About Toilets and Such

Our pipe to the washer has been leaking for months. We generally turn off the water to the pipe when we aren't using the washer and put a bucket underneath when the washer is in use. Our TV picture has been streaked with lines for months, but just this past week it turned the colors turned red and green. So we switched the picture to black and white. But the other day our toilet stopped flushing. Kevin took off the top and fashioned a bent coat hanger for manual flushing, but we decided to it was probably time to call the landlord.

Today our landlord arrived. Naturally, after a week of being messed up, the TV colors were normal again. He said if it gives us problems again we can get the cable company to come and fix it. The only problem is we haven't signed up for cable. Not really a problem, he says, just sign up for a few months worth (probably about $10-15) then have them come fix it. If it still doesn't work, he'll buy a new TV, since this one is 7+ years old.

Though the bathroom floor was still covered with water from today's washing machine usage, the landlord said the leaking pipe wasn't really a problem. So he really surprised us by looking at the toilet, and not even suggesting calling a plumber, said, “No problem; I'll replace it!” What?? Buy a new toilet when you could fix the slightly broken (albeit pretty crappy) one? Inconceivable.

In China, something isn't considered broken until it can no longer be used in any capacity whatsoever. If your A/C still puts out slightly cool air or the pipe isn't leaking too much or the TV still has any kind of picture, it's not broken. Once it is considered broken, much to their credit, everything is fixed and fixed and fixed until it reaches the point of no return; only then is it replaced. You can get almost anything fixed in China, and usually for a very low price. So our landlord's response was quite shocking.

To be honest, my first thought was not excitement. I don't know what is involved in replacing a toilet, but it sounds pretty 麻烦 ma fan (troublesome/inconvenient). And nothing ever goes as smoothly as it should. I picture a lot of mess and noise and chaos, not to mention no toilet! But afterward, perhaps we will end up with a toilet that actually works, even works well, and that would be nice.

On an unrelated note, I should mention that today in class we learned that 好容易 hao rong yi (roughly “very easy”) means with great difficulty, ie. NOT easy. The only thing more confusing is that 好不容易 hao bu rong yi (“very not easy”) means the same thing!!  That revelation brought forth a small around of heads banging on desks.  

Here's to hoping this toilet replacement will not be 好容易 OR 好不容易!

Inconvenient

A few weeks ago I saw this saying on Pinterest (rolls eyes at self):

It keeps coming back to mind because it is something that bothers me about a lot of current parenting philosophies. Philosophies based keeping babies and children from “getting in the way” of your life as much as possible. I could go a little rant about that, but I won't at the moment.

But I am most often reminded of this saying when I am feeling so inconvenienced by Juliana. Despite my lofty ideals, it's easy to see her as an inconvenience. When she is having a really clingy day and I have so many things to get done. When she collapses into a fit on the floor because I won't let her draw in books with markers. When she pulls out every single one of her toys and scatters them all over the house. When she is dead-set on walking the opposite direction of wherever we need to go. When I just want to check my email without her crawling up and trying to push all the buttons. When is quietly playing by herself but the moment I sit down to study she suddenly feels a pressing need to sit in my lap, on top of my book.

I want her to learn boundaries and that she can't do everything she wants. I don't want to give in to her tantrums. I want to listen to her and acknowledge her feelings. I want to teach her to be helpful without expecting her to be a little adult. I want to give her the attention that she needs while gently reminding her the world doesn't completely revolve around her.

But at many of these inconvenient times, I'm not thinking about those goals – I'm just thinking about how much I could accomplish if a small person wasn't singlehandedly working to destroy my efforts. I want her to be one of those kids people talk about who spend an hour playing in their room. I wish I had taught her to not need me so much. I wish I ruled with an iron fist. Because it would really make things easier, right this moment.

Then I step back and remember, I am raising a human being. Juliana is a small person, but she has big (very big) feelings that she hasn't yet figured out what to do with. Sometimes when I take away her precious marker, she truly feels that the world has turned against her. How can I respond to show that her feelings matter (even if she's still not getting the marker)? She watches everything I do and wants to be like me. That's why she wants to play with my computer and why she sits in the kitchen making a big mess while I'm cooking. Before I know it she'll be a teenager and want to be anything I'm not – and I'll really wish she still wanted to be with me all the time! Sometimes she seems so clingy, but she's still so very young. She's hardly gotten finished with being a baby. I wish she would go play on her own more, but I can't just expect her to turn into an introvert (something she is definitely not!).

It's easy to feel like I'm not accomplishing much in parenting since “play ring-around-the-rosy 10 times” or “pick up 35 crayons off the floor” doesn't usually make my to-do list, but in the end it will be more important than those things on the list. Right now, I have the opportunity to show Juliana that her feelings are legitimate, that her needs matter, that she is valuable.

It may not seem like much, but Juliana is learning patience and perseverance by dropping clothespins through a small hole, over and over again. She is learning responsibility and helpfulness by handing clothes to mama to put on the line or picking up three books to put on the shelf. When she's outside, she's observing the world and learning how to interact with others and how to speak Chinese. She's learning to love music and making a mess with 'art' and 'science.' She's learning that sometimes when you're really mad you still don't get your way, but sometimes when you're having a really bad day it's okay to bend the rules a bit.

And I am learning that it's okay to let go of some of my expectations, that “accomplishment” isn't what makes us important, successful, or fulfilled. I am learning that if the house stays too clean it probably means we aren't having much fun. I am learning patience by picking up the same crayons and blocks every day and by letting Juliana “help mama” even when it takes twice as long. I am learning that sometimes even when it would be so much easier, you can't let your child get what they are screaming for. I am learning that sometimes when you're having a really bad day it's okay to put on a cartoon so everyone can take a break.

If parenthood and China have taught me anything, it's that the best lessons are usually very inconvenient.  If I embrace the inconvenience rather than resisting it, I'll probably discover the "inconvenient" is what's important after all.

An Unexpected Visitor

Sometimes I forget I live in China. A lot of things that seemed so different and China when I first arrived I don't even notice anymore. But sometimes things happen to remind me I'm still in a foreign country. Sometimes it's difficult/confusing things, like losing an a-yi or getting blindsided by yet another unexpected change. Tonight was more of an interesting, mostly good, and somewhat inconvenient China night.

Tonight our friends took a turn babysitting so we could have a date night. After dropping Juliana off, Kevin and I ate a yummy dinner at a dongbei (north-eastern style) restaurant down the street from our home. We filled up on 锅包肉 （guo bao rou - sweet-fried pork) and 地三鮮 （di san xian - eggplant/potato) then decided to take a walk. We wandered through some of the new high-rise apartment complexes, only finished a few months ago but already streaked with rust.

Just behind the row of shiny (rusty) new apartments is an old hutong type area with brick, courtyard-style houses. The buildings are one or two stories, surrounded by brick walls, and separated by tiny alleyways just large enough for two bikes to pass. Outside each home is a low-roofed shed and sometimes a tiny garden. Some of the second-story apartments have cute little roof-top decks lined with vines or covered by overhanging trees. The walls, the windows, and the doors all show their age, but they are in good repair, obviously still lived-in. Even though I can imagine the insides are less than attractive, on the outside this little neighborhood had a quaint, endearing look.

Kevin went to pick up Juliana while I returned home. As I exited the bike shed a woman approached with a smile, calling out “夏静谊！Xia Jing Yi!” (my Chinese name). She looked vaguely familiar, but it took me a moment to place her: she was the woman Kevin had randomly met last month while riding his bike.

Kevin and Juliana were returning from a long bike ride on an unusually cool day, and Juliana was under-dressed. In China, this is a sure sign of incompetent parents and possible child abuse. This woman, 路姐(Lu Jie), rode along side Kevin on her motorbike, engaging him in conversation and expressing her concern over Juliana's impending illness and possible death from cold hands. Kevin managed to dissuade her from stopping to buy Juliana a full winter ensemble.

Lu Jie called that evening to make sure they had gotten home okay, and a few days later she came over to to meet me and reassure herself that Juliana was not at death's door. She brought us about two dozen bananas and gave Juliana several books. She was very concerned to hear Juliana cough and shared with us the wonders of Chinese medicine. (Juliana developed a cough a few months ago she can't get rid of. After a couple of doctor trips and several medicines, we have concluded it's probably allergy related.)

That was several weeks ago, and I honestly hadn't thought of her since, until I saw her tonight smiling eagerly outside the bike shed. It was obvious she was here to visit us, since she lives in another part of the city, about 45 minutes away. The first thing she asked was if Juliana still had a cough. I really wanted to lie and say it was all better, but undoubtedly Juliana would go into a coughing fit as soon as she saw her. (She coughs at the most inconvenient times, like anytime we are near an old Chinese granny and never when we are at the doctors'.) Lu Jie wanted to go buy some yogurt for Juliana, so she told me to go ahead home and she would come soon.

As I headed up the stairs to our apartment, I thought about how in China it is very common for friends (or stranger/friends) to show up at your door unexpectedly. There also seems to be some unwritten rule about showing up at the most inconvenient times. It was already 8pm; on a usual night Juliana would already be in bed. But obviously it would be incredibly rude to send her away, so there's really nothing I could do.  Fortunately she is a really sweet lady, if a little bit...um...assertive.

Lu Jie returned about the same time as Kevin and Juliana, bearing a large box of yogurt packets, a mortal and pestal, a bag of sugar crystals, and another bag of mysterious black substance. Juliana was all wound up from playing with her friends and not at all thrown off by seeing a relative stranger in the house after bedtime. Yogurt is a sure way into Juliana's heart. The sugar crystals Lu Jie started feeding her didn't hurt either.

We all sat on the floor playing with Juliana while Lu Jie explained the medicine she had brought. Kevin looked it up and discovered it wasn't actually medicine; it was ground black sesame seeds. Lu Jie explained its use, then brought out the mortal and pestal. She poured in some sesame seeds, added at least as many crystals of sugar, and started pounding away. Juliana looked on with interest while Lu Jie continued to slip her sugar crystals. So it's an hour after bedtime and Juliana has now reached her weekly sugar intake. Awesome.

We mix the powder with hot water in Juliana's sippy cup. I'm glad it's not actually medicine; I don't figure a few sesame seeds are going to do her any harm. It doesn't really matter anyway, since she only tried a few sips of the strange tasting stuff. As Juliana started rubbing her eyes, I made some not-quite-so-indirect comments about how tired she was and that she'd probably better go to bed. Fortunately in China, children are a great excuse for pretty much anything; children are not to be denied! And in this case, as 9:30pm crept closer, it was a perfectly legitimate excuse.

Lu Jie hopped up and headed for the door, promising to return. I carried a hyper Juliana off to bed, where despite the sugar, she promptly fell asleep, only 1.5 hours late. Here's to hoping she sleeps past six in the morning! Now I'm off to hide some sugar crystals.

Your Typical Chinese Intersection

In light of all the recent discussion of Chinese driving, I thought I would point you to this hilarious visual representation of making your way through an average Chinese intersection.  The funniest thing about it is that it's really true. 

I will say that Yinchuan traffic is remarkably calm and orderly, probably because the roads are big and open with a relatively small number of cars/buses/taxis/motorbikes/bicyclists/pedestrians/small children on toy cars.  Beijing is pretty orderly, but the sheer volume of traffic (1000 new cars added to the road every day!) makes things ridiculous.  Weinan was small enough that concepts like right-of-way, yielding, and driving on the right side of the road were foggy at best.

Click here to check out the full post, I'll just introduce enough to hook you in... :)

To introduce you to the intricacies of Beijing driving, I will start with a relatively simple concept: the left turn.

STEP 1:

We see here a typical intersection. The light has just turned green for the east-west streets, and car [A], an enormous black Lexus with pitch black windows, wants to make a left turn into the southbound lanes. Pedestrians wait on each corner. (For purposes of this demonstration, we'll assume no one is running the north-south red light, and no one is jaywalking - a rather large assumption.)

STEP 2:

To make a left turn, it is VITAL that [A] cut off all eastbound traffic as soon as possible. The first few brave or foolish legitimate pedestrians step off the curb; this is of no concern. [A] makes his move.

(Click here to continue the next 10 - yes, 10 - steps)

The Chinese Driving Test (part two)

By Kevin

As I waited to take my Chinese driving examination, a roomful of test-takers stared at an endless loop of horrific deadly traffic accidents that was playing on a big-screen TV in the front of the room – the kind of things you might see on World's Wildest Police Videos or Driver's Ed class. In spite of what one might gather from watching Chinese people actually drive, the government takes its responsibility to ensure that driver's – at least in their head – know both rules of the road and the consequences for ignoring them.

While living in China, one of the things I miss about the States is being able to hop into a car and drive wherever I want to go. Now I can. It took three tries, but I now have permission to weave in and out of Chinese traffic behind the wheel of a car. I'm just not quite sure exactly when I'll get up the nerve to use it.

About half the foreigners I've told that I just got my Chinese driver's license think I'm crazy. “Why would you even want to drive in China. Driver's are insane,” they protest. And I agree. Chinese traffic is crazy. I have neither the money, nor a plan to buy a car. However, if we want to rent a car and drive out to the mountains for a day, now we won't have to worry about hiring a driver to bring us. We've heard rumors that China may soon phase out the English exam for foreigners, so we figured if I ever want to get a license, now is the time to do it.

Getting my driver's license in California was easy. I was 16. For a couple months, I took an after-school driver's ed class, studied the regulations in the DMV manual, went to the DMV armed with my birth certificate and passed a short written exam on the first try to get my driver's permit. A couple months later, after a behind-the-wheel class and nervous practice with my parents, I also passed the behind-the-wheel exam on the first try and became a licensed driver.

The process is a bit different in China, as one of our friends found out when it took him five trips all the way across town to the City's Vehicle Management Bureau（车管所 - chē guǎn suǒ) before he walked away with his license.

Unfortunately, the People's Republic of China didn't ratify the 1949 Geneva Convention on Road Traffic – an agreement allowing participating nations worldwide to honor foreign driver's licenses. So that means foreigners have to get a Chinese license in order to drive.

Thankfully, while the process certainly isn't easy for foreigners who already have a foreign driver's license, it's simpler than it is for Chinese people.

Our Chinese teacher, who just took her written driving exam, said the process for Chinese people is long. In addition to practical things like behind-the-wheel training and learning the rules of the road, she also had to spend four hours one afternoon at an intersection watching a traffic cop attempt to direct traffic. I say “attempt” because most drivers seem to whiz by, either blatantly ignoring or oblivious to the cop's somewhat difficult-to-decipher hand signals. She was surprised to find that foreigners were exempt from this step, in addition to being exempt from having to take a Chinese behind-the-wheel exam. Apparently the rules are different from city-to-city. Some foreigners we know have had to do a Chinese behind-the-wheel exam, but in Yinchuan, it isn't a requirement.

However, foreigners here do still have to jump through several extra hoops. First, there's the paperwork: first, you need an official government-translated copy of your passport and foreign driver's license. Naturally, the only place to get one of these is all the way on the other side of the city, far from where most of the foreigners live. And it take the better part of two whole afternoons to get the job done (one to drop it off, another when you return a few days later to pick it up).

Then there's the the local police clearance permit (居留证 -- jū liú zhèng). You have to go to your local neighborhood police station and pick up a paper certifying that you live where you say you live and how long you've been in China since you last left the country. The first time I went, the officer in charge of printing these out puffed away on a cigarette while he dug up all the right information in his computer, but then the station's Internet connection crashed, so he was unable to print out a copy. “Come back tomorrow.” He said. Naturally, the next day he wasn't there. Day three, a school official called on my behalf, but again he was out. It wasn't until my third trip to the Police Station that he was able to produce the small piece of paper, which he printed on the back of scrap paper. I glanced over the paper and asked if I could have an official red government “chop” on the paper, which is required when involved in any government-related activity. He sighed loudly and begrudgingly waked his supervisor, who was napping on his office couch, to ask for the key to another office. Naturally, they kept the official red stamp that marked it as a genuine government-approved document under lock and key at all times.

Then there was the health exam. In California, doctors aren't involved in the process of obtaining a driver's license. But in China, they want to make sure that you're healthy and able before entrusting the nation's roads to you. So I went with a teammate, who was also working on getting his license, to the local hospital. In the first exam, the doctor asked how tall my teammate was, wrote down what he said, then looked over at me, saw that I was a bit taller, and wrote my height as 185 cm – chopping 6 cm off of my actual height. He never actually measured either of us. Then we found our way to the next exam room: eyes. Chinese eye exam charts are designed for the illiterate. They're filled with the letter “E” placed facing four directions. You just tell the doctor which way it is pointing. The doctor decided that I could see clearly enough by asking me to read one letter covering my right eyes, then one covering my left. We also had to read a colored number on a small sheet to prove we weren't color-blind. Then we were done. Finally, we did a hearing test. The doctor, standing behind me, rang a small tuning fork next to each ear and I identified which ear it was closer to. We got the requisite approval stamps and it was finished. In and out in a relatively quick half-hour.
Filling out the paperwork needed for our applications was also tricky, because it's completely in Chinese and we don't have a class to teach us “government jargon Chinese 401.” Thankfully, we have a friend from Singapore who was able to help us navigate the forms and introduce us to the people he met during his five trips to the bureau (which, again, is all the way on the other side of town), who offered us – the only foreigners in the building – a bit of preferential treatment. When officials dragged their feet on allowing us to take the exam because it was getting a little close to the cutoff for the last test of the day, his guangxi lubed the wheels for us and got us in so we wouldn't have to make yet another long trip all the way across town just to take an exam.

After a short wait, we were able to take an English exam. From a bank of 1315 possible questions, the computer-based exam randomly selects 100. You have 45 minutes to take the exam. A passing grade is 90%.

As I reached the end of my first exam with 15 minutes to spare, I hurriedly looked back at each of my answers and decided I was certain about the answers on about 70, relatively certain on 10 and had narrowed it down to a 50-50 shot on the remaining 20 questions. I waited with my hand on the “submit” button for a few minutes before deciding there was no more second guessing.

The screen popped up. 89. Deflated, I could barely walk out of the room. My friend, who went through the whole process with me was celebrating. He'd scored 92.

Typically, after you pass your exam, you go to a cashier, pay a 10 RMB fee, then head over to the person who processed your paperwork when you first arrived at the bureau and 15-20 minutes later you walk out of the office with your driver's license. Unfortunately our Singaporean friend's guangxi wasn't quite strong enough to overcome a computer problem, which popped up as he went to his fee. So he had to come back the next day.

I crammed for a few more hours that night, finding the correct answers to a few questions I'd answered incorrectly, then went back with him.

This meant a long taxi ride across town, but I figured it'd be worth it if I was able to pass while the questions were fresh in my mind and share the cab ride with my friend.

I hit a new problem in my second trip to the bureau: they got me in too fast. While scores of Chinese people waited (it was a busy Friday) to take their exams, a friendly guard recognized me as the foreigner who failed by one point the day before and rushed me in. (I learned a new phrase to describe my anguish: 差一分 - chā yī fēn, witch means "short one point”). But in the rush to set up my exam, they forgot one thing: The foreigner needed to take the English version of the exam. I sat down, pushed the start button and saw a screen filled with mostly unfamiliar Chinese characters. I got the attention of the woman monitoring the room and explained my problem.

They rapidly grabbed my paperwork and spent the next 20 minutes trying to hunt for a translator. Our Singaporean friend had mentioned that he wound up taking the Chinese version of the test with the aid of a translator, who only translated two possible answers for each multiple-choice question, which greatly aided his ability to pass it, eliminating half of the answers. For some reason, they figured this might be easier than setting up another exam. But they couldn't find the translator. Finally, someone came back with some new paperwork and motioned me back into the testing room and sat me down. The test was already running. Three minutes had already ticked off the clock and one true/false question had been answered for me, but it was in English, so I breathed a sigh of relief and dove in. Only about 20-30 questions were repeats from the day before, but thankfully I was able to correct a couple of mistakes I'd made on the first exam. Again, I tallied up the questions I was certain I had right and those that were more questionable. Since there were again about 20 “iffy” questions, I held my breath as I hit the submit button.

Again, I walked out of the room looking at the floor. 89. Again. 差一分. I just laughed. “Can I take it again today?” I asked, remembering that our friend mentioned people taking it multiple times in the same day. “It's too late. Come back next week.” Arrghg. Next week? Naturally, it was a Friday and the office isn't open during the weekend.

So I came back. Again. The next Tuesday. After paying the 63 RMB fee for the exam, I sat down in the waiting room, where I ran into a former tutor who was also taking his written exam. Again, they started off by giving me the Chinese exam (though I made a point of asking for the English one), but I caught the mistake before hitting the start button, so it was easier for them to fix this time around. I hurried through. Again, only 20-30 questions were repeats from earlier exams. There was still a bit of guessing here and there, but when I reached the end, I felt relatively confident. I felt like only 11 questions were in the “iffy” category this time. Odds were that I'd guessed right on some of them. So I hit the “submit” button and pumped my fist when a “94” popped onto the screen.

I then went about the task of trying to sign my newly transliterated eight-character Chinese name – which I'd never written before – in a space designed for typical two and three-character names, so they could issue my license. The former tutor was surprised that I didn't have to complete additional steps like he did. He kept asking me, “Are you sure you can get it today?” I went back to the same place my friend had brought his paperwork and paid his fee, but hit a roadblock because the tutor didn't let me just follow in my friend's footsteps. He asked questions. An officer insisted that I still had more tests to take, but that if I went and talked to the supervisor, he'd sort things out. So we talked to the supervisor, who told me what I already knew: go, pay the 10 RMB for them to issue the actual license, then come back to the counter next to his with the receipt. When we did, the woman at the counter momentarily asked if I could come back the next day to pick up the newly printed driver's license, but the supervisor heard her and overruled her. “It will just take a few minutes for us to print it.” I breathed a sigh of relief sat down. Twenty minutes later, he handed me the license and I headed for home. Beats having to wait a month for it to come in the mail. Next step: finding a place to rent a car.

Here's my brand new driver's license (with a few bits of important info edited)

The Chinese Driving Test (part one)

By Kevin

From nit-picky traffic laws and hard-to-discern hand signals to knowing the details of how a car's engine works and figuring out what to do in just about any imaginable emergency situations, getting your driver's license in China requires knowledge of a little bit of everything.

Consider this question from the bank of more than 1300 questions a Chinese driver needs to memorize – or guess correctly about – in order to get a driver’s license. A score of 90 out of 100 is necessary to pass. Thankfully foreigners can take the exam in English, however the translations aren't always clear.

    True or False? When the driver senses he will inevitably be thrown out of the vehicle, he should violently straighten both his legs to increase the force of being thrown out and jump out of the vehicle. 

Answer: True.

I'm a bit curious why translators used the word “when” in this one. Wouldn't “if” have worked just as well to explain the potential situation? Even worse, now I wonder what constitutes knowing that you'll “inevitably be thrown from the vehicle?” I missed that driver's training lesson back in California, but apparently it could come in handy.

Apparently, if – or I should say “when?” – you roll your car, it's often not a matter of if you should jump out, but how you'll do it:

    When a vehicle overturns slowly and jumping out of the vehicle is possible, the driver should jump ______.
A. In the driving direction
B. In the overturning direction
C. In the opposite direction of the overturn
D. To the overturning side

    Answer: C

In other situations, jumping clearly is not the way to go:

    The wrong measure when a vehicle suddenly overturns sideways is to _______.

A. Tightly hold the steering wheel with both hands
B. Hook the pedals with both feet
C. Press his back against the seat
D. Open the door and jump

     Answer: D

So now I'm not sure what to do if my car rolls. If it rolls sideways, apparently I shouldn't open the door and jump, but if it “overturns slowly” (end over end perhaps?), I should jump the opposite direction of the overturn. Strange.

    True or False? When a side collision occurs to the side of the driver’s seat, the driver should manage to jump out of the vehicle.

    Answer: False.

I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn't want to jump out so the incoming car hits you directly rather than letting the car absorb the blow, but is there anyone in their right mind who would actually consider jumping out in this situation?

I think I'll be in trouble if the following scenario occurs: 

    When a vehicle rolls continuously to a deep ditch, the driver should swiftly hide his body to the lower space in front of his seat, hold ______ to stabilize his body so that his body will not roll and get hurt.

A. The pedal
B. The steering column
C. The steering wheel
D. The gear lever

Answer: B.

Since around age 10, I don't think I've even sat in a car in which I could fit into the space in front of the passenger seat, let alone been able to crawl down into the space under the steering wheel in an American car. Just sitting in the front passenger seat of a Chinese car without my knees rubbing against the dashboard is often tricky enough.

Here's another:

     After a vehicle falls into water, the wrong method for the driver to rescue himself is to ________.

A. Close the window to prevent water from flowing into the vehicle
B. Immediately use hand to open the door
C. Let the water to fill up the driver’s cab so that the water pressure both inside and outside is equal
D. Use a large plastic bag to cover the head and tight the neck closely   

Answer: B

Apparently it won't work, but I'd probably make the mistake of taking a moment to try to open the door with my hand before putting a plastic bag over my head to make an air pocket. I guess if there are kids in the car, you'll also have to tell them to close their eyes so they don't think you're going back on all those restrictions against playing with plastic bags.

    True or False? Before the driver escapes from a fire disaster, he should turn off the ignition switch, cut off the power switch and the blind, and manage to turn off the fuel tank switch.

 Answer: True.

Sounds good, but where exactly is the fuel tank switch and what is “the blind?”
Additionally, the exam requires that you know about what every part of the engine does, even though the average Chinese person probably has no desire to do any mechanical repairs of their own.

    The pressure indicated by the engine oil pressure meter represents the engine oil pressure of the __________ of the engine.

A. Main oil route
B. Crankshaft box
C. Fuel inlet pipe of the engine oil pump
D. Engine oil pump    

Answer: A.

Not sure if I would have guessed correctly on that one, but does it really affect my ability to drive in any way whatsoever? If the oil light comes on, I know it's a serious enough problem that I shouldn't be the one trying to fix it.

How about this one?

    The accelerator pedal designed to control ____ of the engine or oil pump plunger is used to control the rotation speed of the engine.

A. The accelerator
B. The air throttle
C. The clutch
D. The fuel injector   

Answer: B.

I guess I need to learn more about what everything in the engine does exactly if I want to drive. I guess when you hit the gas, you don't actually control “the gas” at all.

Then, there are questions that are just difficult to decipher:

    True or False? When a bus encounters an avoidable walking across the expressway, the driver should apply emergency braking or hit the guardrail to stop.

 Answer: False

Not exactly sure what an “avoidable” is or why the average driver needs to know what a bus driver would do in this situation, but it's clear from the answer that you want to avoid it by some means other than emergency braking or crashing into the guardrail.

Since livestock are a bigger part of everyday life for many even in Chinese cities than in the States, I suppose this question is relevant:

    When encountering a flock of sheep crossing a road, the driver should _______.

A. Honk continuously to drive away the flock
B. Speed up and bypass the flock
C. Drive slowly and use the vehicle to scare away the flock
D. Reduce speed and go slowly, or stop to yield when necessary

Answer: D

Additionally, every licensed driver must be an expert in knowing how to apply emergency first-aid. I suppose one of the reasons for this is that the likelihood of an ambulance responding quickly seems pretty low, so you may need to take matters into your own hands.

    The wrong measure to rescue a person sustaining burns all over his body is to _________.

    A. Use sandy soil to cover    B. Swiftly put out the flames of his clothes    C. Spray cool water to his body    D. Take off his burning clothes

    Answer: A.

I'm not sure I would have even considered throwing sand on someone who was burning. I guess stop, drop and roll isn't an option here.

    The article that cannot be used to stop bleeding by dressing is _________.

A. Bondage
B. Sling
C. Tourniquet
D. Hemp rope   

 Answer: D

I'm guessing they mean “bandage” with A. I'll leave it at that.

    When there many wounded persons, those who should be sent to hospital last are the persons _______.

A. Suffering cervical vertebra damage
B. Suffering massive hemorrhage
C. Suffering breathing difficulty
D. Whose intestines and veins are exposed    

Answer: A

I guess it's good to think about these things in advance. If you need to prioritize, spinal damage can wait longer than hemorrhage, shortness of breath and exposed intestines clearly can't. However, if you were involved in this accident, I'm not sure exactly how you're going to be well enough to help the others.

Then there are questions about signage. Generally, this seems like a good idea, but one reason I failed my exam the first time because I wasn't quite sure how to answer the following two questions:

    The sign in the picture is ______.
        A. A warning sign
        B. A prohibitive sign
        C. An indicative sign
        D. A directional sign

 Answer: C

Does it really matter what type of sign it is if I know what it means?

Then there are a few answers that just appear to be incorrect. Consider the answers to the next two questions. Clearly the answers can't both be correct, unless the key is that the first question is missing the word “within.”

  

True or False? The sign in the picture is designed to indicate the section 200m ahead specified in the main sign. 

    Answer: False

    True or False? The sign in the picture is designed to indicate the section within 100m on the left side specified in the main sign. 

    Answer: True

Anyone who has spent any time in China notices that at intersections, people often turn left in front of oncoming cars. Vehicles turning left generally don't have the right-of-way, but they drive like they do.

    At an intersection that has no directional traffic lights, _________________.

A. The motorized vehicle that will turn should yield to the vehicle that will go straight
B. The motorized vehicle that will go straight should yield to the vehicle that will turn
C. The motorized vehicle in the opposite direction that will turn left should yield to the vehicle that will turn right
D. The vehicles should bypass from the left or right side and go through the intersection    

Answer: A

I'm not sure if the answer to the following question is correct or not. I would have gone with answer B, but maybe somehow intersections without traffic lights get special treatment.

    When the motorized vehicles go through an intersection that has neither traffic lights nor traffic police to direct traffic, the vehicles coming in the opposite directions ___________.

A. The vehicle that goes straight should yield to the vehicle that turns left
B. The vehicle that turns left should yield to the vehicle that goes straight
C. The vehicle that turns right should yield to the vehicle that turns left
D. The vehicles may go through as they wish

Answer: C

And finally, there are questions involving the hand-signals of traffic cops, who are almost always attractive young women.

    The hand signal of the traffic police in the picture is ________.

A. A signal for waiting to turn left
B. A signal for turning left
C. An auxiliary signal for turning left sharply
D. A signal for turning left sharply

Answer: A

    The hand signal of the traffic police in the picture is ______.

A. A signal for pulling over
B. A signal for slowing down
C. An auxiliary signal for stopping
D. A signal for turning right

Answer: D

Most of the differences in hand signals seem to be small. It seems that the direction in which the officer is looking is just as important as the hand signals she is making.

As you can see, the Chinese driving test is a bit on the tricky side. It follows the general Chinese testing method of trying to trick the test-taker with nit-picky questions that often aren't particularly important. Then again, with the number of Chinese people in a rush to get behind the wheel, perhaps making the test difficult isn't a bad thing.

Dear Mom Friends

I wrote this as a "guest post" on my friend and college roommate Allison's blog.  She (married with no children) wrote a letter to her mom friends that got such a big response she decided to start a series of guest posts from different perspectives.  You can check out her letter, the other guest posts (more to come), and her other thought-provoking posts on her blog.

Dear mom friends,

The early days after my daughter was born were a fog of nursing, diapers, quick snatches of sleep, more nursing, that first delightful smile, and trying figure out why this cute little baby just wouldn't sleep! Mothering was so constant, so consuming, that at first I felt no sense of self outside of being a mother. It was hard to spend fifteen minutes talking to my husband, emailing a friend, or pursuing a hobby when what I wanted more than anything in the world was just fifteen minutes more sleep. I think this stage of “tunnel vision” is normal and probably even necessary for a period of time. Becoming a parent is a monumental life shift, babies are perplexing, and it takes some time to adjust.

The problem is that it was hard to get out of that all-consuming mindset and remember I was also a wife, a friend, and a person.  I knew parenting would take a lot of time, but I was unprepared for how mentally and emotionally consuming parenting would be.  Even when I did have time away from my daughter, time to do my own thing, I couldn't remember what my own thing was! What were my hobbies again?  What did I think about before I thought about parenting all the time? What were my dreams and passions...other than sleep!  It was still in there, but it was hard to dig out.

I've realized that mothering is (hopefully) less of a loss of identity and more an identity shift. Who I am and what I care about most have changed since having a baby.  My identity is always going to be tied into parenthood; it's a huge part of who I am now. I just need to remember it's not the only part.  Some of my interests have also changed.  For example, I am genuinely interested in childbirth and all the related issues. It's completely fascinating.   But I also still have some of the same pre-child interests and passions, like China (where I live), teaching, writing, and all things related to women.

Sometimes I need a chance to separate myself enough from mothering to keep those passions alive, by teaching a class or writing a blog. Sometimes I can share those interests with my daughter, like listening to country music together. :) And sometimes my daughter introduces me to new hobbies, like tickling and laughing and spinning around until we fall over. The answer is not to de-emphasize my role as a mother but rather to see how it complements, changes, and enhances who I already am.

I am happy as a mother. Very happy. Not every-single-moment kind of happy, but deeply, richly happy. Even in the midst of those overwhelming early days, I was surprised to find how happy I was. I love laughing and dancing and playing with my daughter. I am so excited to see her learn new things every day. When she is happy, I feel happy too (except maybe at 5am). I love mothering. It's been difficult, and there are times when I've felt like I lost my identity. But actually, I think I've just become even more of who I already was!

So mom friend: What are your interests and passions?  Have they changed since you have become a mother?   How do you preserve your sense of personhood in daily life?

From,

The Mother of a One Year Old

Progress

There are a lot of times in the midst of studying Chinese when it's hard to feel like we're making a lot of progress. Lately it seems like lots of our classes have been filled with confusing grammar rules and the fifth word that means almost exactly the same thing as the other four, except for one small contextual nuance that can't fully be explained. And the measure words – oh man, does Chinese have some measure words.

For about every fourth new vocabulary word, we learn a new measure words. English has different measure words too: a pair of pants, a cup of coffee, a slice of bread. But it's amazing how many times we can just say “a” or “the” or don't even have to use a measure word at all. Thank you, English. A few examples of Chinese measure words:

片 pian – for things that are flat, thin pieces (a pill, a large grassy area)

张 zhang – a measure word for flat objects (a table, a bed, a piece of paper)

支 zhi – for long, thin, inflexible objects (a pen); for troops; for songs; for wattage; and for the size or quality of yarn.

根 gen – for long, thin objects (a banana, a match, a piece of string)

There are different measure words for a pair of eyes and a pair of glasses, a letter, a book, a newspaper, a present, a tv, a road, a mountain, a piece of clothing, a class period...you get the idea. Usually to introduce how these myriad measure words are used, our book says something useful like, "a measure word."

As always, we feel the difficulty of both of Kevin and I trying to learn Chinese while also being parents. It's hard not to compare to someone who is able to spend 20 hours a week in class, meet with a tutor every day, and (novel thought) study every day too! I'm only in class 10 hours a week, meeting with a tutor 4-5 hours a week, and my study time is more often than not 2-5 snatches in between Juliana's suddenly urgent need for attention. She's just like a cat – as soon as she can sense I'm trying to focus, she does her best to put herself directly between me and my book. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really learning that much at all.

So it's helpful to look back every so often and be able to see progress! I sometimes forget how very, very little we knew starting off, even after 5 years living in China. I used to be able to answer a few, very basic questions before starting to flounder. Now I can carry on conversations for half an hour or an hour. Maybe not deep, eloquent conversations, but communicative ones all the same. Last week I called my Chinese friend from Yangzhou, and she was thrilled that we could talk in Chinese and I could understand her. Last weekend we spent the morning at the home of a random family Kevin and Juliana had met outside and only used a few words of English.

Juliana and her new little Chinese friend find words, Chinese or English, rather unnecessary.

I looked back at the first lesson in our reading book where we were reading this:

Reading Text: Lesson 1

Compared to last week when we read this:

Reading Text: Lesson 21

I could not write any Chinese before this year, and my writing is still not great. I don't practice it too much except in class and writing homework because it's probably the area I'll use least in the future. Even so, I can write (and even remember how to write) a whole lot more characters than before!

Notes from class

It's exciting to remember we are making progress.  Yay for us!

A Truly Tiny House

Juliana with Li Jie's daughter (in red).  The tiny house-room is behind them.

Every day we park our bikes with more than a hundred others inside the bike shed just outside our apartment building.  Inside the low, narrow building, the bikes are protected from ever present thieves by the lady who watches over the bike shed. Li Jie, the bike lady, lives in a tiny room at the front of the shed. It is about the size of a large walk-in closet, smaller than a king-sized bed. A smaller-than-twin bed takes up one half of the room, which also holds a small table/desk and a computer screen (with wires threaded to the console outside). The room has a door and one small window looking into the shed.

When needed, Li Jie walks across the small road to the public toilet. She washes her face and probably her hair at the small wash basin just outside her house-room. She squats in front of the bike shed to wash clothes in a small plastic bucket. What I'm not actually sure is where she cooks. Usually when people live in the tiny room behind their shop, as is relatively common, they pull out a rice cooker and a burner or lump of coal to make their meal, but I've never seen these things around her room. Perhaps the small apartment-turned-shop next door, which sells odds-and-ends and apparently also a small variety of food, provides it.

Li Jie has a daughter and a husband. At least, I think there's just one daughter. It's hard to keep track because there are about three different elementary aged girls I regularly see coming in and out of the room. The husband stops by to visit sometimes, but he isn't around too often, so they must have some other place they also call home. But the bike lady – she is always at the bike shed. Eight o'clock in the morning, nine o'clock at night, middle of the day, the weekend, the holiday...she is always there, and usually her daughter, and perhaps one or two other young friends, are there too. They play outside the bike shed or crowd around the tiny table working on homework or watching something on the computer.

Our apartment has two bedrooms, an office, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. It is 871 square feet. It has never looked so big.

Heels over the edge

Ningxia man stands on the corner of a building for an hour, then gets rescued as he attempts to jump.

By Kevin

He stood with his heels hanging over the edge of the roof for more than an hour before jumping.

The young man, presumably a Ningxia University student, had sat down on the corner of the rooftop across from ours. He appeared to be trying to decide whether or not his grief was enough to propel him off of the five-story building. As rescue worker approached from one side, he became agitated and pushed off of the corner of the building. The rooftop rescue worker sprang to action and grabbed his arm a split second before he could complete his fall.

Heels hang over the corner of the five-story building.

A crowd of hundreds of teachers, students and children, which had gathered below, shrieked and ran towards the edge of the building. When they saw that the man had been hoisted back onto the roof, many cheered. The man had been saved.

It was the first time I'd witnessed a suicide attempt. I pray that it is my last, but recent statistics aren't very promising.

On average, someone in China attempts suicide every two minutes, according to China's Centre for Disease Control and Prevention, China's suicide rate is 22.23 people out of every 100,000, giving China one of the highest per capita rates of suicide in the world. It's also the biggest killer of people ages 15-34. In this nation of 1.3 billion people, about 2 million attempt suicide every year and 287,000 people kill themselves. Pressure to provide for aging parents, poor job prospects, broken relationships, failure and loss of face often lead people to despair.

We went outside a little before 5 p.m. We were planning to take advantage of the beautiful afternoon and bike over to buy her some new shoes in a nearby marketplace before grabbing some dinner. The plan changed when we saw a crowd gathered outside our building, gazing up at a man standing on the edge of the rooftop.

The shoes could wait. We quickly alerted our friends and teachers who live on campus and asked them to join us in prayer.

Police had just begun trying to clear the area. The first firetruck arrived a few minutes later, but the firefighters did little more than mull  about near the foot of the building.Twenty  minutes later, a firetruck carrying a giant inflatable cushion arrived. We held our breath during the 10 minutes it took them to set it up, praying that he wouldn't feel rushed to jump right away. As the air bag inflated, he moved along the edge of the roof to a place where he could avoid it if he jumped. He turned and stared out at the crowd. His hunched shoulders carrying the look of defeat.

Looking down from the top of a five-story apartment building

We still couldn't see any rescue workers on the roof, but he turned and looked like he was talking to somebody. The gates were locked. Nobody was going to be allowed on or off this area of campus. The crowd gathered. Children continued playing. Students smiled and giggled nervously. Elderly people wondered what had sent him to this point of despair. For the first time I spotted a few rescue workers on the roof, trying to persuade him to come down.

About 45 minutes after we arrived, he sat down on the edge. It seemed like a good sign. Better than standing on the corner with his feet over the edge, at least. Finally 50 minutes after our arrival, an ambulance from Ningxia People's Hospital arrived. Apparently rescuers wanted to bring him to the best hospital hospital halfway across town if he survived the fall, rather than the one just down the street (which may or may not have ambulances of its own).

A crowd gathers to see if the man jumps from the rooftop.

Just after the rescuer caught him, we met a student who told us that just last week, another Ning da student jumped off a building on another campus. She survived, but is completely paralyzed. I imagined his fate might have been the same had he completed his jump. Since it was at the corner of the building, he may have missed the landing pad.

After he was rescued, I couldn't help thinking about what a difficult road the man faces now. Not only will he have to deal with the consequences of dealing with his pain and the fact that he ultimately jumped, but now he'll face the likelihood that people will shun him and his family because of the huge loss of face that comes with such a public spectacle.