What Happens Before Sunrise

Thursdays are my longest day because I teach three classes (6 hours) plus sometimes have a culture lecture in the evenings. Terrible, I know. It’s almost like working a full American workday. Today I decided to make the day even longer by waking up at 4am.

There was a period if time in Yangzhou when I was unintentionally doing this all the time. My teammate told me, “I can always tell when you haven’t been sleeping because you get super productive.” Which is true. This is the first time I’ve had trouble sleeping in a while, but lately my mind has been too active.

It was still dark when I woke up, so I knew it must be early. After tossing and turning for a while, I looked at the clock. 4:30am. This is unacceptable, I thought. I must try to sleep more. So I lay there and thought about the elections and my friend Ashley who is coming tomorrow and how I needed to clean before she came and what I wanted to look at in IKEA (we are going in a few weeks) and what I thought about the new foam pad we had bought for the bed (my thought: we got ripped off) and about money (It’s something I rarely think much about in China. We haven’t really had any kind of budget in China, because we just don’t spend much money. But suddenly this troubled me, and I started doing some mental arithmetic. You know something is not right when I am doing math instead of sleeping.) Right about the part where I started doing math, I realized I was never going back to sleep, so I might as well take advantage of that super-productivity.

I started on the guest bedroom, getting things all put together for Ashley. This will be it’s first use. Once the bed was made up and some of the extra storage boxes were hauled out, it was a little after 5am. I looked out the window and marveled at the fact that all the windows in the two buildings next door were dark. It’s 5am people! What are you all sleeping for? In Yangzhou, when I would wake up at 4am, generally by about 4:30am a few people would start coming by outside.

Next I headed to the kitchen. I cleaned out the fridge, took out the trash, cleaned the counters, washed dishes, swept the floor, and even scrubbed the little strip of counter behind the sink. I noticed that we have about 15 magnets but no pictures on the fridge. I need to fix that. 5:30am, time to move on to the living room. I dusted the dining room table, cleaned up/threw away all the random things sitting around, washed some more dishes I found. By 6:30am I heard the loudspeakers start blaring music. They worked their way from peaceful blaring music to energetic march tunes, and I looked out the window to see the freshmen doing their required morning jog around campus. Poor little freshmen.

By about 7am, my normal wake-up time, the crazy-manic-cleaning, insomnia-induced buzz was starting to fade to more normal alertness. This gradually faded into a tired confusion. This 4am thing is good for my productivity, but it doesn’t work out too well in the long run. This would be evidenced by the really cool forehead bruise I am now sporting after bending over into the edge of a table a little later this morning. But the house sure looks better. My students would say, “No pains, no gains.” Incidentally, it drives me nuts when they say that…

The man in the suit

By Kevin

The man stood in the hallway knocking at the door, wearing a suit and holding a briefcase in his hand. But nobody was answering. When we turned on the hallway light, he seemed stunned for a moment. Then he shouted. “Nice to meet you.”

As we waited for Wes to answer his door, you could hear the man's mind racing.

As we walked in, the man followed behind. “May I come in?” he asked me, in the hallway, in broken English. “It's not my house...” I looked to Wes, but the man had already slid past the threshold and into the door. Wes, shocked, motioned him in and pointed toward the seat.

For the next 10 minutes, Ruth and I said little. Wes began talking with the strange man in Chinese, subtly trying to figure out why he came in. “May I practice speaking English with you?”

“Yes, but only for a few minutes,” Wes said. “We have plans.”

He only managed a handful more English words in the next several minutes.

Apparently the man was a former student who now teaches political science at a local school. He'd come to visit a friend of his, Wes' neighbor. He was excited to learn that we were Americans and that we were planning to watch a movie together. His eyes shifted, nervously back and forth between us. He grinned from ear-to-ear. We began to worry that our plans to relax and watch a movie might be falling apart. Then it came:

“May I watch with you?” the man asked in English.

Wes answered in Chinese. Something to the extent of: “I don't think you would understand because it is American culture.”

“I would really like to see an American film.”

Wes paused and tried another tactic: “I don't even know your name. If a strange man just walked in your door and started asking questions, then invited himself to watch a movie what would you say?”

Then he stood up and walked him to the door. After pulling the door shut, Wes breathed a sigh of relief. “What just happened?”

We shook our heads. “That was strange,” we agreed.

“You have to remember, they don't see us as people,” Wes reminded us as we recounted one of the strangest 10-minute episodes we've been a part of.

“Time to start looking through the peephole before we open the door.”

The bird in our wall

By Ruth
So we have this plastic drinking bottle that is filling a hole in our office wall. It sounds strange, I know, but it works well. There is a round hole that would have an A/C cord going into it, if we had an A/C unit. But since we don't, we thought we'd fill the hole in the wall so fewer mosquitoes and spiders could get in.
Today Kevin heard a noise in the wall, and when he looked, he saw a bird sitting on the outside part of the bottle and a little brown spotted egg on the inside. It's crazy. It must be a pretty small bird because water bottle openings aren't that big. The egg is almost as big as the opening. We have a little bird growing in our wall, with only a clear plastic layer layer separating it from us. I hope it hatches and we get to see that. I wonder what kind of birds lay eggs in October? I thought that was more of a spring activity. And there is no nest - just an egg. In a plastic bottle. In our wall. How cool (and weird) is that?

October 1 Guitar shopping

By Kevin
(yes, Oct. 1 was two weeks ago, but I just realized that I wrote this and never posted it, so since we haven't posted anything in awhile, here you go)

I'd made up my mind: “I need a guitar.”

So, a few days ago, I explored the two little music shops in WeiNan. Unfortunately, the prices were a bit on the high end: 550-750 RMB for a halfway decent guitar ($80-$110).

So when we made plans to go into Xi'an for some shopping on Oct. 1 (needed some cereal, BBQ sauce and DVDs), a guitar was at the top of my list.

After fighting the crowds downtown (it is one of China's biggest shopping holidays), I sauntered into the guitar shop and started inspecting the large group of guitars. Epiphones, Fenders, Washburns...all sorts of good brands, but undoubtedly out of my price range.

“Do you play guitar?” a young man asked me in English.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I want to buy one that isn't too expensive.”

Ok, he said. He pointed me to a Epiphone Talent, made in China. Hadn't heard of this semi-Gibson offshoot before, but it was worth a look. “This one is 450 RMB,” he said.

“Not bad,” I thought to myself, picking it up. It sounded good, but no better than the 400 RMB guitar I'd owned in Tonghua.

“Or, this brand,” he said, picking up another, labeled AAA. “In China 'A' means very good. This is the best of the cheaper guitars.”

Sure enough, it played better than the others.

“How much?”

“300” he said. “It includes a soft bag, strings, a strap and picks.”

“Nice," I thought to myself.

After trying a couple more expensive models that sounded no better, and learning that the man tutored several foreigners on guitar, I made another offer.

“How about 250?”

“Oh, you shouldn't ever offer someone a price of 250,” he replied, with a smile.

Wes chimed in, “It means that you're saying the seller is stupid. It's an insult.”

I'd completely forgotten. I backtracked. “I'm sorry. 260.”

He laughed. “How about 280. That's a very good deal.”

I tried 270, but wasn't going to haggle too much over another $1.50. “OK. I'll buy it.”

Bike breakdown, bike repair, repeat

So, maybe we should have known from the start that it was going to be a rough ride.

When I went to adjust Ruth's bike seat before we set off to meet students on our ride to the Wei River, the bolt wouldn't tighten. After a few minutes of attempting to tighten and re-tighten it, I struggled to get it loose. The blot finally fell on the floor, threads were completely stripped. The nut seemed to be the wrong size. “This isn't going to go back on,” I said. I guess this is what you get when you buy a used bike in China.

So I hurried back into the apartment and scrounged through a jar of old nuts and bolts until I found something that would make due. It was a little smallish, but with a washer, it did the trick.

A bit late, we met Wes, Christina and eight students at the front gate on campus. We were off. I was chatting with a senior from Guizhou named Edward. As he shared about his minority, THUNK, my foot hit the ground. The entire left pedal, rod and all clanked along the ground as I slammed on my brakes. Blood dripped into my sock from a three-inch gash that sliced my calf (it really wasn't too bad, just bled a lot at first).

I attempted to hammer the pedal back onto my bike, but it didn't seem like it was going to stay on very long. Besides, the pedal itself was falling apart as well. I guess this is what you get with a used bike in China.

So Edward, Wes, Tim (another student) and I hurried back to a bicycle repairman, who nonchalantly attached a new pedal, tightened the rod, filled the air in my tires and sold me a bolt for Ruth's seat for 4 RMB (about 60 cents). After a quick stop by the pharmacy (thankfully, it seems like there's one every other block in this city), we set off again. After about 10 minutes of riding, we caught up with the girls, who had ridden ahead.

I learned that Edward was an avid cyclist. In fact, two years ago, he went on a 2-week bike trip to Henan province, covering more than 1,500 km and that he and some buddies from the campus bike club have been thinking about riding from here to Tibet. Insane.

Just as we set off after our reunion, CRACK, my pedal fell off again. Mind you, the rod stayed in place. The plastic pedal, however, proved that sometimes you get what you pay for. I decided to continue riding without the pedal, since I seemed to be able to do so just fine.

We rode through a toll booth on the road, admiring freshly shucked corn laid out to dry, filling half the lane on the low-traffic road, then turned into a village because the road ahead was being repaired.

Just as we started to climb a slight incline, CA-CHUNG. Ruth's chain broke. Unfortunately, we were far from the city and the bicycle repairmen who set up shop every few blocks. We put the chain into a small bag and started walking toward the village, where we asked around and found out that there was indeed a repairman in the village not far ahead.

We approached a man at the roadside with a little truck, hoping that he might be able to bring us with the bike to the repairman, who was apparently 5-10 minutes away. Instead, he said he could explain how to fix it, though. He inspected the chain, and said that a piece was missing, though.

So Edward and I hurried back to the place Ruth's chain broke, a little bit worried that finding the tiny missing part might be like finding a needle in a haystack. But within about a minute, he pointed and declared, “here it is. I found it.”

Edward then set about fixing the chain, with the help of the man we met on the road. Thankfully, I'd brought a crescent wrench and vice grip in case Ruth's seat didn't hold together. Edward, hands covered in bike grease, used the vice to fasten the chain back together.

Unfortunately, it didn't last.

“I'm trying not to pedal too hard,” Ruth said with a grimmace.

“Well, if you make it up this hill, we might be good to go,” I replied. Within seconds, CLANG, her chain fell off again. Only this time, it broke into a few pieces.

After a brief discussion, Edward and Tim decided that they'd bring the bike to the repairman while we waited.

As we waited, Wes struck up a conversation with a family that was out in their yard shucking corn. He asked if he could join them. “Why not?” I thought to myself. I join them as well. Soon, Ruth and Christina joined in, along with a couple students. The others looked at us skeptically, seeming to wonder why we would do something like this. But eventually, they too joined us. Wes explained the parables about the son gathering people like gathering crops. By the time Edward and Tim returned with the fixed bike, all of us and all of the students who were waiting were helping these farmers to shuck corn, which they said was used by both people and animals (they don't have two separate varieties of corn in China like in America – just one).

It was a great “Real China” moment.

Overhead in the village, workers clanged and hammered away, building the raised platform for the high-speed railroad that is being built from Xi'an to Zhengzhou onto Beijing. Supposedly it will go about 300 km per hour and cut the trip to Beijing from about 12 hours to 5 hours.

As we rode to the river, we followed a dirt path between cornfields that ran underneath sections of seemingly completed railway track. Unfortunately, the soil at times was a little unforgiving. It was thin loess soil (I believe we live on China's famed Loess Plateau) that poofed up as we rode through it, almost like silty volcanic ash.

Needless to say, it was tough to keep riding through it, but it was thinner than beach sand, so as long as we were moving fast enough, we seemed to be able to keep our balance and avoid most of the plumes of silt that rose into the air whenever a mini-truck loaded with freshly harvested corn or a tractor passed us by.

After about 15 minutes, we reached the river. It was a bit disappointing after all the obstacles that had to be overcome before we made it. “It's not an adventure if nothing goes wrong along the way,” I told a couple of students. “It is unforgettable,” one replied.

"Anyone ready for a swim," I joked, after pointing to the floating pieces of styrofoam, which floated down the river in a constant stream like tiny iceburgs. Apparently we were downriver from some sort of factory.

A couple girls laughed nervously, wondering if I was serious. "Ok, I might come out looking brown, maybe I won't swim."

Unfortunately, by the time we'd made it home, my pedal-less bike rod had worn a hole in my shoe.

By the time we made it back to our apartments, we'd been gone for more than four hours. We were grimy and drained. But, in spite of the obstacles, it was worthwhile. Another good bonding experience.

It should have been simple, but then a hospital got involved

By Ruth (sorry - this is really long)

I was looking forward to getting into a normal schedule, but even though it's the first full week of classes, the "normalcy" part hasn't quite kicked in. To begin with, I missed my first three classes the week and spent half of Monday and Tuesday at the hospital. Don't worry - I'm okay. In the end, I was able to get some antibiotics to clear up an infection and everything seems to be returning to normal. It just took five tests and way too much familiarity with the local hospital to get there…

Day One

I was feeling bad on Sunday, so we asked a student helper (June) to go with us to see a doctor. Unfortunately, there are no doctors in the hospital on Sunday, so we had to wait for Monday morning. Monday morning is a very busy time at the hospital, and this day was extra busy because of all the parents bringing in their children to get tested for melamine. Hundreds of parents and children were stretched in a long line outside the hospital door (I'd estimate at least 300). The doctor we needed to see was on the same hallway as were all these parents were trying to go. The hall was so crowded we couldn't get through and had to find another door. Two nurses stood on chairs above the crowd yelling information through loudspeakers, but they were having little success establishing any sort of order.

We pushed our way into the small doctor's office, a 12x12 ft room that held 19 people. All of them crowded around the doctor's desk as one of the patients shared their medical problems. I thought about all the stringent privacy acts in American medical care. That's not so much a concern here. Kevin, June and I pushed our way back out into the hallway to wait our turn. We could breathe a little easier out there. When we were called back into the room, only about 8 people remained. I sat down on a small wooden stool as June explained my symptoms to the doctor. It probably should have been a little embarrassing to have all those people learning personal information about me, but for some reason it wasn't. Several people were sitting waiting on the examining table, and the doctor made them leave so he could examine me. That was nice of him. He said I should do the ever popular "pee in a cup" test, so we headed downstairs.

First stop, the pay station. Second stop, the table where a nurse handed out tiny, flimsy plastic cups slightly larger than a tablespoon. Third, down the hall to the bathroom, a squatty-potty which had not been cleaned in quite a while. There was no little metal door to put the cup through, like in America. Instead, you carry your little cup back across the hospital to the nurses station. A little awkward, except that I wasn't the only one wandering down the hallway pee-cup in hand. We had to wait 40 minutes for the nurses to do the test. Rather than standing around by the nurses window where little kids were doing their pee tests right there on the floor, June suggested that we walk to a nearby park. It was a relief to get outside of the hospital into the fresher air. By the time we got to the park it was time to turn around and head back to the hospital. We went back to the doctor to show the results and he said, “Nothing looks wrong so we will have to do other tests.” Actually, he must have said some other things since he talked for several minutes, but that was the part of the communication that came through translation. The rest of the time he may have been talking about how odd the foreigners looked or what he planned to eat for dinner or sharing some vital piece of information about my health. Who knows. He wrote a prescription for some kind of tea that will “clear out your system,” so to speak. I took it home, drank two glasses of the bitter tea, and waited for the system clearing to begin.

Day Two

With my system adequately cleared and myself feeling worse than before, we headed off for the hospital once again. I had spent the last day worrying a bit because the doctor said he wanted to check my appendix. While I didn’t appear to be having appendicitis-like symptoms, I was afraid it would end up being something bad. The last thing I wanted was for some Chinese doctor to start cutting me open. Our last experience of that kind is not really one we’d like to repeat.

Let me describe for you our progression around the hospital (which again was crowded with a slightly smaller crowd -- around 200 -- of slightly better organized parents waiting to have their children tested). Up to the second floor doctor’s office, down to the first floor payment window, over to the nurses window, back to the nurses window, up to the second floor testing room, across to the other side of the hospital, back down to the payment window, across the street to buy TP (I’ll explain in a minute), back up to the testing room, down to the nurses window, back up to another testing room, down to the payment room, back up to the first testing room, back over to the second testing room, back to the doctor’s room, down to the pharmacy, over to the payment window, back to the pharmacy and finally – out the door. For some reason, Chinese hospitals always seem to require this back and forth zigzagging puzzle.

So when we went to the first testing room where they did some kind of ct-scan but different thing, they told us to go buy a roll of TP and then come back. This made me nervous and confused. What the heck was about to happen? This is the part where we walked across the street, and when we came back, we waited for a while in the dim hallway. They often don’t turn on hallway lights in public buildings to save on energy costs. A doctor walked by with his face masked pulled down to his chin so he could enjoy a cigarette. There was something incongruous about that picture.

They finally called me into the testing room, along with June, my trusty interpreter. They unrolled some of the toilet paper to put down on the examining table and then had me lay down. So I guess they just didn’t want the trouble of keeping the table sanitary? Might as well just have everyone bring their own covering. Right. I won’t describe the whole process to you. Let’s just say it was…invasive. Extremely awkward both in essence and due to the fact that my poor student was standing by. But at the same time, it was hilarious. Though I was not enjoying myself at all at the time, I knew already that it would make a great story. Too bad I can’t tell you all the gory details. It’s much funnier that way.

Anyway, moving on, we went back out and waited for a while, then went to have this other test done. This was an ultrasound to check my kidneys. Eight or ten people were shoved up against the exam room door trying to push their way to the front. We pushed our way right in with them and got the test done. We took all the various results back to the doctor and he said a bunch of stuff out of which we gathered, “It is appendicitis, but not serious.” What? What the heck does that mean. He didn’t want to cut me up though, which is good, he just gave us a prescription for some antibiotic. Pretty much what I had been seeking in the first place, the day before. We got the medicine and gladly left.

When I got back I talked to my doctor sister who laughed at the “mild appendicitis” diagnosis saying, “There is no such thing.” We concluded that none of my symptoms seem like appendicitis or colitis (which was the other option they gave) or anything imminently threatening. So all those tests and hours later, I was pretty much back at the same spot where I started – except with antibiotics. I took the antibiotics. And now I am almost completely better. That wasn’t too hard. At least, it shouldn’t have been.

Quotes before launch

Students in China are excited about the launch of China's Shenzhou 7 mission tonight. Just as we got back home after doing our "Meet the Foreigners" culture lecture, a student sent Christina a message saying that the rocket would launch at precisely 9:09.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"9:08."

So we hurried to the TV and turned it on. Unfortunately, our cable, which worked when we moved in, seems to have gone out, so we don't get any TV stations. Otherwise, we may have been able to just barely catch the rocket just after takeoff. Oh well. Another historic moment missed. That's what the Internet's for, nowadays.

Anyway, people are excited and proud that China's first spacewalk is about to happen. It's a pretty big accomplishment. Very cool.

But it seems that the journalism here is a little shaky. I also read that news of the launch, including detailed quotes about things that had yet to happen, also got posted to the Xinhua website. Here's an AP article about it:

BEIJING – A news story describing a successful launch of China's long-awaited space mission and including detailed dialogue between astronauts launched on the Internet Thursday, hours before the rocket had even left the ground.

The country's official news agency Xinhua posted the article on its Web site Thursday, and remained there for much of the day before it was taken down.

A staffer from the Xinhuanet.com Web site who answered the phone Thursday said the posting of the article was a "technical error" by a technician. The staffer refused to give his name as is common among Chinese officials. Read on...

Leaking a pre-written obit is one thing, but making up quotes about things that haven't yet happened? Big no-no. Newspapers in America often create files of obits on celebrities they think may die , so they can just add a few details about the cause of death, get a couple quotes and file it right away, which leads to big embarassment if someone accidentally runs it before the person dies (here's one example, and another). But it's gotta be even worse for the guy who runs the made-up story.

Tainted milk

By Kevin

I haven't heard from anyone in the U.S. asking about the China milk scandal, in which more than 6,000 infants have been hospitalized, include more than 150 with acute kidney failure and at least four have died after ingesting milk contaminated with melamine, an industrial chemical used in fertilizers, plastics and cleaning products, which makes milk appear to have more protein. Apparently, it's the same chemical that was in the pet food recall last year.

Actually, I haven't heard from anyone in China about it either.

At first, the recall focused on dry baby milk, but now it's spread to two of the biggest manufacturers of regular milk, yogurt and ice cream.

After hearing that one of the companies whose products have been tainted -- Inner Mongolia Yili -- was an Olympic sponsor, I began wondering about the milk we've been buying (the only “low fat” milk we've found), because I remembered seeing Olympic rings on the packaging. Sure enough, it's Yili milk. We probably haven't ingested enough to get sick (pretty much just on cereal).

Apparently so far, 8 of Yili's 30 products have been found to have the chemical, but I haven't been able to find a list of which products specifically, so I suppose we need to try some other milk brands.

Then, I inspected the yogurt. Sure enough, it's another brand – Mengniu. Apparently 10 percent of their products have proven to be tainted so far.

Apparently, these are China's two largest dairies.

I continued to the Chinese-made butter and cheese. Recalls haven't made mention of either of these, but sure enough, they were manufactured by yet another tainted brand – Bright Dairy. I'm wondering if they've tested butter and cheese at all yet, because they're really not all that commonly used in China.

In any case, it does put you on edge a bit about buying any sort of food containing dairy products.

“Maybe we should just eat imported food,” Ruth joked.

The milk powder we bought doesn't seem to be among of potentially contaminated products. "If I made oatmeal cookies with the milk powder would you still eat them? she asked.

"I think so."

Some news sites are insinuating that the companies have known about the harmful effects of the chemical for months, or even years, but they kept it quiet during preparation for the Olympics.

Sadly, I'm reminded of stories from Tonghua, where I learned that, often poor families in China they rely on baby formula because they think that it is better for their children than breast milk. Now these babies are winding up with kidney stones and kidney failure because companies dilute products to make a small profit. Sad. I heard stories that even poorer families sometimes fed their babies Coke because the sugar would help to fatten them up, even if its nutritional value is negligible.

All Things Considered

by Ruth

On Tuesday we heard a rumor that Freshmen classes might be starting soon. The rumor was confirmed when Wes got the official call on Tuesday night: classes would be starting on Thursday. I was a little surprised. I half expected to get an early Wednesday morning call saying, “By the way, classes start today.”

Today was the first day of classes, and my day started with a 7:30am class. I would complain-a lot, but it is the only day of the week I have class first thing. The day went pretty well, all things considered. The “all things” part included:

1. I arrived at what should have been my classroom and of course it wasn’t. Fortunately, a student recognized me and showed me which room my class had been moved to according to the new schedule which we hadn’t received.

2. I went to the new classroom and the door was locked. Even though the door “should” have been unlocked, I wasn’t really expecting it to be. I sent a student up to the office to find someone with a key. The bell rang. The group of freshmen huddled in the hallway smiled nervously. Eventually an apologetic woman arrived with a key and we all filed into the classroom.

3. The Phonetics class took place in a computer classroom. The computers may or may not have worked, but since I didn’t know how to use them, I decided to just leave them alone. Wes was going to get someone to come and explain it to me, but I forgot to tell him I had class this morning. I thought he knew. After all, I knew, and sometimes I assume people can read my mind. That never works out well.

4. I realized early on that the students did not have the textbook I was told they would have. They stared up at me with blank looks. After showing me several different books they did have, they decided none of those were for this class. I had one of those nervous moments when I thought, “Crap, now what do I do? At least half of my lesson is from this book!” But then I recovered and thought, “Oh well, I can always make stuff up.” One of the students stumblingly said something that I took to be “Our teacher will give us those books soon.” But since I was prompting half the words, I can’t really be sure. It could just be my wishful thinking.

5. The class went okay and I made do by writing a lot of stuff on the board. As another class of students came in for my second class, I noticed a large group of students congregated outside my door. I thought they were probably just wanting a look at the foreigner…until Wes came in and said, “Apparently you are supposed to be teaching this class too. At the same time. So if you could just run up and down between the two, that would be great…” I said, “I love multitasking.” I’ve just got to get better at the teleporting. So apparently this whole schedule thing hadn’t quite been worked out. I never did find out what happened to the other class. They disappeared before I could talk to them. I hope they don't hold it against me.

Really though, my other two classes went okay. After my second phonetics class, a crowd of students came up to take pictures with me. One girl bounded up and threw her arms all the way around me for a picture. I was like, “Well hello.” Of course she was the girl who, when introducing herself said, “I chose my name because it means cheerful! And I am very cheerful!! I want to always be cheerful!! I want my classmates to be cheerful!! I want the whole world to be cheerful!!!!” With that many exclamation points.

My third class was Oral English, and that is pretty easy. You just say some stuff and then tell them to talk about things. Maybe there are a few other elements involved, but no computers and very few pronunciation symbols. Which makes it easy in my book.

Kevin’s first day of classes began after mine ended: he had a late afternoon and an evening class. We each teach 16 hours a week and have managed to have no classes at the same time. Amazing how that works out. So it’s a little bit of a bummer, but there are still some times when we will get to see each other.

So the first day of classes is over. I feel like I actually have a job again, which is nice except for the sore feet and scratchy throat. I was happy today though, thinking about how much easier it was to handle all those crazy confusions now than it would have been several years ago. I guess I have progressed in the flexibility factor. Or I have lowered my expectations. Either way, it works out about the same in the end.

Guitar troubadours and Moonlight serenades (a belated Moon Festival post)

By Kevin

To celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival we opted to spend the evening outdoors, dining on “ethnic foods street.”

Ok, maybe the whole street isn't really a big variety of ethnic foods. It's mostly chuars – meat on a stick. So it's mostly Uyiger or Hui food. Good Muslim food.

As we ate our meat on a stick, no less than four guitar playing troubadours set out upon the crowd, toting amplifiers.

One guy carried his amp on his back, as he strummed his Fender Strat and sang into the evening breeze.

A girl, who was pretty good actually, handed diners a song list. After they picked a song, she went to work, strumming away on her Ibanez guitar for a few kuai.

Another guy, who was particularly tone deaf, repeatedly strummed one chord on his amplified acoustic guitar as he sang. Yet people politely listened.

It reminded me of the various street performers on Venice Beach or on the 3rd Street Promenade, but they were completely mobile.

“I wonder what songs they sing,” I asked, wondering if they knew any U2...perhaps “It's a beautiful day,” I thought.

“Maybe they sing moon songs.”

One of the traditions this day is to gaze at the big, round full moon, and eat round moon cakes with friends and family.

“Are there many moon songs?” Christina asked.

In unison, Wes, Ruth and I broke into three different moon songs...

“There's a bad moon rising,” Wes belted, evoking Credence Clearwater Revival.

“Moon River,” Ruth crooned, evoking Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast at Tiffany's.” “...my Huckleberry friend.”

I opted for the Waterboy's cover of Victoria Williams from the “Sweet Relief” compilation: “Why look at that moon, a-way up high, seeing everything, that goes by, why look at that moon...”

Eventually, we headed back home, grabbing ice cream bars for the trip. On the way, we were coaxed to inspect a new spa with a sign declaring, “Physical Therapy.”

We found out that they'd do a 90-minute foot massage for 48 RMB, but if three of us got it, they'd give us the fourth free. However, they said prices range from 48 RMB for feet to 180 RMB for a full treatment.

They lured us in to inspect the posh surroundings, which were the nicest of any massage parlor I've seen yet in China.

But my bruised back just wasn't up for it today.

Two days ago, Ruth and I decided to check out the little massage clinic we'd walked by last week. She got a 15 RMB half-hour massage by a halfway blind guy. I was transferred to another guy for an hour of abuse.

Massages in China aren't about relaxation, I've learned. They're about healing.

So while we anticipated full-body massages, when they asked what hurts, we said “hou bei” - our backs....and they went to work on them.

By the time I left, my masseuse had grinded his elbow into almost every part of my back, done some chiropractic jujitsu moves to work out some kinks and left me feeling bruised and beaten. On the way home, I felt good, but by that evening, I could feel the bruises rising. They haven't made it to the surface, though, so maybe it'll be OK. Lots of soreness.

The “Physical Therapy” place however, seemed more focused on pampering and actually making you feel BETTER after you leave, so maybe we'll have to try it once our last massage heals. We'll see...