance. Meanwhile, CiCi, who actually was quite beautiful, sat alone, the chair next to her empty, and continually made eyes at me and asked questions of me, in Chinese. Five minutes into dinner, my so-called student asked me about my salary. Conversation stopped, all eyes settled on me. "One-hundred thousand yuan," I replied, in Chinese. "Each month."

About ten minutes later, another guy showed up, and sat next to CiCi. He looked quite non-threatening, wearing the standard black leather jacket, black sweater and nondescript face, with wire-rimmed glasses. "Are you their friend," I asked him, in Chinese. "No, I am CiCi's husbank," he replied, in English. So, the line about hooking me up with CiCi, and about her being single, was total fiction. Suddenly, I looked at myself, sitting in a corner, surrounded by five Chinese power-couples. Self-talk: what the f#%(//?/??/

Nonetheless, it was a feast, and it was free, and so I ate with zeal. CiCi's husband, named Ivan, asked me question after question, in quite good English. Beyond all the standard stuff -- he too asked me my salary, after I had so clearly rebuffed previous questions about it -- he told me that CiCi had told him that I am "very honest," as I had told all the women that they are very beautiful. "I look at you and you look like very honest man," he said.

Meanwhile, I'm devouring every dish on the table, wolfing down boiled carp and stir-fried pork and steamed cabbage and broiled squash, and swilling beer after beer to wash it all down. After my initial rage, I have settled down, and I'm actually sort of enjoying the company of the Zhuzhou City power-couples. Ivan makes me feel quite comfortable, conversing with me extensively and in a way that hardly seems condescending.

Still, though, my self-talk: what the f(*^%$??? I'd rather be writing, or running, or doing something other than sitting here. The lesson, which never began, was supposed to begin at 2, and end at 3, and off I'd ride, on the bus, back to the village, a hundred yuan richer. It's now past 7, no end is in sight, I haven't been handed a yuan, and I notice that the other three men are competitively swilling toxic red Chinese wine, bottle after bottle.

Sure enough, a bottle of toxic red Chinese wine landed at my place shortly thereafter. I was done eating, quite loopy from all the beer, but well in control and ready to stop eating and drinking and head home.

The other three men raised their glasses of red wine. "Gambei, Daniel, welcome to China!" I raised my glass, slammed the contents, then put the empty wine glass on the table, upside down, in the universal gesture of "no mas." Well, there at my place appeared two more bottles of red brain damage.

"Surely, you want to drink more, right Daniel?" That's Ivan. "No more," I said. "I am happy to watch you from now on."

"But, Daniel, we are your friends," he continued. "We want to welcome you to China."

"Well, Ivan," I countered, "if you are my friend, why do you want me to drink more? Do you want your friend to get sick?"

"No, Daniel, we don't want you to get sick, it is just the Chinese way to welcome."

"Ivan, in America we don't welcome our friends by pouring wine down their throat when they've already had their fill. If you are 16, maybe you will do that. If you are an adult, you have respect -- that means you take consideration for your friends' happiness -- and say, okay, no more for you. I am not your slave."

Ivan sensibly raised his teacup, I raised my teacup, we gambeied with Chinese tea, no worries.

Next, CiCi raised a glass of wine toward me. "Surely, Daniel, you can drink twice as much as me," she said. "After all, I'm a girl."

"I am less than a girl, then," I said. "I am your friend, and if you want to drink that glass of wine, I respect your decision. Of course, you are my friend, and you will respect my decision, too, right?"

"But, Daniel, I am just a girl, surely you don't want to have less wine than me?" she countered. "Raise your teacup," I said, "tea is all I'll drink." So she drank her wine, showed me her empty cup, the men laughed, and I became extra determined not to touch another sip. Everyone at the table was staring at me, I was cornered, I had no way to communicate with them. What an opportunity.

Ivan continued his line of attack: Daniel, we like you so much, we want you to feel welcome, it is the way for us to make you feel welcome. And I countered that I feel welcome when friends respect me, that I understand the Chinese custom of men drinking each other sick as a form of camaraderie, but respectfully refrain from this custom. "I am an athlete," I said, "and I will be up early tomorrow morning, paobu paobu paobu (Chinese word for running). I refuse to ruin my run by drinking myself sick. And I am not your slave."

He continued to push, I continued to push back. All side conversations had ended long ago. All eyes, at the table and in the restaurant, focused on Ivan and me. He was obliterated, clearly. His face, common among Asian people, was blood red. His eyes were bloodshot through his glasses. And his speech slurred. Freakin lovely.

"At banquet after banquet," I told him, "it's the same thing -- you tell me how happy you are to meet me, you invite me to your home, you promise me money, and then you force wine down my throat. But I am different -- you can try whatever methods you want. I promise you, as your friend, I will not touch another drop of wine. You can put whatever pressure you want. Bring it on."

Within seconds, a fancily attired man appeared next to me, standing. "This is the owner of this restaurant," Ivan said. "He wants to gambei with you, as friends."

I pointed at the guy and raised my teacup. "I am your friend, you are my friend, I will drink tea, and you will be happy." The guy pointed at my wine glass, unable to issue spoken orders, as he doesn't know English. "Do you want it?" I asked, in Chinese. "I am not your slave." (By this point, I had consulted my dictionary and learned how to say "I am not your slave" in Chinese). And he downed his glass of wine, and I downed my glass of tea, and the table erupted in laughter as he held his empty wine glass, a symbol of victory.

Immediately, I told Ivan, "see this, men in your culture define happiness by drinking more than other men. I can drink less than men, less than women, and still be happy. I do not need to prove myself by how much I drink."

"Let me teach you a lesson about America," I continued, getting damn preachy. "In America, we have the freedom to act independently. If everyone else does something, I am an individual, and I can say, 'no, not for me.' And almost every time, others will look at me and respect me, and leave me alone. I am independent, and strong, and I won't touch another sip."

Ivan said something to the rest of the table, and the others laughed and made comments, in Chinese. "See, Ivan, this is what I mean," I told him. "You are many, I am one, you know a language I don't know, you profess to be my friends, and yet you do your best to put pressure on me to do something I don't want to do. The more pressure, the better. I am strong."

Ivan repeated this to the others, and the business tycoon extended his hand to me, as if to arm wrestle. The others laughed. Ivan said, "he thinks he is more strong than you, and so he wants to have a contest with you."

"I don't doubt that he is more strong than me," I said. "And I don't doubt that I can run longer and beat him in basketball. But I do not need to prove myself. I do not need to compete to prove to myself and others that I am better or worse. Life should not be a constant competition."

"But," countered Ivan, "this is not a competition. He just wants to have a friendly game with you. No contests."

"You're lying," I said. "If I arm-wrestle him, you and you and you and you and you and you [I pointed at each person at the table] will cheer him on, hoping he will beat the foreigner. Every time I am at an event, people try to play games with the foreigner -- let's make him drink more, let's have a contest against him where we know we will win. You keep trying to pressure me. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Bring it on. I am strong, and I don't need to arm-wrestle to show it."

And Ivan retreated, raising his teacup toward me, and CiCi said she respected me, and the business tycoon raised his glass of red wine toward me. I raised an empty beer glass, gambeied with him, swilled air and smiled. We all got up to leave, and Ivan gave me his business card, wrote his personal cell phone number, said he wants to invite me to play basketball with him after my weekend trip.

"You are strong man," he said as I got into a cab at 9 p.m., seven hours after arriving at McDonald's for the lesson that never began. For once, I felt pretty damn proud of myself, and abundantly thankful for the opportunity. The words that came out of me tonight have been sequestered inside my noggin for months, and so it felt brilliant to give them their release, on a night when I had no friends I cared about losing and nothing to gain by being the sacrificial foreigner. My honesty haunts me, though, as now everyone at the table, people I'd rather not see again, gathered my cell phone number, eager to get together again next week, for round two. Fun fun fun.