He came in through the classroom window

It was one of the first really hot days of spring, so the classroom window was open. I was teaching my class and paying no attention to what was happening outside the window when, all of a sudden, I saw a man through the window. He wasn't just looking in the window; as soon as I saw him, I registered that he was climbing through the window to come into the classroom! After climbing in, he started strutting around the classroom, without any doubts, acting as though this were perfectly normal. I was not sure what to do about this. For all I knew, he could be a crazy man instead of the builder he seemed to be. I looked to the Chinese teacher for guidance, but she looked just as confused as I felt. We both, then, looked to the more senior teacher in the classroom and asked her what to do about this man.

The top teacher said that there was no problem with the man being here, so I tried my best to ignore his presence and continue teaching. After about five minutes of looking around the classroom (for what, I'm not sure), he climbed out the window again. At this point, I had to give up teaching for a while because the children all rushed to the window to watch him jump out.

The whole time that this was happening, though, I was completely amazed that it COULD happen. That a strange man could climb in through a window and walk around the classroom and then leave just as easily completely boggled my mind. There were no rules against this, as there would be in the United States. In the United States, I know that in order to enter a school, you need to sign your name and have a visitor's pass just to get in. Then, to go into a classroom, you would need to know someone in the classroom or have a very good reason to go in. A stranger would not be allowed to just go in and walk around with a classroom full of students. Comparing this knowledge of rules in America to my experience here, I think there is a good reason that I was surprised. Was this man allowed to come into the classroom? I believe that in this case there was no "allowed" or "not allowed", no "signing in". In these schools, everything is a lot more informal. So, if you decide to visit China or teach in China, be warned and be prepared.

And Now Let me Introduce To You: The Chevrolet Cruze!

Your hands are sweaty and you are shaking slightly. You look around and realize that you are on stage, in front of a crowd of people, and you are expected to perform. You do not know what you are supposed to say. You did not have time to practice or to prepare your lines and now you are on stage being watched and you need to completely improvise everything. Quick - you have two minutes to think about what to say! Wait, that is not enough - let's add something else to make the task even more difficult. You must address these people in a foreign language: Chinese, for example. But then you wake up and realize it's all a dream...

This, however, was not a dream for me. This was my day last weekend. It all started out as a great idea - no improvising in Chinese for me. My friends and fellow co-workers were invited to introduce the opening of the Chevrolet Cruze at a car dealership. Two of us - Sable and Bob (a Canadian teacher) would do the introduction in English and a Chinese woman would translate for the completely Chinese audience. The Chinese woman, Miao Miao, asked me to help her with the translation and go up to the stage with her, which was no problem. I knew I wouldn't be much of a help, since her English was better than my Chinese and it is much easier to translate from a foreign language to your own, but I agreed anyway. Then tragedy struck! Her boss called her over and instructed her to have me do the translation from English to Chinese completely on my own! As much as I protested and tried to put my foot down, Miao Miao was more afraid of the consequences to saying no to her boss than to me, so I had no choice. With two minutes to decide how to introduce a car completely in Chinese, I quickly scribbled some sentences on a piece of paper.

I was surprisingly not nervous as I went up on stage and waited my turn to speak. I listened to Sable and Bob's English introduction with a smile on my face, outwardly calm as I faced the crowd. When it was my turn to speak, I started with, "大家好！我叫 Abbie Kramer。 我来介绍一下这辆轿车". Which basically means, "Hello everybody, my name is Abbie Kramer. I am going to introduce this car a little bit". That earned me a round of applause because the crowd was so pleased that they could actually understand what I was saying. During the next part of my impromptu speech, I ended up covering my face with the papers that Miao Miao had prepared for me as I tried to decode her pinyin explaining the details of the car. That part didn't go so well, since I had absolutely no clue as to what I was saying. But, when I walked over to the giant cardboard cut-out of Wentworth Miller (the famous actor who does commercials for the car) and started to talk about his TV series, I said that he is "帅哥" (a handsome guy) and the audience absolutely loved it and started to laugh and clap. Having made my first joke in Chinese in front of an audience, I smiled, repeated it again, and continued. I then explained that in America, many people drive these kinds of cars (Chevrolets) and Americans think that these cars are wonderful, safe, and beautiful. Americans love these cars. (I do not know if it is true or not, but when you are trying to sell a car, I figured that it is fine to exaggerate a little). Again, I got a round of applause. And, finally, my speech was finished! I walked off stage with a smile on my face and a wave to the crowd.

And that is my experience selling cars in China. In Chinese. But, out of difficult things come rewards: I got a wonderful lunch and dinner, to walk around and see the largest private garden in the Jiangsu province, to do Karaoke, and to meet new friends.

Sharing a salad and other tidbits about Chinese culture

"I will make us a salad," my language exchange said. It was the first time that I had met her, and I had gone over to her house so that we could help each other - I would teach her English and she would teach me Chinese. First, however, was dinner. We were ordering pizza and she was making a salad for us. The salad was a normal, western-looking salad, but the way in which we ate it completely surprised me. She gave us each a fork and, being the American that I am, I waited for her to split up the salad into two bowls, or at least put some salad onto her plate. I waited in vain. She stuck her fork into the "communal" salad bowl and munching away. I could do nothing but follow suit. And remember - this is someone that I met for the first time that day! In the United States, the only people I share food with in that matter - two people eating from the same plate or bowl - are either my parents or extremely close friends. But that is the way that people eat in China - I just didn't expect it with a salad and forks!

I have, however, become so accustomed to parts of the Chinese culture that some of it has become ingrained in me. If you are ever in China, do not be surprised if people (even people you have never before met) ask you very personal questions about money. These questions might be anything from, "How much do people usually make in America?", to "How much did your necklace cost?" to "How much do you make here?" In the United States culture, money is a taboo topic; it is considered extremely rude to ask people about their finances, even if they are a close friend. In China, however, this topic is very open. Living in China, I have completely gotten used to talking openly about money, so when people ask me about it, it does not seem uncomfortable or even strange anymore. As a matter of fact, I have gotten so accustomed to it that I have started to ask others about their personal finances without realizing that it may seem rude to them and make them uncomfortable. For example, I was talking to one of my friends online and she was explaining something that she wanted to do, but didn't have enough money for. I was trying to figure out a way to help her, but in order to do that, I wanted to have a clearer idea of her money situation, so (as many people here have asked me) I questioned, "How much money do you make?" Although she gave me an answer, it was not a direct answer, but that didn't deter me. My next question was even more personal and direct: "How much money do you have?" After a long pause, I though that maybe I had said something wrong, and my friend said that she didn't really want to talk about it. That was when I stopped and really realized that the questions I had been asking, according to the United States culture, were really very rude. Oops! It is just in the Chinese culture that they were ok, which is why I even thought to ask them.

So, if I do not act "normal" according to the United States culture when you next see me or talk to me, please remember that I have spent the last year abroad and that I have completely gotten used to a new and different set of norms, rules, and a different culture. Do not be offended! And, it is also important to remember that when you travel to different countries (or interact with someone from another country) the same rule applies. If people do not act in what you consider a "normal" way, that is because the definition of normal changes depending on where you are. Perhaps you are not normal to them! When traveling, keep an open mind and do not be easily offended or shocked. Just learn to be laid back and have fun!

Dogs in America, Children in China

You might wonder, "How do Chinese teachers discipline the 30 or so children that they have in each class when the children are being very bad?" Here is what I have learned: the children in China (at least that I have seen) are punished the way dogs in America are punished when they are being slightly abused.

Of course, I have seen the children here punished in many ways. When children are being loud, not listening to the teachers, and are fidgeting and playing with their things, the teacher may grab the child by the jacket, kick over the chair, and haul the child to the front of the room. The child must either stand there for the rest of the class or bring his or her chair there to sit it. This is more of a mild punishment for the Chinese teachers.

I have seen many teachers go around the room with a rolled up piece of paper, threatening children who are not behaving properly. The sight of the rolled up paper inspires the children to quiet down and sit correctly in their seats (back straight, legs together, feet together, hands on their knees, eyes on the teacher). I have had children offer rulers to me when the other students in the classroom are being too noisy, so that I can use the ruler on the students to make them quiet down. I, however, could not bring myself to use the ruler.

The worst I have seen is when a child, maybe five years old, was being very noisy, so the teacher had him come to her desk in the front of the class. She took the English book (which is no thicker than a magazine) and slapped him across the face with it. The noise reverberated around the classroom and the children stayed silent the rest of the class period.

I have also heard stories: In one of my classes, the children were acting like perfect pupils the entire period. Not a peep was made while I talked. They raised their hands, they acted out what I asked them to, and they played the games I explained. We had a wonderful time. But, it was extremely abnormal for them to be SO good. Why? I wondered. Why are they so good today? Did they just decide to be good for me from now on? Unfortunately not. When I asked the teacher, she explained that the night before, some of them had decided that it would be fun to climb onto the table in their bedroom and jump off of it. When the teacher saw, she punished them by making them get back onto the table, go into a crouching position, and stay without moving for one hour. By the end of the hour, all of the children were crying. So, that morning, all of the children were sufficiently scared to be very, very good in my class.

As a disclaimer, I do not know what happens in other schools, in other regions, and in other parts of China. All I know is what I have seen in this school, with the teachers that I teach with. But I have heard that this is not abnormal. Teaching in China has prepared me for many things, but the discipline style has not prepared me for how to discipline children in America!

The SIFLS Family

Family is all about sharing experiences, making lasting bonds, and coming together, both for happy occasions and during times of stress. Although I am in China and a world away from my real family, I have the fantastic luck to have made a whole new family right here at SIFLS (Suzhou International Foreign Language School). This family is not made up of any blood relatives, and many of us are not even from the same country or continent, but we have all come together to create a home at SIFLS.

For those that are interested, there will now be a list of some of my SIFLS family members, as well as any descriptions I think might be interesting:

Grandma and Grandpa: Grandma Dolores and Grandpa Bob are from Canada. Because Grandma has grandchildren my age, and because she treats me like a granddaughter (such as inviting me in to talk after being out in the freezing cold, giving me hot chocolate, and giving me grandmotherly advice), Sable and I decided to start calling her Grandma. Since we call her Grandma, it seemed silly not to call her husband Grandpa, and there you go - a new Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpapa: Yes, besides a Grandpa and Grandpa, I have a Grandpapa. Paul is a very kind man who I became close to when he helped me translate some things because I was sick and I needed to go to the doctor. His Chinese is absolutely amazing, having lived here for the past 25 years, so he can do any kind of translating necessary. He worked here last term and this term he lives and works in Hangzhou, so last weekend Sable and I went to visit him and we became even closer to Grandpapa. He showed us around and became our tourguide.

Naomy: A cousin. Every family has cousins whom you hang out with, and in this case, Naomy is a very fun-loving cousin. She is from Kenya and she is a great person to be around to have a good time.

My son: Yes, in this SIFLS family, I have a son. His name is Paul (different, of course, from Grandpapa). He is 3 years old and he is actually the son of a Mexican woman and American man who are teaching at the school. Because Paul is one of my students in the kindergarten, the children always see me with him and automatically equate a foreign child with a foreign woman (me) and think that he is my child. Therefore, according to all the children in the preschools, in the kindergartens, and even in the elementary schools (the rumor has grown considerably), Paul is my son. Even when I try to tell them he is not and explain to them, they do not believe me. They have made up their minds that Paul is my son and nothing I can do will change it.

Gricelda: Gricelda must be my mother. I didn't plan to pick up another mother, but I also didn't plan to have a son...She is actually Paul's mother, so if in this family Paul is my son, then she is my mother and Paul's grandmother. Which would make sense in the Chinese customs, with the grandmother always taking care of the children, dropping them off and picking them up from school, etc. Gricelda is very kind and sweet. Because she is from Mexico, she generously gives me the opportunity to practice my Spanish with her so that I do not completely forget it here in China. This time spent practicing my Spanish with her is one of my favorite parts of the week because it is so wonderful to just sit down and talk with her.

Then, of course, there is my sister - Sable: In China, Sable is considered my sister, my jie jie. In the United States, this kind of relationship would probably be considered more of a cousinly relationship. We do many things together - we travel together, we often eat dinner and lunch together, we explore Suzhou together, and we watch movies and television series together to relax. It is wonderful to have someone that I have known for longer than just this one year, someone who knows me better than everyone else, and someone that I can really relax around.

So that is most of my SIFLS family. There are more, but I don't want to bore you all too much, so I will stop here. Above is a picture of some of the people in the family, so you can get to know them a little better.

Yellow Skin

If someone had mentioned the words "yellow skin" to me a couple of years ago, the first association I would have made would probably have been Jaundice. After all, when one has Jaundice, then one's skin turns yellow, correct? I never would have associated yellow skin with Asian people. Now, however, that is the first association I would make. Why? Not because when I look at my students, my co-workers, and my friends I see that they have yellow skin. Quite the opposite. But because they all talk about and complain about having yellow skin.

Most of the people that I talk to who are Asian (and women) bring up their skin color and compare their yellow, dark, and ugly (according to them) skin color to my white, light, and beautiful skin color (again - this is all what they say - this is not my opinion). I often hear how much prettier my skin color is because it is white and how horrible their skin is because it is yellow. Because of this, or perhaps to make money off of this dislike for their skin color, there are many skin creams, face washes, and other products whose chief purpose is to whiten/lighten the skin. It is difficult for me, when I go to the store, to find a face wash that does not have a whitening agent.

I look around at my friends and students, though, and I feel that this is ridiculous. When I actually try to notice their skin color (which is only when it is brought up) it does not seem yellow at all to me, just as my skin is not really white - it is more of a pink. Their skin is not the color of the sun, or the color of a daffodil, or even the light yellow color of butter. Instead, it varies just like the skin tones of people in America - some of my students, for example, have very light skin - just like my friends who have to slather themselves with sunscreen before they go outside in the sun. Some of my students have the skin color of many children who are from Mexico or South America - very dark. As a matter of fact, many times when I walk around outside, if I am not thinking clearly I may think I see people from South America or Mexico because I see people with dark hair and dark skin. Only after I look closer (or start to think clearer) do I realize that they are actually Chinese. And, of course, there are skin colors that are in between. But yellow I do not see.

Calling attention to their skin color like that, in such a derogatory way, makes me wonder why they do not like the color of their skin. What is wrong with it? According to them, it is too dark, but is it really so terrible to have dark skin? I suppose that in this world, in this time period, many people to not see it as a wonderful thing to have dark skin. It is too bad, though, that so many women here cannot be happy with the color of their skin.

Coming back to school

Coming back to work after you have been on vacation is usually not something that one looks forward to; waking up early, making lesson plans, not as much free time, and actually having to work are not as fun as being on break and being able to do nothing all day. I can't say that I was really excited about going back to work, but I definitely wasn't dreading it. When I actually went back, however, and saw my children, I fell right in love with them again. I am ecstatic to be back now.

When my children first saw me come into the classroom, they were thrilled to see me. They ran up to me, hugged me, blew me kisses, kissed me on the cheeks, and chattered to me excitedly in Chinese. Many of them also repeated all of the English words they had learned last term, such as "Christmas tree". Now every time that I leave the classrooms, my students ask me, "你明天再来吗？" Are you coming again tomorrow? When I ask if they want me to come again tomorrow, they always say yes. It is very cute.

About every other day I go outside with some of my classes and I do the daily exercises with them (which I did not do last term). Going outside with them is one of my favorite parts of the day - I walk with the students outside and they all try to hold my hand. Because I only have two hands, though, one might hold my fingers, one gets my thumb, and then (because I have no more hand left), another might take my elbow. Then there are more children who take hold of my coat in the back. There are so many five-year old children hanging on to me that I can barely walk to the playground without tripping on somebody! When we finally get onto the playground, I feel like I am disturbing all of the other kindergarten/preschool classes who are also doing exercises there because all of the children stop whatever they are doing and start yelling to me. They yell, "Miss Abbie! Miss Abbie! Abbie 老师 ! Hello Miss Abbie！" When I leave, the same thing happens and I can hear them yelling my name the whole walk back to the school. It is wonderful - not because I love hearing my name so much - but because I am delighted that they like me so much. I must have done something right with them.

So although I was not thrilled to be finished with break, I am now completely over that hesitation. I am completely content to be with my students every day. I leave every class with them (7 classes each day) more cheerful than I started it just because of the time I was able to spend with my students.

Where am I again?

As I mentioned in one of my earlier blogs, it is often easy to forget that I am really in China. Now even more so than last term. As I sit in the restaurant (during the welcome dinner) and listen in on the various conversations going on around me, there might be as many as three languages not including Chinese. The French Canadians talk in French with the man from France. The two girls who are Mexican-American, the Mexican woman, and me and Sable talk in Spanish. The other foreign teachers speak English. Personally, hearing the French around me and speaking in a mix of Spanish and English reminds me of being abroad in Barcelona, where people spoke in a mix of Spanish and Catalan (which sounds like French). It is very international here now, to say the least.

I love the opportunity that I now have to practice all of the languages that I am learning. For example, yesterday morning my first two conversations were not in my native language (English). My first conversation was in Spanish, when a teacher from Mexico called me to ask about bringing her son (who is now my student) to the preschool. My second conversation was in Chinese. Walking to the classroom, I ran into Xiao Shuang, who is the woman who takes care of the apartment complex. She is really a wonderful person, but unfortunately most of the foreign teachers seem to look down on her because she is kind of like a cleaning lady, therefore, according to them, she is not as good as us. Of course, I do not agree with that and I always try to talk with her, learn more about her, and speak in Chinese with her. Because of this, she really likes me and always compliments me on my Chinese. So, my second conversation of the day was with her. I asked how she has been recently and she immediately complimented my Chinese. She even went so far as to say that I am no longer a "外国人"，　or a foreigner. Now, I am the same as her - a Chinese person. Although it was very sweet of her to say this, and it certainly brightened my day, Ｉ am sure it is not true. But it was nice nonetheless.

So it was not until I went to class that I started speaking in English - and even then I am lucky enough to be able to practice my Chinese with the teachers in the kindergarten. I think it is so great that I can be in China, learn Chinese, but at the same time practice my Spanish and help people with English. I may even have the opportunity to learn a little French! What a fascinating way of life - to always have so many languages and cultures around me. It is magnificent, especially because besides psychology, my interests lie in languages and cultures.

Numbers versus Names

"Number 23, come get your food." Number 23 would then rise and get his food. Where are we? Are we in the army? Are we in prison? No, we are in my kindergarten classroom. All of my children have numbers, which are used just as often, if not more often, than their names. Many times, in my younger classes, where my students are two or three years old, my students still do not know their English names. When I ask them for their English names and they look at me as if I am crazy, I have to ask the Chinese teacher, "what is her English name?" The teacher will answer, "Ta shi san hao," (She is number three) so that I can read off my list of which student is which number - aah, number three, Rain.

The children answer just as readily to their numbers as they do to their names - more so if we are talking about the numbers versus their English names. It makes me wince; I think of giving children numbers as making them more like objects, or at least taking away their individuality. However, that is very much my culture versus this culture. In China, is it a bad thing to be the same? I don't think so. And I suppose it would be a great deal more difficult to keep track of eight kindergartens of 30 children if you didn't give them numbers.

Schools are not the only place where people are given numbers instead of names. When I first went to a restaurant in China, I looked at the name tags of the waiters to see the exotic characters that the names were made up of and I found that the name tags did not live up to their names. There were no exotic characters. Instead of providing names, they gave numbers. For example, my waitress tonight is named 107899 according to her name tag. From becoming her friend, though, I have learned that her name is Hu Man. Anywhere I go, I see numbers instead of names. I wonder if it has to do with the sheer number of people in the country. Or is it the same in other Asian countries? It is the same in Japan or Korea? I also wonder if the number you are given in school has any effect on your self concept. Would being number one throughout elementary school make you feel like you really are number one, and you are superior to everyone else? Would being number 30 make you feel low, and underneath everyone else - the last to do and to get everything? The last in the class? I wonder if there has ever been a study on that...

A Family for Spring Festival

Spring Festival in China is like Christmas in the west. Families all gather together to celebrate; for some, this is the only time of the year to see their brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers. Although my family was far away, I was very lucky this year - I celebrated Spring Festival with a Chinese family. My friend's family invited me to come to Chengdu to celebrate with them. My friend was in America, so we can say that I took her place in the family during the festival. We're all the same, right? My friend tells me that her family says they were lucky to have me there. he truth is that I was lucky to have them. Not only did I get to see how the Spring Festival (a.k.a. The Chinese New Year) is traditionally celebrated, but I was welcomed with opened arms to a place that felt like home. I was welcomed as if I were family.

The first traditional Spring Festival activity that we did was to go to the grandmother's house. We all piled into the family's car (me, the mom, the dad, and the Leiya, the 20 year old family friend who was there solely for the purpose of keeping me company) and we drove the hour to QiongLai, where WaiPo (the grandmother) lives. I met many relatives, learning their names and just as quickly forgetting them (Chinese names are extremely difficult for me to remember). After sitting around and talking for a while, we ate lunch in a traditional Chengdu Hot Pot restaurant. Delicious, and spicy. Later, we went to a traditional ancient Chinese town, PingLe, so that we oculd walk around, relax, and have fun. We strolled around the small streets, with vendors on either side, selling everything from chicken on a stick to jade necklaces to winter coats. It was decorated for the Spring Festival and on the river was what looked to be a large blow up Dragon. I walked arm in arm with WaiPo, the mom, and Leiya, changing people every so often.

The next day, New Year's Eve, we stayed at home in Chengdu and relatives came for dinner and games (really only one game - Mahjong). I met even more family members and I "learned" how to play Mahjong. of course, the only reason I was able to stay in the game was because the mom was feeding me every move. I picked up a tile, glanced at her for assistance or assurance, and made my move. When she abandonded me to finish dinner I was completely lost - I could not figure out the necessary patterns until someone pointed them out to me. Once they were shown to me, I compeletly understood. That wasn't too helpful when I was trying to play the game, though. Dinner was a very nice affair. Cups were clinking every five minutes with wishes for health, long life, wealth, happiness, and a good new year. Many people also wished me welcome to Chengdu and to China. It was very sweet. I felt very welcome. Around 12:00 (the start of the actual New Year according to the Chinese calendar) the fireworks started in earnest. Until then, there had been fireworks, but only about as many as you might see in America on the fourth of July - for China, not too many. Around the stroke of midnight, though, I felt like I was in the middle of a battlefield. All around me - 360 degrees - was the sound of fireworks going off. Looking out of the kitchen window I could see that indeed there were fireworks almost everywhere in the sky. Surrounding the apartment. And this was just one small part of Chengdu, one city in China. It was absolutely amazing.

The next day, the first day of the new year, we went to a miaohui, whis is a temple fair. Me, the mom, the dad, and the uncle. They warned me beforehand that it would be crowded, which is why in other years they typically didn't go. The only reason they were goign this year was for me. When they said it would be crowded, I didn't fully comprehend the meaning of the word until we arrived. Now, crowded has a completely different meaning for me. Try to picture this: first, the parking - it is a normal street with a wide sidewalk. The cars are parked in lines of three in a row, where normally there is only one car parked. The sidewalk is flooded with parked cars and to actually get to the temple, you have to make your way through a maze of cars. When you finally get to the fair, all you can see att imes is a sea of black hair - in front of you, in back of you (if you have space to turn around), and on either side. This was the worst parts of the fair, though. Usually we had some space to walk. It was crowded, yes, but it was also very fun. We walked around, took pictures, and I got to see how the Wenshu temple was changed fromt the tranquil Buddhist temple I had seen during the summer to a swarming tourist park, resembling the temple so little that I would never have recognized it if I hadn't been told it was the same place. After walking around and eating the local snacks, we had to wait until it was dark to finish the day's activities, so we went to a tea house and they taught me a Chinese card game. This was wonderful because not only could I actually play the card game by myself, with no help from others, but I even won a lot of the time! Needless to say, I really enjoyed this game. Why my friend never taught me this particular card game, I don't know... I felt very full of culture, sitting in teh tea house, drinking tea out of special tea cups, and playing a Chinese card game with (of course) three Chinese people. I thought, as I had been thinking the whole week, "Wow, I really am in China!" (Sometimes, at the school, where most people speak English, it is easy to forget).

Then, when it got dark, we went to the lantern festival. Do you know, in Disney World, the ride with the song, "It's a Small World"? If you aren't familiar with it, you go in a boat and you are surrounded by large, moving figures. Each display of the figures portrays different cultures and they are all lit up, bright, and moving. At the lantern festival, I felt as if I were in the middle of a giant Chinese display of "It's a Small World." All around me were large, bright, moving displays: dolls dressed up in different costumes, a building sized tea pot and tea cup, and hundreds of gold oxen (it is now the year of the ox). And everything was lit up, most of it neon. Being a big believer in Disney World, I completely adored it there. I even told the family, "It's like Disney world!" I think they were amused by me, but that' s ok. Looking into the sky, it looked like there were more stars than usual, but on closer inspection you could see that they were actually lanterns that people write wishes on and then set free into the sky (they fly like hot air balloons, with fire and gas). It was a once in a lifetime experience.

There is more, but I can't explain everything. This is already way too long. Below are pictures of some of these experiences. In sum, I had a fantastic time with my Chinese family, learning about the Spring Festival.

Me playing Mahjong. Notice my "helper" to the right.

Me with the lighted, Disney World-esque figures

Me and Leiya in PingLe with the Dragon on the river

Wenshu Temple decorated for Spring Festival (note the lanterns above us )

Culture Shock...6 Months Late

Yes, I know that you are supposed to suffer from culture shock when you first start to live in a new country. And I suppose I did have some culture shock in the beginning (6 months ago). After all, the Chinese culture is very different from the U.S. culture. I had to get used to the way of eating - communal dishes in the middle of the table that everyone eats from, toilets that are not Western, people staring at me because I am Western, etc. However, it was not a difficult thing for me to assimilate to the new culture. I adjusted easily.

This is why, when I was trying to analyze my feelings last week (I graduated as a psychology major, that is what I do), it took me quite a while to understand exactly what I was feeling. Was I homesick? No, not really. Sad? No. Frustrated? A bit... Then it hit me: Oh, so this is what culture shock really feels like. For one week, I stayed in a very small town with a family that I would not say is poor, but I would also not call them rich. I would definitely say that they were very careful with their money. Living in this small town, with this family, I finally, truly understood the term culture shock.

In America, as in my apartment in Suzhou, we have heating in the winter. It is winter, it is cold, I put the heat on, I am happy. No. Not in some places in China. Not there. The apartment was just as cold as it was outside. I knew, though, that they had a miniature heater. They used it the first day when they had relatives over. Then, to my dismay, they wrapped it back up in the plastic it came in and put it back in the box. I never saw it again. "Ni leng ma?" Are you cold? They asked me. I wanted the heater back. "A little", I answered in Chinese. Maybe it was rude, maybe I should have said I was fine, that I was not cold at all. But I don't like to lie, and I was freezing to death. OK, maybe not to death, but I was shivering - I was really cold. Put on your coat, they suggested. If my coat was on, they suggested I put on even more layers.

They told me that they reason I was cold is because I don't eat meat. If I ate meat, I would not be cold. Usually, people respect my vegetarianism. No, almost every day they tried to get me to eat meat. It's good, it's healthy, I heard over and over again. "Just try it". I tried to get them to understand that I was not cold because of my moral decision - being a vegetarian did not make me cold. I explained that my father is also often cold, and he loves meat. Finally they stopped bugging me about meat.

Their hygiene was just a bit different from what my parents taught me growing up. Besides never washing hands with soap after using the washroom (that I saw - and since they never closed the door all the way, I unintentionally saw a lot), they never covered their mouths when they coughed. This was absolutely wonderful when we were all sitting together eating and somebody had a coughing fit - right into our communal food - or when we were sitting next to each other talking.

I often lost my appetite. Everyday we went to the market where they bought food. Vendors spread out their food all around - some was on the ground on plastic garbage bags and some was on tables. Everywhere we walked, people selling and people buying spit on the ground as they strolled around or coughed into the air. I watched as the spit and the cough neared the food we were about the buy. Yum, yum. And some of this food wasn't cooked, some of it was barely washed (or not at all washed). The family I was staying with also liked to hand feed me. Besides making me feel like I was three years old again, this made me wince, knowing where and what their hands had touched (and how often they had been washed). Yes, my parents brought me up with a strict sense of hygeine - often wash hands, always use soap. It makes me wince when people don't. I winced a lot.

Lastly was the way people stared at me in the town. I have lived in China for six months; I am used to being stared at. If you are a westerner, a laowai, it is a way of life. But here it was different. I am pretty sure that many of the people here had never seen someone like me before except on the t.v. Instead of just staring and pointing, their eyes would follow me as I walked by. Some children would shyly stammer, "hello". Some would run away and hide behind their parents. The adults, on the other hand, all saw me as a curious object. They looked at me, then there were double takes, even triple-takes. Everyone came up to the lady I was with (who had her arm wrapped around mine, gripping my coat as if she were scared I would run away) and asked in their dialect, "Does she understand what we say?" "She understands putonghua" (mandarin), responded my host. And, of course, they then always started rapid converstations in their squiggly dialect so that the only thing I could understand was that they were talking about me. Once in a while, someone would not believe my host that I can speak mandarin and tried to test my knowledge, asking me ridiculous questions that I knew they already knew the answer to. "Where are you from?", "How do you know her?" (pointing to my host). I smiled and tried to be patient.

As if being stared at on the street was not enough, the family I was staying with did not use their bathroom for showers. Oh no. Little did I know when I first arrived, I was to use the Public Baths to take a shower. When my host announced "Time to take a shower", and told me to pack my stuff, I hoped in vain: maybe we are going to a hotel for me to take a shower in a hotel room, maybe we are going to her friend's house, but with each step closer to the public baths, my heart dropped a little more. I am by nature a very modest person - I do not like to be without clothes in the gyms in America, where people are used to bodies of every kind. To shower completely naked with Chinese women, many of whom had never seen a foreigner before and, as I explained in the above paragraph, more than stared at me, was terrifying. The only comfort was that I took off my glasses before I entered the shower room so I could not see the women staring at me. Of course, after a while it was not as bad as I had thought. It was warm there, which was a large plus. The second time at the baths, I did not even dread it.

So, now I have gotten used to even more of the Chinese culture - a completely different part of the Chinese culture. I can live without heat, without warm water, with no English spoken at all, and I can take public baths. And now, when people talk about culture shock, I can empathize. I understand thoroughly and completely what they mean.

An Unexpected Kindness

I had just gotten off the bus, returning to Suzhou after a week long trip in a small town. I was outside the bus station, tired, carrying a heavy backpack, getting a migraine, and a bit frustrated with my last week. I just wanted to go home - to get back to my apartment, unpack, and relax. The only problem was that finding a taxi seemed to prove to be an impossible task. I tried to flag down the "real" taxis - the metered ones - but they just waved at me and continued driving down the road. Well, that really helped me get home. It reminded me of having a lemonade stand when I was younger. My friends and I would call out to people walking or driving by and they would wave to us - their waves did not help us raise the money we wanted; all they did was give us a few seconds of false hope.

The "fake" taxis, as I thought of them, the ones who were un-metered, in normal looking cars, and who tried to give you ridiculously high prices (such as 80 kuai when it should be 13 kuai) were parked along the street everywhere. The "fake" taxi drivers followed me and asked me in broken English, "Where you want to go?" I could not get away from them. I started to lose hope of ever finding a taxi. I walked a bit, looking for a real taxi that would take me home, but all I found were fake taxi drivers who bothered me, yelling out, "You go where?" I hurried on, ignoring them as much as I could.

A young man started to walk beside me then and the other people stopped bothering me. He had the look of a fake taxi driver, so I ignored him as I did with the others. "Can I help you?" He asked me. Still believing that he was trying to get me into his fake taxi and cheat me out of money (obviously I learned to be very distrustful), I answered shortly, bluntly, "No." Although I am not usually a rude person, this time I meant to be rude so that he would get the idea and leave me alone to look for a taxi. "Where do you want to go?" He tried again. He was still walking beside me. He just wouldn't leave me alone. I gave him the street name and he said, "Oh, you take bus 83 to go there". Surprised, I looked at him. Obviously, he wasn't trying to get me into a taxi if he was suggesting a bus. I explained in Chinese that I wanted to take a taxi (I was in no mood to lug my backpack on an overcrowded bus). In Chinese he answered, "You can't find a good taxi here. You have to walk up the road". Yeah, I figured that much, but now I knew for sure. He walked with me for a while, but I was still distrustful. I kept my purse close to me, watching his hands and my purse carefully. After all, I had just come back from travelling; I had money, my passport, my MP3 player, many things that he might want to steal and that I would not want stolen. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but then again, Little Red Riding Hood didn't know that her grandmother was really the wolf - you can't always tell when people have bad intentions.

He led me up the road away from the bus station, and as we walked it became more and more deserted. Of course, we were in China, there were still people - there are always people. But fewer, which made me nervous. I stopped and started looking for a taxi. He understood my intentions and tried to hail a taxi for me. Then he crossed the street (where there were no people), saying that it would be easier to find a taxi on that side. I followed him nervously (maybe I was being paranoid, I don't know). While we looked for a taxi, we engaged in some small talk, he asked me questions, I answered. As I said, he seemed genuinely kind. But is it smart to trust everybody? When a taxi drove up, he hailed it, opened the door for me, and told the taxi driver where I wanted to go. And that was that. I gave him a warm thank-you. After all of my concerns, there had been no reason to be so suspicious.

All he had wanted to do was help me. A complete stranger had spent 20 minutes walking with me, talking with me, and helping me to find a taxi (and making the fake taxi drivers leave me alone). I felt very grateful to him for being so kind to me. He wanted nothing in return. He was just doing a good deed, just being kind to a stranger. So, everybody who reads this should remember this and do the same - be kind to strangers - do good deeds - and the people will be grateful. Maybe someone is frustrated, sad, or not in a good mood. Maybe your assistance and kindness will brighten their day. Be a good person! Go up to a stranger and commit an unexpected act of kindness.

Repetition, repetition, repetition

Imagine you are teaching a class of six and seven year olds and you are reviewing for a test. You open the book so that they can all see and as soon as they see the first page, they start chanting the words and the dialogues on the page: "Mingming, Tom! This is my aunt. This is my uncle. Nice to meet you, Mingming and Tom. Nice to meet you too." All without stopping. As you turn the page, they start chanting again: "This is my brother. This is my sister. Hello! Nice to meet you. No, I'm a dinosaur. I'm a deer." With each page that I turned, the students were able to just repeat what was printed on the page. If it was a page of pictures with vocabulary, they listed off the vocabulary in order. If it was a page with a song about the chapter, as soon as they saw the page, they started singing the song (with no prompting from me).

I had been asked to review since the children were going to have a test on the material (yes, these children have tests in kindergarten - I don't remember having that). But as soon as I had opened the book, the children started repeated what they had learned. I couldn't get a word in edge-wise. I was both shocked and amazed by the students' memorization skills and that they had been asked to memorize page after page in the textbook. It is a very different teaching method from kindergarten and preschool teaching in the United States. It is true that we had to memorize colors, shapes, songs, and so forth, but as far as I remember, we did not have to memorize the books word for word as these children do.

I had seen the teachers teaching this when they repeated the dialogues, songs, and words with the students over, and over, and over, and over again. For 20 minutes that is all the students would do - repeat the same phrases over again. As a student, I don't think I would have been able to stand it, but I also don't know how the teachers can do it. I guess that is just the learning/teaching style in China - it is very different from that of America. Comparing the two, I much prefer the teaching and learning style in America. Seeing the children at this stage and also at later stages, I think that the learning style in America allows the children to think in a freer way and to be more imaginative. Any thoughts?

How to Host

Coming to China I have noticed, of course, many differences in the way people act. One of the largest differences (and one that has also affected me) is the duty of a host, at least as far as I have seen and experienced. In America, a host's basic duty is to make sure that a guest has a bed and food. Of course, a host in America does more. They often entertain the guest and make sure that the guest is happy. I'm guessing that you all know the ways of the host in America since most of you are living in America. In China, however, the hosts are very different. The hosts here go above and beyond what I have seen hosts in America do. If I need a hotel, for example, not only does the host find me one, but they also pay for it. If we go out to eat, I am not allowed to pay, being the guest. I also get picked up from the airport and dropped off.

A good example of how the host treats the guest is my recent trip to Beijing. My host, who's English name is Julia, wrote out a schedule for each day so that Sable and I would be sure to see all the important sights. The first day and the last day, Julia and her family showed us around Beijing (even taking off work to do so). The middle two days, though, because they could not, she got us an English speaking tour guide to take us around and explain everything. When we showed an interest in the Beijing Opera, Julia bought us tickets, brought us to the Opera, and even took on the role of translator for us (since it was all in Chinese). When we wanted to go visit some Knox alumni living in Beijing, Julia would not let us take a taxi (for fear that something would happen to us). Instead, she picked us up at our hotel, brought us to the place where we were meeting the alumni, and waited there with us until the alumni came. This is just a small amount of what Julia and her family did for us, but they are some good examples.

For people who are not used to this style of hosting, it seems like a lot, especially at first. The hosts can almost seem overbearing. When you are used to an American style, the Chinese style doesn't give you much room to breathe. However, after a while I found that I really like this kind of hosting style. The hosts really take care of you and make sure that you have everything and more. I have noticed that I tend to be edging over to this style of hosting (when I think of hosting someone). One of my friends was thinking about visiting China and when I was thinking about this I started planning out every detail, from how to pick her up at the airport to who could be with her while I am in classes. I realized that the way I was planning her possible trip reminded me of the Chinese style of hosting and I laughed at myself because she wouldn't be expecting (or used to) that. I guess we'll see how my hosting style has changed once I am back in the U.S.

But for anyone planning to visit or live in China, be aware of the difference, because it is definitely something that you have to get used to. I am not completely used to it yet, as I still feel as though all my hosts are going above and beyond the necessary, but at least I do expect and understand the style now, which is more than I did before.