"You should put this in your blog." My Hawaiian friend sat across our tiny table, perched atop what look like plastic children's stools which are more or less ubiquitous along any street occupied by common Chinese eateries. After getting your food, you pull the tiny stool up to a low table and plop down to eat. The height isn't as much a problem as I thought it would be. The plastic is. (I've cracked a few already.) But we weren't along the street. I and my two friends whom I work with at the school had gone to lunch, as normal, at our favorite eatery along the strip of restaurants, coffee shops, and various other businesses in front of the school. I'm not completely sure why it became our favorite, but it might have to do with the food served in a type of metal dish I've only ever seen used to deliver food to Indian workers. Or the fact that fully half of the options on display are non-spicy (a high percentage in Chenzhou). But probably, the best thing about the place is where we were sitting. This eatery (I have trouble calling these informal places restaurants) has a seating area in back. Most places don't have this, though some places do have a crowded upstairs area. The seating area out back is nice.
My friend was telling me to write about all of this, but mostly he was telling me to write about the passing train, which was only a few feet from our seating area and making it completely impossible to hear him, though I was able to read his lips. Don't get the wrong idea, we were nicely isolated from the train by a billowing blue tarp, which was also draped over the top of the area to block out the sun. But the noise from the train's passing dominated the conversation, along with the honking train horn, a minor inconvenience for the few minutes it took the train to pass. Both freight and passenger rail use the tracks that run nearby our school. But unlike the US, both freight and passenger rail move very quickly here. It only ever takes the train a few minutes to pass. Then we were back to our conversation and enjoying our meal, scooping rice, meat and vegetable in every spoonful. I've been complemented on my skill with chopsticks by several Chinese people, so I don't purposely avoid their use, but in this case everyone here uses spoons (often big, western style soup spoons) and shoveling the food into your mouth works better than delicately placing each clump of rice into your mouth individually.
It's important to get done with your meal quickly at lunch here because there's important work to be done during the lunch hour(s). Namely, a nap. This town, perhaps the whole province, observes a midday nap, especially in effect during the summer. I'd heard of this tradition in Granada, Spain and assumed that it was unique to that place, but there are a million things in China that remain hidden from the west simply because they're too numerous to name. Well, let me convey this amazing and quite sensible practice. Lunch here begins around noon, as it does in the US, then work resumes about 2:30~3 o'clock. During which time, people go for a quick bite to eat (food is never far away in a Chinese city), then back to the apartment for a quick nap of an hour or so (or whatever you can get away with), and then back to work refreshed and ready for the rest of the day, which may end at 5pm, or last until ten, according to your job and boss's mood. Either way, there's also great fun to be had after work.
If you're familiar with the napping practice in Spain, you may also be aware that it tends to create a nightlife, since people don't go to bed at a decent hour. (Speaking for myself, I could take the midday nap and still sleep an eight hour night.) Chenzhou is no different. People get off at work at ten o'clock here and go out to the bars and clubs. But the bars are only busy for a couple of hours, then people head back home and get ready to do the whole thing again tomorrow. Foreigners seem to have trouble with this concept, occupying bar stools long after the sensible local people have gone home. Bar owners don't seem to mind and continue serving the laoxi long after western bar owners would have thrown them out. Last Friday night I ran into some Brits at Mustache (local gay-ish bar) who said they were waiting on some people to take them to 'English Club'. I was unable to determine whether this was a club for English people, or a club where English was spoken before some Chinese friends showed up, joined us and told us they were here to meet some English people to show them where English club was. So started a delightful weekend of drunken hi-jinks.
We left Mustache and headed for Sean's Irish Pub, my favorite expat watering hole. Sean came out to greet all of us and chat while we socialized and spoke English with Chinese people interested in learning English and at various levels of skill. The mix was about fifty/fifty native speakers to learners. As the night wore on, the learners made their way home and the English speakers got ever drunker. At some point there were no learners left and we collectively decided to make our way to a club. In a more sober state, I probably wouldn't have opted to join them, but after a few (and really, just a few) beers, I was easily coaxed into walking to the other side of town to try this club.
Although I don't remember how exactly we got there, it was in an area of town where the sidewalk was a memory. Crushed, apparently, by large construction equipment which was no longer present or evident in any way, the large chunks of concrete which used to be the sidewalk would have made walking difficult for a sober person, but were more or less glided over by our drunken crew. Drunk people always seem to have that ability to glide over hazards that would stop a sensible person in their tracks. The area in front of the club, however, was free of all detritus. There were a few cars and a single food cart grilling various meats on a stick. The cart was very popular with people exiting the club and most notable were a group of women who were dressed to the nines in their best club clothes, designed especially for those who lack imagination. "Do you want to try some of this?" My Hawaiian friend asked, unable to tear his gaze from the ladies waiting for their meat sticks. I laughed and told him I just came to see the club. "Oh, yeah."
We made our way into the club and it was exactly what I expected. Loud and obnoxious music making it impossible to hear anyone, overpriced drinks (not that I bought any), and almost no one on the dance floor. We made our way to the table with our friends and partook in some drinks that a local had bought for them. Whether it's food or drink, the Chinese are ridiculously generous and expect you to partake, even if you've really had enough. I got to the dance floor and faux danced with the last of the day's energy, then came back to the table, had another drink someone insisted on, and told my friend as soon as I saw him that I was going to head out. He was ready to go too, and together we made our way to the street and a cab. After a dinner at one of Chenzhou's only all-night eateries (delightful dumplings after midnight), we made our way back to the school and to sleep.
That was Friday. Saturday was a day off, but Sunday I was back at Mustache and ran into the British expats again. We all ended up gathered around a table and they told me that they had gotten soo drunk Friday night, as often ends up being the case. Three of them said that they couldn't remember anything after we arrived at the club to the next morning when they all woke up in one of their apartments and wondered if someone had slipped something in their drinks at the club. Yes, I thought. Copious amounts of alcohol. They all said that woke up covered in scratches and one was even missing a shoe. It sounded like the end of a great night (at 22 years old, anyway), or the beginning of a great joke.
In any case, the Canadian at the table apparently wanted to start the process over again and ordered a round of shots for the whole table. When they arrived, he proceeded use his lighter to set each shot aflame, which caused me to again consider the best theme music for 'Bad Idea Theater'. When each shot was busy burning off the very thing he'd paid for, he began to distribute them to each person, except not everyone was easily reached. With one shot in each hand, trying to reach across the table, we could all see clearly that his thumb had caught fire. Pointing, but not panicking yet, we caused him to notice his thumb. Unfortunately, he looked at the wrong thumb. So he slightly turned the previously unignighted hand, dumping the flaming beverage all over his hand and onto the table. Now, with both hand and table aflame, he knew he had to get rid of the other shot glass, but when he looked over he noticed that (by now) it too was a raging inferno. He slammed that glass down and this time the lit beverage not only went all over the table, but onto the floor as well.
Somehow, we didn't burn the building down. The fire was stamped out and his hands were cooled in the bathroom sink. Shots were drank and another wild night had begun for this crowd. At their age, I would have greatly enjoyed their wild nights. As I recall, I had a few myself. But my night was over. I thanked them for the shot and made my way home. The fun for me in China will have little to do with wild nights at the club. I'm more interested in my favorite eatery and pub. I'm looking forward to walking the city more and discovering new streets, markets, and whatever else is out there. The exciting thing is being here, finding out what's extraordinary and what the Chinese consider ordinary.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Sunday, October 11, 2015
A trip to the market
I had a nice walk today. I visited with a couple of teachers from another school. We chatted over lunch at the food court of a local mall. I nearly wrote 'Chinese mall', but I suppose that would be stating the obvious. Nevertheless, I felt something was required to distinguish this experience from a typical American mall. Firstly, Chinese malls are vertical, not horizontal. This allows them to be built in the middle of town so everyone can get to them. The first floor typically seems to be the department store. When you reach the center, there's typically a tall (four or five stories) atrium, where the escalators crisscross the atrium all the way up. There seemed to be typical mall stores on every level until we reached our destination, the food court on the fourth floor. The food court itself wasn't terribly different from an American food court, except that it was family style dining (it almost always is in China). We purchased about half a dozen bowls of various different items (I should write an entire post dedicated to the food here) and shared them between the three of us.
After lunch, I struck out on my own to see the city, as I have almost daily since I arrived. On this walk, I was hoping to find a street I've yet to walk down, or a pedestrian mall unfamiliar to me. It didn't seem I was going to have much luck, being as that I'm an avid walker and have covered most of the streets adjacent to the school I'm working at. I thought I would walk down the same streets, or maybe try a new one that turned out to look the same. This is never a disappointment, by the way, every street in China has been interesting so far. I'm astounded at the sheer volume of small businesses. Every available storefront is in use for something. Whether it's a hair salon, sushi restaurant, or welding shop, almost everything is in use and open. That makes for very interesting street life in China. No matter the time of day or evening, something is happening on every street. Customers in the day, busily in and out of the shop or restaurant. Family in the evening, hanging out around the shop, shooting the shit and watching the babies and kids play in front of the shop while they all await closing time.
So today, I knew I would be in for a treat regardless of what the street looked like. I've experienced streets so far that are crowded with fresh fruit and vegetable shops, some that are predominated by food vendors, and even a particular street that is a long row of furniture stores, most no wider than a car length, but packed with an astoundingly wide range of furniture styles (the stores had everything from locally made, traditional, wooden to Ikea knockoffs). After a month in China, I'm still surprised at what I actually find. After a couple of blocks down an unfamiliar street, I saw the entrance to a market area off the main road. Intrigued, I crossed the street and entered.
You can never really tell how big a market is going to be by peering in the entrance. At first, it looked pretty normal, with all manner of vegetable and fruit sellers along the entryway, but very quickly it turned into a full fledged food market. Ladies along the side of the pathway were selling live fish out of relatively shallow pans. Progressing further, I crossed a small bridge over a shallow river (Chenzhou is at the confluence of two rivers) and progressed into a wonderland of urban markets. A variety of unfamiliar spices and dried chilies, live foul, meat and animals (I mean to say that it didn't look like meat from a supermarket, but clearly distinguishable as heads, legs, feet, etc.), and the like.
I kept meandering through the market, keeping to the main pathway, but always stopping to gaze down the various pathways at the other options, sometimes pathways next to the river, populated by endless tables of older gentlemen playing (presumably) ma jong, and sometimes tile covered interiors moist with either constant washing or the moisture of oil and blood from the meats they're selling. Despite the draw of these two extremes, I kept to the path and walked along, fascinated enough by the experience that I could stumble through and just look, dodging to the side at the sound of a scooter horn from behind (a reflex by now) and stopping at the more interesting piles of spices.
I had only just decided to dub this 'the endless market' when I saw the end of the main pathway. I could have turned back and explored some of the many alternate routes, but I decided to press forward instead, so emboldened by my discovery that I was certain I would find more great things in my exploration. About 30 seconds after my exit, however, I was wishing I would find another, similar market to explore. Then my wish was granted as I passed in front of a small, nondescript entryway off the busy road that the market had dumped me out onto. I entered, hopeful that there would be something of interest. Of course, I only continued because there most certainly was.
This new market stretched on strait. No food at all. This market sold all manner of non perishable goods. Cookware, toys, packaged snacks, clothes. The list could go on forever. The assortment was seemingly random, but people from this neighborhood undoubtedly knew to come here for whatever they might want and I'm sure knew which vendor had the lowest price. That seems ubiquitous in China: connections to a friend in the market supersede marketing every time. I progressed down the market after noon. Apparently about the time the stores are ready to close up. When I reached the end, I was at an outdoor winding staircase, which ended at no other place that the 'still looks like it did when it was alive' section of the previous market.
These markets are such an exiting part of being in China that they alone make it worth being here. There's a similar, though smaller, market close to the school at which I work. I have made a promise to myself to make sure that I explore that market thoroughly and begin shopping at it while I'm living here.
After lunch, I struck out on my own to see the city, as I have almost daily since I arrived. On this walk, I was hoping to find a street I've yet to walk down, or a pedestrian mall unfamiliar to me. It didn't seem I was going to have much luck, being as that I'm an avid walker and have covered most of the streets adjacent to the school I'm working at. I thought I would walk down the same streets, or maybe try a new one that turned out to look the same. This is never a disappointment, by the way, every street in China has been interesting so far. I'm astounded at the sheer volume of small businesses. Every available storefront is in use for something. Whether it's a hair salon, sushi restaurant, or welding shop, almost everything is in use and open. That makes for very interesting street life in China. No matter the time of day or evening, something is happening on every street. Customers in the day, busily in and out of the shop or restaurant. Family in the evening, hanging out around the shop, shooting the shit and watching the babies and kids play in front of the shop while they all await closing time.
So today, I knew I would be in for a treat regardless of what the street looked like. I've experienced streets so far that are crowded with fresh fruit and vegetable shops, some that are predominated by food vendors, and even a particular street that is a long row of furniture stores, most no wider than a car length, but packed with an astoundingly wide range of furniture styles (the stores had everything from locally made, traditional, wooden to Ikea knockoffs). After a month in China, I'm still surprised at what I actually find. After a couple of blocks down an unfamiliar street, I saw the entrance to a market area off the main road. Intrigued, I crossed the street and entered.
You can never really tell how big a market is going to be by peering in the entrance. At first, it looked pretty normal, with all manner of vegetable and fruit sellers along the entryway, but very quickly it turned into a full fledged food market. Ladies along the side of the pathway were selling live fish out of relatively shallow pans. Progressing further, I crossed a small bridge over a shallow river (Chenzhou is at the confluence of two rivers) and progressed into a wonderland of urban markets. A variety of unfamiliar spices and dried chilies, live foul, meat and animals (I mean to say that it didn't look like meat from a supermarket, but clearly distinguishable as heads, legs, feet, etc.), and the like.
I kept meandering through the market, keeping to the main pathway, but always stopping to gaze down the various pathways at the other options, sometimes pathways next to the river, populated by endless tables of older gentlemen playing (presumably) ma jong, and sometimes tile covered interiors moist with either constant washing or the moisture of oil and blood from the meats they're selling. Despite the draw of these two extremes, I kept to the path and walked along, fascinated enough by the experience that I could stumble through and just look, dodging to the side at the sound of a scooter horn from behind (a reflex by now) and stopping at the more interesting piles of spices.
I had only just decided to dub this 'the endless market' when I saw the end of the main pathway. I could have turned back and explored some of the many alternate routes, but I decided to press forward instead, so emboldened by my discovery that I was certain I would find more great things in my exploration. About 30 seconds after my exit, however, I was wishing I would find another, similar market to explore. Then my wish was granted as I passed in front of a small, nondescript entryway off the busy road that the market had dumped me out onto. I entered, hopeful that there would be something of interest. Of course, I only continued because there most certainly was.
This new market stretched on strait. No food at all. This market sold all manner of non perishable goods. Cookware, toys, packaged snacks, clothes. The list could go on forever. The assortment was seemingly random, but people from this neighborhood undoubtedly knew to come here for whatever they might want and I'm sure knew which vendor had the lowest price. That seems ubiquitous in China: connections to a friend in the market supersede marketing every time. I progressed down the market after noon. Apparently about the time the stores are ready to close up. When I reached the end, I was at an outdoor winding staircase, which ended at no other place that the 'still looks like it did when it was alive' section of the previous market.
These markets are such an exiting part of being in China that they alone make it worth being here. There's a similar, though smaller, market close to the school at which I work. I have made a promise to myself to make sure that I explore that market thoroughly and begin shopping at it while I'm living here.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
A relaxing night out
The ground felt slimy and gritty at the same time. I felt it against the palms of my hands and the left side of my face as I pushed against it in an attempt to right myself. I hadn't been drinking that much, really. A friend was showing me a couple of expat bars in this tiny Chinese burg of around a million people. We had a couple of drinks at each place, a number not well evidenced by the forest of bottles on our table. Nevertheless, I only remember having a few.
The first place we went that night was the place I'm currently writing this blog post. It's an Irish pub right on the main thoroughfare through town. The guy who owns the place goes by Sean, though I suspect that is not his given name. I met him the other night shortly after he returned from a vacation in Thailand. He says he hasn't traveled much, but he's also been to Australia, which makes him seem fairly well traveled to me. In any case, he has a fantastic Irish pub right in the middle of China. And he does it quite well. The beers are fairly cheap and the food is fantastic. If you pop in, though, don't expect black pudding, shepherd's pie, or Irish stew. Everything on the menu is distinctly Chinese. Except the Thai spring rolls. And everything on the menu is ridiculously spicy. This is Hunan province, after all. They have a reputation to uphold.
I somehow managed to bring my feet underneath me and rise erect again. At first, I thought I would simply dust myself off and not mention the incident to my friend, a Hawaiian Sinophile who's lived in China for several years. But as I raised my hand to clothes to 'dust off'', my hand stuck. I had some difficulty freeing it from the thick, black goo now coating my left side, nearly head to toe. My friend emerged from Mr Mustache.
Mr. Mustache was the second bar that he had taken me to. It seems the expat bars, at least, in this town must have a theme. Sean's is an Irish pub theme. Mr. Mustache seems to have a 'gay bar' theme. Not to be confused with and actual gay bar, or maybe it should be. I'm still not completely sure. I've been told that it is a gay bar. I've seen no actual evidence that it is. It feels like a gay bar, and is accessed via a creepy back alley off the main road. It's too dark to see anyone else, and almost no one socializes with anyone outside the group they came with, so it certainly seems like a gay bar. I've also noticed that plenty of younger Chinese people who aren't gay frequent the bar. I'm not sure why, but it seems a popular thing to do.
In any case, my friend warned me, and I later confirmed, that some of our students frequent the bar and that it might be awkward running into your high school students at bar. Which it would. I asked if China didn't have an age limit for drinking alcohol. The answer was a distracted 'probably'. It was one of many 'Welcome to China!' moments. Not surprisingly, the kids here have no 'go wild' moment when they can start drinking and I'm told that kids getting sloppy drunk isn't really a thing here. The kids who go out to drink have a couple, then head home. It doesn't seem to be a point of fascination for them.
My friend ran out to greet/assist me. "Oh my god! What happened?" My cover was blown. No getting around it now. Also, was I standing up yet? Oh yes, I'd finished that part.
"The ground slid right out from under me." My tongue was overactive in every word. He began to escort me out of the alley. "We've got to get you a cab." I thought the suggestion was ludicrous. I couldn't have been that bad off. After all, I was walking, if not directing myself, under my own volition.
"Oh?" I protested as vehemently as possible. He continued to direct me out to a cab, which he flagged down almost immediately. Without much cognizance of my surroundings or immediate happenings, I was ushered into the cab and he chatted with the cabbie in, for all I knew at the moment, could have been English (but I'm sure wasn't), then I waved goodbye and was off, through the streets of an unfamiliar city, trusting the man behind the wheel to do his job and see me safely back to my new home. I couldn't have communicated with him, even if he spoke English. I wouldn't have known which bus to take. I was completely unfamiliar with the city, so I wouldn't have been able to find my way back on foot.
But I wasn't worried about any of that. The stress of an international move planned in less than a month, along with the stress of starting a new job, one for which I have no qualifications, and (of course), the stress of adjusting to a culture as different from our own as any I can think of, were being dutifully dissolved by the magic of just enough alcohol. Some people think you shouldn't turn to alcohol to deal with your problems. There are times when that is true. But really, the proof is in the pudding, isn't it? Alcohol isn't meant to solve problems. It's meant to alleviate temporary stress. And it does so beautifully.
I just hope that strange black slime/grit comes out of my shirt.
The first place we went that night was the place I'm currently writing this blog post. It's an Irish pub right on the main thoroughfare through town. The guy who owns the place goes by Sean, though I suspect that is not his given name. I met him the other night shortly after he returned from a vacation in Thailand. He says he hasn't traveled much, but he's also been to Australia, which makes him seem fairly well traveled to me. In any case, he has a fantastic Irish pub right in the middle of China. And he does it quite well. The beers are fairly cheap and the food is fantastic. If you pop in, though, don't expect black pudding, shepherd's pie, or Irish stew. Everything on the menu is distinctly Chinese. Except the Thai spring rolls. And everything on the menu is ridiculously spicy. This is Hunan province, after all. They have a reputation to uphold.
I somehow managed to bring my feet underneath me and rise erect again. At first, I thought I would simply dust myself off and not mention the incident to my friend, a Hawaiian Sinophile who's lived in China for several years. But as I raised my hand to clothes to 'dust off'', my hand stuck. I had some difficulty freeing it from the thick, black goo now coating my left side, nearly head to toe. My friend emerged from Mr Mustache.
Mr. Mustache was the second bar that he had taken me to. It seems the expat bars, at least, in this town must have a theme. Sean's is an Irish pub theme. Mr. Mustache seems to have a 'gay bar' theme. Not to be confused with and actual gay bar, or maybe it should be. I'm still not completely sure. I've been told that it is a gay bar. I've seen no actual evidence that it is. It feels like a gay bar, and is accessed via a creepy back alley off the main road. It's too dark to see anyone else, and almost no one socializes with anyone outside the group they came with, so it certainly seems like a gay bar. I've also noticed that plenty of younger Chinese people who aren't gay frequent the bar. I'm not sure why, but it seems a popular thing to do.
In any case, my friend warned me, and I later confirmed, that some of our students frequent the bar and that it might be awkward running into your high school students at bar. Which it would. I asked if China didn't have an age limit for drinking alcohol. The answer was a distracted 'probably'. It was one of many 'Welcome to China!' moments. Not surprisingly, the kids here have no 'go wild' moment when they can start drinking and I'm told that kids getting sloppy drunk isn't really a thing here. The kids who go out to drink have a couple, then head home. It doesn't seem to be a point of fascination for them.
My friend ran out to greet/assist me. "Oh my god! What happened?" My cover was blown. No getting around it now. Also, was I standing up yet? Oh yes, I'd finished that part.
"The ground slid right out from under me." My tongue was overactive in every word. He began to escort me out of the alley. "We've got to get you a cab." I thought the suggestion was ludicrous. I couldn't have been that bad off. After all, I was walking, if not directing myself, under my own volition.
"Oh?" I protested as vehemently as possible. He continued to direct me out to a cab, which he flagged down almost immediately. Without much cognizance of my surroundings or immediate happenings, I was ushered into the cab and he chatted with the cabbie in, for all I knew at the moment, could have been English (but I'm sure wasn't), then I waved goodbye and was off, through the streets of an unfamiliar city, trusting the man behind the wheel to do his job and see me safely back to my new home. I couldn't have communicated with him, even if he spoke English. I wouldn't have known which bus to take. I was completely unfamiliar with the city, so I wouldn't have been able to find my way back on foot.
But I wasn't worried about any of that. The stress of an international move planned in less than a month, along with the stress of starting a new job, one for which I have no qualifications, and (of course), the stress of adjusting to a culture as different from our own as any I can think of, were being dutifully dissolved by the magic of just enough alcohol. Some people think you shouldn't turn to alcohol to deal with your problems. There are times when that is true. But really, the proof is in the pudding, isn't it? Alcohol isn't meant to solve problems. It's meant to alleviate temporary stress. And it does so beautifully.
I just hope that strange black slime/grit comes out of my shirt.
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