February Journal
In which I arrive at Yilong, the village where I am to live and teach.
February 2nd, 2005On Monday, I went out to have a hike around Emei Shan, one of the four sacred Buddhist mountains in China. It is a series of high peaks set among steep forested ravines and gorges. Near the base, the forest was moist and cool, while near the top everything was covered with a thick layer of intricate ice formations. I started off by having a look at the monasteries at the base of the mountain. Most of these featured all the usual fat laughing Buddhas, giant blue demons, bonsai and incense. However, one place called Fu Hu Temple, had probably the weirdest religious display I’d ever seen anywhere. There were nearly 400 brightly painted, full sized statues of men in all sorts of bizarre attitudes and expressions. Every face was contorted, or composed into a different extreme expression of rage, laughter, sloth, kindness, glee, etc. Many of the figures were deformed, with multiple heads or grotesque appendages. All these wild statues surround a huge golden statue of four gods and goddesses compressed into a single pillar, with an array of supernumerary heads. There was no English explanation of any of this. I’m totally at a loss to explain it.
Next I hiked 16 kilometers through the forest, up steep stone steps the whole way. The scenery resembled some old Chinese landscape paintings I had seen. In the late afternoon, I arrived at the beautiful Hongchun Ping Venerable Trees Terrace Monastery, where I spent the night. Enormous and ancient towering trees grew out of the steep slopes there. Something like a type of Ficus, perhaps. The monastery was perhaps the coolest and most atmospheric place I’d spent the night. Also the bathrooms featured a stunning open-air view and a unique 360 degree shitting pavilion accommodating twelve persons. Besides the monks, only a few other Chinese tourists were staying there. My bedroom was off a central courtyard, with an alter and large gilded Buddhas. I ate at a small nearby café perched on a cliff, called the Hard Wok Café. During the night, it was so cold I had some difficulties falling asleep. At about 6 AM, the monks fired up the incense and began an hour-long session of gonging, chanting, and banging various ritual objects. The “music” was uniquely unrhythmic and unmusical, but fascinating. I lay curled in my bed, which had finally warmed up, and listened to it. At dawn I set off up more steep stone steps, and soon climbed above snowline. The ice formations were fantastic. I hiked 36 kilometers up to the summit, meeting very few people along the way. I was hungry, but there was nowhere to eat. The many snack pavilions were closed for the winter. At one point, some monks refilled my water bottle for me. Near the top, I found a place to buy some iron spikes for my boots, which helped immensely on the icy trail. There were several isolated monasteries along the way. At the top, monkeys begged for food in the snow. Visibility up there was about 33 feet. I was so tired that I took a bus back down to the base. All in all, it was an awesome trip. It was so good to get out into the woods alone.
February 4th, 2005
Last night, I took a pleasant 23 hour train trip from Chengdu down to Kunming in Yunnan province. Here the sky is clear blue, and the temperature is warm and kind. It’s quite odd to have gone from ice and snow to this. Here in Kunming, every building seems to have been constructed within the last three years, except for the mosque. It’s so nice here I can understand why the teaching jobs pay only half as much. Almost every foreigner I meet here in China is teaching. A few are studying Chinese. I think I’ve met only one fellow, an Italian, who was just traveling around. The type of people I meet here are all of a certain kind, quite different from the travelers I met in the Middle East. They seem more clean and business-oriented. It’s so much easier to live here as an expat than in Cairo.
A fortuneteller outside of a temple in Kunming.
The stalls to the right sell ritual supplies.
So, I’ve been going though some different theories as to why Chinese people don’t get out of the way on the street. First I thought that they just didn’t have much awareness of what’s going on around them. Next I hypothesized that it might be part of their “face” thing, and that they somehow felt that they would be losing face if they got out of someone’s way. Lastly, I guessed that they have such a different sense of personal space that they just don’t mind continually running into each other all the time. Perhaps it’s some combination of these three. I’ve also noticed that each Chinese city has its own delicious and unique set so street snacks available. So far, though, once I’ve figured out which ones are best, I’ve moved on to another city. Today in Kunming, I discovered a weird type of fruit I’d never seen before. It was large and bright pink or magenta colored, with green fleshy protrusions adorning the exterior. Inside, it was white with thousands of tiny black seeds. I love finding new things like this. The people seem about the same here, perhaps a little more tanned. It’s quite nice and almost astonishing to have finally gotten out from under the dense cloud of smog that covers Northern china. This is the first time I’ve seen the moon or blue sky for weeks.
February 5th, 2005Kunming is such a warm and pleasant city. It feels like high springtime here. At the end of the long boulevards, you can see distant hills. I began this day with a trip out to the Western hills to visit a bamboo monastery with some famously freakish statues of 500 arhats, or noble ones. These are people who have attained enlightenment, I think. They were certainly weird looking, but were displayed up high in narrow dark rooms. I’m guessing the weird statues at Wu Fu temple in Emei Shan were arhats too. Those ones were larger and more impressive. After looking at the statues for a few minutes, I knew I hadn’t come all this way only for them, so I left the monastery and wandered into the woods behind. The forest had an almost Mediterranean feel, with lots of different types of pines and broadleaf evergreens, like laurel or rhododendron. Very pleasant. After walking for a while along a path, I came to a small spring. I heard voices behind me and decided to hide. For some reason, whenever I’m in the woods I try to walk silently and hide from people. I can remember doing this as a little kid too. Meeting another person in the woods breaks some sort of spell. I climbed up to a thicket and listened for about half an hour. Later, some mushroom or firewood gatherers walked quite nearby in plain sight without spotting me. After a while, I came out and walked past the men at the spring. They were making tea and were quite surprised to see me, although they didn’t say anything. Another sasquatch sighting for them. Actually, the forest was quite busy with gatherers of various sorts. I took a meecrobus down from the hills, and then walked back to Kunming. I ate at a nice vegetarian restaurant, then spent the rest of the day walking around the city, taking a few pictures. I managed to find several small and very isolated sections of old hutong type neighborhoods. These last pockets of old growth were clearly slated for destruction. It seems that the Chinese feel no compulsion to preserve old buildings. Every city is awash with demolition and construction. Wandering through the rubble of a bulldozed neighborhood, I spotted a pretty girl with high boots, carrying an umbrella. I stopped to take a photo, but she was gone. I remembered then why I stopped doing photography long ago – it constantly interferes with my aesthetic appreciation of the moment. I also bought four old coins and a small lock today, honing my bargaining skills. Now its 9 PM, and I’m waiting for my 10:10 bus to Dali, sitting in an echoing waiting chamber full of announcements, arguments, joking, eating, and instant noodles in disposable bowls.
February 6th, 2005
Last night I took a sleeper bus, which was something new for me. Aside from the pogo stick, the sleeper bus has got to be one of the most ludicrous forms of transport ever devised. Take a bus, scrap the sets, and fill it with narrow bunk beds and a six-inch aisle, and there you are. I was sandwiched in the back with four other men. We had to wait in there two hours before the bus left, then a six-hour trip. Astonishingly, I managed to enter a sort of doze for part of the time. A little before dawn, I arrived in Dali, a small beautiful town beside a large lake, beneath 4000 meter mountains. The stars were very bright, and the waning moon was just setting. Only a few days until the New Year here. Dali is largely devoted to tourists, both foreign and domestic. It’s supposed to be a good place to chill out for a time. Marijuana grows wild here. It’s so nice to see a big healthy ganja plant just growing along to itself with nobody bothering it. After a short rest, I decided to try and climb a nearby mountain. I set off walking through the streets, which were full of beautiful polished slabs of black and white marble, which had natural landscapes on them. Lots of stone carving goes on here. I walked North for a few miles, then headed across some fields and wasteland into the forest on the slopes. There were many old and new tombs off in the woods. After four hours of climbing, including some fairly intense bushwhacking, I made it above treeline. There was a beautiful view across the lake, over the fields and town. By this point, though, I was very hungry, and my water was low, so I hiked back down, vowing to make another attempt with an earlier start and better supplies. Meanwhile, though, I’ll just sit back and enjoy the view across this square lake at sunset, meditating on my next mountaineering expedition.
Also while climbing up the mountain this morning, I had cause to reflect that Chinese women are BAD-ASS. I passed several groups of ancient women, only a few feet high, and appearing to be about 60-70 years old, carrying enormous piles of firewood on their backs. This was a good two-hour hike up a steep eroded mountain, and the amount of wood they were carrying was clearly several times their own personal volume and probably mass. I doubt if 1 in 1,000 American women of that age would be capable of that feat, yet this is a regular thing for the Chinese peasants. Even I would have had some difficulty with it. I believe that the closer humans live to the Earth, the more powers they acquire. Indeed, many wild animals are so deeply aware of their environment that they appear to have magic powers of endurance and evasion. The wild beasts are also exceedingly wily and crafty. Likewise, the more I travel the world, the more wily and dubious I become. Civilized persons, and especially urban pampered residents of the First World are so trusting and unaware that they are easily conned on the rare occasions when they escape from their sties. Of course, I have been had many times. Learning to bargain is difficult for Westerners.
Especially humiliating are the times when my bargaining efforts fall totally flat. Yesterday, I saw an old coin for sale that I liked. I asked the price. Ten. I decided to start off the bargaining with an offer of five, and the old man immediately accepted. When I paid the five Yuan, he broke out laughing in my face, and called his friends over to join in, saying something in Chinese which was obviously approximate to- “Hey, I just got this foreigner to pay five Yuan for this piece of crap! Hahahaha!” My only consolation is that five Yuan is about 60 US cents, so whatever.
One aspect of China that I find surprising is how easy it is to escape from the crowds and get off alone into the wilderness and abandoned places. Perhaps this is because so much of China is mountainous. Also the clotting behavior of humans probably helps. Still though, the solitary areas never seem to be quite desolate. There are always a few people about gathering firewood or mushrooms. Even in the large and foul city of Taiyuan, I found a huge abandoned place alongside the river. The only other person there was practicing his trumpet.
A few other peculiarities of the Chinese that I’ve noted- they don’t mind listening to the same song over and over again in a continuous loop. In the forest, they are especially lacking in dwimmercraftyness, -they never seem to notice me until I’m right next to them. Curiously, I must say that the presence of the authoritarian state is much less notable in China than in Egypt on a day to day level, even though the Chinese government is much more repressive and totalitarian that the Egyptian one. In Cairo, large squadrons of heavily armed riot cops were deployed downtown in large sinister trucks. In China, only a few lazy cops lounge or goose-step about. I’m guessing that there are several reasons for this. First, non-governmental or societal systems of control may be much more established and deeply rooted her in China. Thus overt crushing is rarely needed. Most importantly, the Chinese state knows that it is in total, unchallengeable control, whereas the Mubarak government in Egypt was abundantly aware that it was totally illegitimate, weak, and vulnerable to collapse at the slightest shock. Only the habitual sloth and apathy of the Egyptians allows their government to persist. Mubarak is doubtlessly aware of the bursts of anger and seething passion that can punctuate the habitual drowse of the Arab/Egyptian psyche.
February 8th, 2005
Yesterday, I had a relaxing day around Dali. I walked down to the lake through the fields, which smelled wonderful in the warm breeze. I ate mushrooms and fish at various restaurants. Mostly I was resting up for my mountain expedition.
Today I arose at dawn, and set off fully supplied, determined to reach the peak. By eleven o’clock, I had reached my previous high point. This was above tree line, in a rocky area. A little higher up, I found the remains of a sizable ruined village of stone huts. Next was a section I called the 6th pitch. From below, this appeared to be a steep alpine meadow leading to the rocky approach to the summit. However, instead of a meadow, I found this to be a dense, thorny thicket of impenetrable scrubbery, bamboo, and rhododendron, well over my head, and almost impossible to move through. I was nearing the top, and had plenty of food, water, and time left, but the thicket was absolutely the most grueling bushwhack I’d ever encountered. Eventually, I found a narrow animal track in a snowy streambed. I crawled up this on all fours for about an hour, which was among the most miserable hours of my life outside of educational institutions. I despaired of reaching the summit, and instead set my goal as an isolated pillar of rock in the midst of a triangle sticking up from the thicket. Although the rock was only about 20 meters from the streambed, it took me nearly 45 minutes to get to, because of the dense vegetation and snow. Each step took ages to negotiate, and at one point I was basically swimming in a sea of bamboo six feet above the ground. At last I made it to the rock, which I called the Chorten. I ate my lunch there (chocolate, mandarins, crackers, and a weird green Chinese pastry). The view was absolutely awesome, and I took many pictures with my disposable camera. I was very sad not to have reached the summit and looked down over the other side, because I was certain I had the ability to do so, had it not been for the vegetation.
Despite this, it was one of the best days I’ve ever had. I feel that I am at my best climbing alone in the mountains. There’s nothing I like better than to head out at dawn with a supply of water and bread, and climb up alone into the hills. Up there, alone with the hawks and the massive silence, I feel infinitely self-sufficient, free and happy. On my way back down, in the forest, I weirdly met someone who recognized me from my alma mater, Reed College. He was gathering pine needles for a ceremony at the nearby monastery where he was studying kung fu. I finally walked back into Dali at dusk, totally exhausted but very happy.
February 10th, 2005This day I made another attempt on the mountains behind Dali. This time I hiked up a closer peak with a monastery on it. I made it quite high, although not to the top. It was nice to get up high again. There was a very distinct layer of brown exhaust and coal smog over the lake and plain. Even thousands of feet above the city, the car horns were still audible, although very faint. The main interesting thing about his hike was that lots of Chinese tourists were doing it too. The Chinese hike in a unique fashion. Traveling in large groups, they rush up the mountain at high speeds, constantly eating, smoking, yelling, hocking loogies and talking on cell phones. They throw all sorts of plastic trash, toilet paper, cigarette butts, and used up batteries on the ground. In places the deeply rutted trail looked like a dump. Also, they scream and yell en masse for no apparent reason. On the descent, I passed many groups of people screaming like lunatics. Other groups would echo back. Although I failed to understand this behavior, I felt slightly compelled to join in. I guess the Chinese really hate peace and silence. They like things loud, hot and busy. One of the main reasons I decided to leave Dali tomorrow is that they have this garbage truck with a loudspeaker blaring “Happy Birthday to You” in piercing tones. It drives around all day and people throw trash into it. Sometimes it is far. Sometimes it is near. But seldom is it ever inaudible. Listening to this moronic, deafening song over and over again drives me right up to the edge of berserk rage. Only the thought of the Public Security Bureau prevents me from attacking it with a brick or giant firecracker. No one else seems to mind, though.
February 11th, 2005
This day I had the opportunity to experience a six-hour bus ride folded up like a lawn chair in the back of a small bus. To paraphrase Milarepa, the 11th century Tibetan saint, “If there were no Chinese bus rides, how would one have the opportunity to practice patience?” Now, there are no doubt many concepts that the Chinese have, which we in the West lack utterly. However, there is one concept even their wisest sages are incapable of grasping, namely: passengers get on bus, bus goes to destination, passengers get off bus. How, they ask, could such a thing possibly happen? What about the obligatory two-hour delay after the bus is full, before it departs? What about the absolutely essential operation in which, after five minutes of travel, everyone is made to get off the first bus and pile into another? How could one possibly omit the honored tradition of pulling into a field of rubble, screaming and urinating for twenty minutes, then driving on? Clearly impossible. Inconceivable. For some reason, my bus today took obscure back roads through the countryside, many of which were mere slots of dust, gravel and potholes. It was too bumpy to sleep, or even to read. Chinese girls like to throw up on such occasions, and soon the exterior of the bus was thickly encrusted with vomitous expurgations. At least there were a few Germans and Brits folded up back there with me to chat with. Upon arrival in Kunming, I checked into the excellent and auspicious KUNHU hotel, whose logo featured the letter K in a labrys. I ate at the vegetarian restaurant again. For some reason, all the vegetarian restaurants in China are comparatively expensive, and feature all varieties of imitation meat products, such as vegetarian duck, pork, squid, chicken, tendons, fish and tripe. Today I for some reason ordered the pseudo pork, which tasted almost exactly like pork. Nasty. As a vegetarian, I think eating dead animals is disgusting and sad, so I can’t see why all these fake meats are produced. It would seem to me that at a vegetarian restaurant, the last thing you’d want is to be reminded of eating dead animals. Let alone eat something that tastes like one. Still, all the other things I ate were excellent. Chinese food in general is wonderful. Even at quite small and cheap restaurants, they’re clearly serving a well thought out cuisine, with complex and balanced flavors. Next week I’ve got to start teaching. For now, I’m experiencing a curious feeling of emptiness, freedom and happiness. Like if I accidentally go on a bus for a town 2,000 km in the wrong direction, or lost my luggage, it wouldn’t even matter. Except for my dream diary, that is.
February 14th, 2005
I’ve just arrived in Nanning, after an over-night train ride from Kunming. I love traveling by train here, because I can ensconce myself in the top bunk, and arrive at my destination fresh and well rested in the morning. The only downside is the loudspeakers that blare appalling muzak until 10PM. I absolutely loathe and abominate being subjected to music that I hate, especially if it is loud and screeching, as is generally the case in China. Of the many forms of pollution in China, noise pollution is among the most vexatious. There are loudspeakers everywhere, even in outdoor public parks, blaring announcements and shrieking cheeseball muzak. It reminds me of the telescreens in Orwell’s 1984, or the muzak in Nurse Ratched’s ward, which RP McMurphy battles to silence. Just a little something to ensure that your mind is constantly invaded by the machine virus. There are three forms of Chinese muzak- First, “traditional music” which involved atonal gourds and thrumming, with female vocals at 9779783 Khz. Second is Chinese versions of the worst of American lite rock. This is the worst and most popular. Third is a sort of stripped down house or techno electronic music, which I love, especially when it is played through blown out and distorted speakers. This last emerges from lower-end clothing shops and CD stores, and rivals the best the Portland underground noise music scene can come up with. Especially when it is played backwards at high speed.
February 16th, 2005
Yesterday I arrived in Yangshuo, a bustling tourist village famous for its picturesque limestone karst mountains. These weird mountains actually cover a huge region for miles and miles. They look very like classical Chinese landscape painting, or maybe a moss container garden. Lots of little villages nestle below to explore by bike. All very quaint. Many of the mountains have caves and giant holes in them. According to local advertisers, these caves are filled with buxom Western girls covered in mud. I also got my pictures developed today. They mostly came out very dull and grey looking. I also met up with the agency for my teaching job. It’s always such a shock to hear those braying, harsh American accents again. Apparently, I’ll have to listen to them train me for a week, then I’ll get sent off to my destination for the next five months. So, I’ll have five months to plan my summer travels in Western china, Tibet and into India, imsha’allah. Perhaps I can even save some money to get back to the states.
February 19th, 2005
This day I discovered my destination: YILONG school in Sichuan province. It’s outside of Chengdu. I’m leaving for it tomorrow. I just endured several days of agonizing and fairly useless training. The cultural orientation provided by the owner of the agency was much more interesting. He advised us to fake drunkenness, as this is supposed to be extremely gratifying to our hosts.
Today I observed something interesting on the street. A man sat on the sidewalk with a huge ball of dirt and roots before him, displayed on a plastic sack. A fairly sizable crowd had gathered around him, and I peered over the 3-foot tall spectators. The ball of dirt on display appeared to be some sort of crystallized, granular deposit conglobulated around the roots of a shrubbery. The dirt vendor broke off chunks and sold them. Everyone was bargaining hard and eating bits of the sugary-looking dirt. I asked an Australian woman, also gawking, if she knew what it was. She asked her Chinese friend. Apparently it was a medicine that “cures many diseases.”
I also developed a theory about China while lying in bed at 4 AM. Apparently, in China the appearance of a thing is more important than the thing itself. For example, having lots of exams in English is far more important than actually achieving functional abilities in the language. Making a lot of big signs and billboards about environmental topics is better than ending pollution. Or, although everyone knows that Taiwan is essentially an independent country, it is of the gravest importance that Taiwan not declare itself independent. Another way of putting it might be that the sorts of things that seem superficial to us in the West are considered by the Chinese to be deeply essential.
Two views of Yilong
On the right you can see my school and apartment building
February 22nd, 2005
Yesterday I arrived at Yilong, the remote town where I am to spend the next five months. First our agency flew me from Guilin, near Yangshuo, to Chengdu, along with another foreign teacher who is to teach in the area as well. He was a charmingly naïve Canadian, who thought that Chairman Mao was still the ruler of China. He had also brought with him three enormous suitcases which I was astonished to find filled with an array of heavy steel tools and construction equipment. His extremely dim and confused notions of China had apparently included the idea that the nation had yet to graduate from the Neolithic. Upon arrival at the airport, we discovered that a single one of his bloated and ponderous baggages grossly exceeded the allotted weight limit. I offered to take as much as I could on my ticket, since I had only a small half-empty backpack, but it soon became clear that no manipulations between us could hope to disguise the burgeoning enormity of the excess. But as it turned out, the lady at the check-in counter lacked the English communication abilities to make any sort of arrangement, and just ended up waving us on the plane anyway. This Canadian was also suffering from an utterly debilitating hangover earned the previous night, when, after a protracted series of imbibitions, he was at length convinced to sample from a fearsome glass jar of baijio in which various snakes and scorpions had been infused. Most restaurants display such a vessel near the front counter, but I believe the contents are intended largely for display, and reserved for actual consumption only in the terminal, shuddering stages of intoxication. Thus our journey was enlivened by an interminable series of pitiful groanings, and the incipient threat of vomit. But all turned out well, and we parted in Chengdu.
The bus ride out to Yilong was quite interesting. First, two hours East along a large modern highway to
Nanchung, then more hours up an
increasingly narrow and ill-paved little road North to Yilong.
Alongside the road were thousands of little oddly shaped rice paddies
and terraces. At one point, our progress was briefly impeded by a large
flock of ducks being herded along the road. At another point, the road
divided around a large special tree. At last we climbed up to Yilong, a
small town built on a hilltop, surrounded by endless terraced farmland.
The school where I am to teach is massive- 6,000 students. Each of my
classes will have 70-90 kids in it, and I’ll only see them once a week!
My boss Mr. Liu and Arron, my American colleague and roommate, met me
at the bus station. We ate at a fancy restaurant, where the staff
forced us to change tables three times. Arron and I are the only laowai
in these parts, and so are naturally great celebrities. Yilong is
definitely not in the lonely planet guide, but the staring isn’t so
bad. It’s actually a pleasant little town. I explored around today, and
went shopping for weggebobbles. I discovered lots of people selling
their produce, eggs, and chickens by the roadside. It’s so nice to
actually cook a meal for myself, after 40 days and 40 nights of street
food, restaurants, and instant noodles. The apartment provided for us
by the school is quite nice, although it is on the ground floor and has
a big TV. I’ve got my own room, and a little office with a computer.
Also, there is a good and well-stocked kitchen. The counter is
somewhere down around knee level, though. The huge walls of the
apartment are blank, and in desperate need of decoration. I’m
definitely looking forward to getting settled in and exploring the
surrounding countryside. I only hope the teaching part goes well. The
students are starting to come back from their vacation, and Arron has
introduced me to several of them. They seem a bit shy. He also showed
me the enormous classroom I’ll be using. I’m not quite sure how I’ll
deal with the large classes, which I am supposed to instruct in oral
and conversational English.February 23rd, 2005
This day I walked around a bit of the hilly area around Yilong town. Out my window, an elevated spur of land is visible, upon which the minute silhouettes of passing persons may be perceived. I walked around out there, past small quarries, mandarin groves, cisterns, fields, and a radio tower. I also tried to prepare for my class. Today is the very last day of the Lunar New Year holiday. The moon is full, and all the leftover fireworks are being set off. At night I climbed the ridge again and looked out over the town. Numerous detonations were visible. I dined on mushrooms and cauliflowers on the main street at a six-inch stool restaurant. That is to say, a place with little tables and chairs set up in the street. Also, my roommate Arron and I were invited over to his friend Mr. Wu’s house for lunch. His wife cooked a fairly elaborate meal, which we shared with the extended in-law family of nieces, cousins and grandparents. The grandfather was an interesting hale old fellow, swathed in a big People’s Liberation Army overcoat. The kids watched comedy on TV.
February 25th, 2005I’ve started teaching my classes. All the students let out a big “Ooooh!” and clung to each other when they saw me. It’s rather daunting when your very appearance induces a near riot. The first class was basically a disaster, but for later classes I dumbed it waaaay down and things went a lot better. I teach the same lesson 19 times a week to these giant classes. Lots of them now know how to say “chill out” and “set off fireworks.”
February 27th, 2005
This day I was summoned to lunch with the school principle and other high-ranking party cadres. Special vegetarian dishes had been prepared for me. We drank baijio and warm beer. The first time someone asked me if I wanted warm or cold beer, I laughed. Sir, would you prefer good or bad food today? I’ll have the bad, thanks. But apparently the Chinese actually prefer warm beer. For today’s lunch, the beer was kept in a special cauldron of hot water. We also drank the local firewater, baijio, out of thimble sized glasses. The beer was consumed from shot glasses. Every time you wanted to drink, you had to make a toast. All this was a bit weird at first, but sort of fun. I think I’d have to drink about 25 shots of beer to feel any effect.
Tomorrow I begin my first full week of teaching. I’m also supposed to visit the hospital for my ear. I rammed a big wad of earwax into my left ear with a q-tip three days ago, and I haven’t been able to hear anything out of it since. It’s extremely aggravating, and makes teaching difficult. I really hope they can help.
February 28th, 2005
The loss of hearing in my ear has given me a strange, detached underwater feeling. This morning I went to the hospital with kind Mr. Liu, the school’s foreign affairs coordinator. I was ushered upstairs into a small room that contained the hospital’s only doctor and about ten patients. Someone was sucking on some kind of steam device in the corner. The doctor sat me down on a little stool and started probing in my ear with a sort of dental pick. He pulled out a few clots of ghastly dark stuff and proudly displayed these on some wadding. All in attendance were amazed. A significant crowd gathered around the door, observing the fascinating proceedings. Despite the universal acclaim of the audience, I still could not hear any better. Many other patients were waiting, so the doctor sent me off with some foaming eardrops. I’ve been using them to no effect at all. Nevertheless, it was an interesting experience to sit there with the masses looking on, the doctor probing my ear, and me staring at the archaic glass syringes and inscrutably labeled bottles of disinfectant arrayed on the table. Next I taught four fairly agonizing classes. In one class, an obnoxious student sat in the front row, spasming constantly and mocking what I said. I gave him my 4th deadliest stare, and next time I glance over his way, he had actually gotten down under his desk, and never came back up for the rest of the class.
For the last few weeks, I have been meditating on the subject of the cleanliness of shoes. How is it, I wonder, that I have come to an attitude on this matter so entirely retrograde to that of the entirety of the world’s population? I often notice people in the street here picking up bits of plastic or cardboard to wipe off specks of dirt from their shoes. Also, bootblacks lurk at every turn. I’m also reminded how black people in the USA often wear blindingly white sneakers that look like they just came out of the box. I can remember how in elementary school, whenever we got new shoes, we would rub them in the grass and mud, because everyone thought new shoes looked bad. I’ve been developing the following theory on this subject- Humanity can be divided into four classes. 1) Those without shoes. These persons cannot afford shoes, and if they somehow obtained a pair, they would treasure them for ceremonial occasions alone. 2) Those for whom shoes are a considerable expense. These people can afford shoes, but they must take care to ensure that they last as long as possible. 3) Those who can easily afford shoes, but who still retain a vestigial concern that their shoes remain clean. These people want to ensure that they are not mistaken for people in classes 1 or 2. Finally we have 4) Those so far removed from poverty that they cannot even conceive of a situation in which an infinitude of shoes was not constantly available to them. Probably most of the world’s population consists of people in category 2. Category 4 exists only in the upper classes of the first world nations. I confess to belonging to it. We in this exalted situation look down in condescending bemusement at those so wrapped up in such minute and mundane affairs as the cleanliness of their shoes. Meanwhile, those in classes 2 and 3 rightly regard us as spoiled. Oddly enough, even if those in category 4 were reduced to poverty, very likely we would still be wholly unconcerned with the status of our shoes. Likewise, those in category 3 will always take care of their shoes no matter how rich they become, indeed even if they own multiple shoe factories. I remember once in Kunming I saw this fellow in my hotel waiting for the elevator. He was Asian, and was dressed rather well, but I wondered where exactly he was form. However, when I saw his frayed and dirty shoes, I instantly knew he was Japanese. Only someone from such a rich nation would be staying in that hotel, and not have polished shoes.
March Journal
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