The problem with having a really lovely, warm apartment is the fact that it's hard to find the motivation to go anywhere else, knowing it's going to be colder there than at home. I haven't been to the gym since last Friday. So far I have not made the membership worth my money. Oh well, I've got 50 more weeks to do that.
One of my thoughts from the gym last week focused on what might have been if I hadn't come to China. If it hadn't been for Socrates, I wouldn't have applied to my school. Well, now he is gone - really gone - and I've been in a funk, and I ask myself whether it wouldn't have been easier if I'd only had to live through his leaving once. And I thought of the fact that if I'd stayed at RAKESS, I would have ended with two years under my belt, and right now would have been looking for jobs in Lima, where Evil will be moving this year. But then I realized that if I'd stayed in the UAE, I probably would have found myself working as a classroom teacher, or an ESL teacher, when the Trunchbull cut RAKESS' art program. Seeing as my current school was more interested in using me as a kindergarten teacher than an art teacher as it was, I think another year outside the art room might have ruined my career prospects. Thus, as hard as the last month has been, I've come to the conclusion that I'm ahead of the game.
Speaking of ESL, I managed my own personal coup at school this week. For the last semester I've been carrying the heaviest class load of any teacher there, and two hours of it have been ESL. This has not sat particularly well with me, and I've tried to make strategic battles against the situation, but a true opportunity to amend the situation didn't come until Wednesday. After our student-led conference day, I was pulled into a meeting with three of our powers that be, and had it explained to me that there was a problem with my schedule. The Chinese teacher who has been taking one of the grades for art was needed to teach more Chinese, due to an influx of second semester students. Their solution was to split his grade and give me two of the classes, give him my fourth graders, and thus fix the problem. They still wanted to keep me in ESL because the kindergarten classes were filling up and they were going to need the help. But there were some other issues brought up by this, and far be it from me not to press them to my advantage. Namely:
1. I knew at least one fourth grade parent was going to have a problem with Dingleberry taking those classes.
2. I didn't particularly want to have to plan units/lessons that he was going to have to teach, because he doesn't actually KNOW how to teach.
3. I was adamant that if I was continuing the ESL, that it would be in-class support only, that it was not fair to me or the kids to make me sacrifice art prep so that I could do a pull-out ESL class, which would take much more time.
Then as we were discussing this, I pointed out the fact that, at the beginning of the year, PE, Music, and myself were all told we would have to teach some ESL, but only I had been made to do so. PYP said, "Oh, I think PE is free during first period...I wonder how full his schedule is..." I had to work hard not to grin, as I knew for a FACT that PE was only teaching 12 hours, and he was about to get busted!
So that took care of my ESL problem. I suggested that if my kindergarteners only had one art class a week, that I would then be able to take ALL of the classes in ALL year groups. This would make one of the kindergarten teachers pretty happy, and create a solution to Dingleberry's obstinance regarding criticism of his art teaching methods. PYP did a little schedule juggling, and yours truly is now teaching each class in every grade once a week. This means a little more planning for me, but on the whole, I'm pretty pleased with myself.
I haven't been very good about my resolution to not eat out this week, either. I had good intentions when I cooked my sweet and sour chicken on Tuesday night, but the following two nights I had dinner dates with a couple of friends. One was a girl Azhaar introduced me to on facebook, who had taken belly dance lessons with her in Seoul. We agreed to meet at the stop where our subway lines meet, which just so happens to be Xujiahui, a pretty major shopping and eating area, and the place of December's MARVELOUS (that's only half sarcastic) staff dinner. So I looked up the Xinjiang restaurant in Lonely Planet, figuring a fellow belly dancer would enjoy the food and the dancing both, and she did...but it didn't actually turn out to be the same restaurant (I think the other place was actually better food, and the dancers did a few more diverse styles, but this place didn't cart the lamb around with its head still attached going, "Baaaa!") She and I were - enthusiastic - audience members, to say the least, a fact which the uyghur staff found pretty amusing. As if being tall and redheaded didn't make me enough of a target. So during the third or fourth song I found myself being led up on stage by the male dancer, and being a bit of an exhibitionist, I found the experience of having a little dance off with a good-looking Chinese Muslim delightful. And the new friend turned out to be pretty cool, too.
Lastly...it has been hard letting Socrates go, but I'm getting better at it. Sunday I spent a while comparing our friendship to my heyday with my Dark Lord and Master, and I realized that - for a number of reasons - this was a piece of cake compared to boarding that final plane out of Korea. I also found myself thinking of his assertion before he left that I would be fine without him. That's something I realized when I was back in Korea, before he'd even lost his job with Soul Sucking International School. What I finally figured out this week was almost poetic:
No matter how much I want him, I don't need him.
No matter how much he needs me, he doesn't want me.
I think that makes me pretty lucky. And if that thought fails to cheer me up, Bohemian Rhapsody sung with vigor during a school sponsored karaoke night ALWAYS does the trick.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful-
But here in O'hare International airport at least I'm not getting kicked out at 2 am.
I was supposed to get into Omaha three hours ago. Unfortunately it started snowing big American-sizey snowflakes around the time we touched down, and an hour after I was supposed to leave, my flight got cancelled.
Dude, I kid you not. At one time I had really good travel karma. No idea what's become of it.
So I was forced to buy Oingo-Boingo credit, forced to scour the airport for tampons and a USB plug (uhhhh, for two completely different reasons, and am now about to go see if macca's here has Reese's McFlurries on offer at 1:30 in the a.m. Because, you know, when in Rome, right?
Remember a few weeks back, that comment I made about quaint little places? >sigh< Yep.
I was supposed to get into Omaha three hours ago. Unfortunately it started snowing big American-sizey snowflakes around the time we touched down, and an hour after I was supposed to leave, my flight got cancelled.
Dude, I kid you not. At one time I had really good travel karma. No idea what's become of it.
So I was forced to buy Oingo-Boingo credit, forced to scour the airport for tampons and a USB plug (uhhhh, for two completely different reasons, and am now about to go see if macca's here has Reese's McFlurries on offer at 1:30 in the a.m. Because, you know, when in Rome, right?
Remember a few weeks back, that comment I made about quaint little places? >sigh< Yep.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Oh. Boy. Where do I even start with this? This is what happens when time picks up.
So about a month ago our Chinese principal tells me I have to make Christmas crafts for the charity bazaar that takes place during the school's pre-holiday extravaganza, and that I have to decorate the stage for the Christmas program. I - calmly and politely - protested that a month wasn't enough time for me. She - calmly and politely - informed me that the old art teacher didn't find this to be a problem so maybe I had been a poor choice for the position. I said that I'd get it all done, but that I didn't appreciate being told things at the last moment.
Yes. One month's warning is the last moment when it involves small children you see once a week making cutesy crafts.
Two weeks later, the coordinator in charge of the dog and pony show...errr...the extravaganza...comes and tells me I'm supposed to head up the parents' committee for decorating the whole school, as well. I - somewhat more forcefully than with the principal - inform her that I had more than enough to be getting on with at the moment. She once again lobbed back, "Well, the OLD art teacher didn't have a problem with it." My friendly neighborhood music teacher was standing by when this conversation took place, and she held me back from throttling said coordinator with the promise of talking to the Western principal about it. I went up to my classroom with steam streaming out my ears, and decided that I'd better have a look at my predecessor's schedule. And what I found was that SHE had been given four hours a week in her timetable dedicated to putting up displays. Yup. So I emailed a copy of this very enlightening document to the Western head and said, "Look, I know Music is talking to you - just so's you know, this was the schedule for last year, and I'll be more than happy to do whatever you want as long as it's not more than fair." And that is how Jo-Jo the Chinese/Art teacher got landed with it. And why the stage looks nice and the school looks like crap. Maybe next year I won't have to teach ESL and the school can look nice, too.
Two weeks later now, the stage is decorated, the crafts are as done as they can be, the art display (the only bit I knew I was responsible for a month ago) is up, my belly dancers have done their bit at the after-school concert (and they were SO good, I was really proud of them), and I've attended the bloody staff dinner.
Oh yes, the staff dinner. Pain. So much pain.
Don't get me wrong. I like my coworkers. Mostly. On the other hand, I don't go looking to spend time with most of them, most of the time. But we were basically told that it wasn't exactly optional, and I ditched the last one, so I cowgirled up and waited the half hour for the bus to come and take us into Xujiahui where we had a reservation at a Xinjiang-style restaurant. I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but on the other hand, some of them WERE, in fact, the people I DO spend non-paid time with, and Xinjiang is the Muslim quarter of China, and I was curious what the food would be like. So it couldn't be too bad, right?
Yeah, actually, it could. Cause as we're pulling up to the restaurant someone mentions that our secondary campus was there, too - and this place doesn't look that big. We go downstairs and there are a few seats randomly scattered around the room - and the people I was hoping to sit with ended up scattered at different tables, while I was given the choice between sitting with two of my colleagues that I don't dislike but would rather poke out my eyes than make small talk with...or a table of secondary people that I've never met...Oh, no - wait! It turns out I HAD actually met one of them before. I thought at the time he looked familiar but for the life of me I couldn't figure out where I'd met him. Well, when I talked to Socrates, he tells me that his friend mentioned he'd sat next to me (I met this friend all of once, on a night when I was in just about as good a mood).
At any rate, I chose to sit with the people I didn't know. Yeah, awkward, right? My reasoning was that if I sat with my colleagues, I would have to make small talk and pretend to listen while my mind engaged in other business. With the total strangers, I could get out my iPod and read, and hopefully come down out of my temper. Or I could if people would quit trying to convince me to go sit with people I don't care for (which they did....eventually). So I sat down, said hi, and indicated that I would be playing the part of antisocial bitch for the evening, nothing personal.
Dad, if you're reading this one...try not to worry. I've managed to mostly succeed in life, in spite of my abrasive tendencies.
So - by this time it is around 5:45, and having had nothing more for lunch than cookies, I am getting pretty hungry. It was a half-hour before any food finds its way to the table, although there was a liter bottle of coke on the table which I proceeded to empty over the next hour and a half. Finally, the food began to come, and it was actually really good. Well, most of it - I don't eat seafood no matter what cuisine cooks it. And, as I've been told, it has a lot of similarities with Arabic cooking - although I think this was MUCH more flavorful - including the prolific use of lamb. Lamb's not my favorite meat, but I'm down with it...or at least, I am until they cart it out, roasted and whole, up to and including eyeballs and teeth, making a "Baaaaa!" noise. Eurgh! I mean. EURGH! I'm-not-a-child-I-grew-up-on-a-farm-I-know-perfectly-well-where-meat-comes-from-and-I-believe-if-God-hadn't-meant-for-us-to-eat-animals-he-wouldn't-have-made-them-so-delicious-but-I'm-sorry-I-do-NOT-want-to-see-the-face-of-my-murder-tasty-tasty-murder-victim-thank-you-very-much!!!!!!!
>gasp<
Yeah. So. Food good. I also noted, on my way in, that the wall had an image of a woman wrapped up in Isis wings, and the possibility that this restaurant might have a dancer was one of the reasons that I didn't leave when things started looking tedious (also, as I said, I was hungry, and figured if I had to cab home I might as well get something for my money). When the "stage" lighting came on, I found Giancarlo was back in my pocket and I was looking up before I became aware of what I'd just done. Two ladies and a man, all three of whom looked Persian to me (possibly because they were dressed in the costume that I've come to associate with Persian folk dance, although I don't know the style well enough to be sure), came out and started to dance, and I found that I was happy to be there. Even more so when the girls came back separately to "belly dance" for us. They were pretty okay - I've seen excellent dancers...hell, I've LEARNED from excellent dancers...and excellence is great, but the real show-stopper was when one went dancing up to our wee Irish principal, and dragged him out onto the floor. He's a great sport, and a fine comedian; I thought I'd bust a rib when she dropped to the floor and he kinda wobbled his way down to one knee! The next set saw her pulling -
Oh, I don't have a nickname for this guy! I'll call him Bilbo, cause he's about as tall as a hobbit, but isn't cool enough to be Frodo. A guy as short as Bilbo has only two options in how to live his life, and he chose the enlightened path. This guy does yoga and reads books on how to be a better man while cooking gourmet food for his Chinese girlfriend (cliche, he knows, but when you're that short, you have limited options and a Filipina would make him feel cheap and uneducated!) He's just so bloody earnest in all that he does, it's fricking annoying! Anyways, he was standing on the sidelines aching to bust a move when she pulled him out. Enlightened as he may be, he has no CLUE that when a belly dancer takes you out on the floor, the only expectation we have of you is that you bop along idiotically beside her for a couple moments - possibly mimicking some of her moves with nowhere NEAR her grace - before slinking back to your seat as soon as you can manage (embarassed and yet secretly pleased because YOU danced with a belly dancer). Oh no. He actually danced with her - twirling her over and over, or trying, because with her heels she was about four inches taller than him. And after his fifteen seconds of fame were over, he didn't slink back to his seat, but stood on the sidelines, so she pulled him back out, not once, but twice. It was so awkward to watch that it was painful.
Anyways, that was the staff dinner, and now it's over, and tomorrow, so will this week and school, too, at least until January. Shanghai is freezing, finally, I guess. Yesterday just past noon it started snowing. The kids went wild. I even got a little excited, until I realized that if it REALLY got going Socrates might not be the only one spending the holidays in Shanghai. I finally worked up some enthusiasm for the whole "home for the holidays" thing, as my darling Glamwhore will be in town, hopefully so will my niece, and Babysis invited me to go to the movies with her and a friend next Tuesday. Also - deodorant. I ran out last week, and rather than buying whatever I can get my hands on here, I'm just going without until I get back to the states. It really isn't as disgusting as it seems...well, not if you have good hygiene and don't eat too much garlic...
So about a month ago our Chinese principal tells me I have to make Christmas crafts for the charity bazaar that takes place during the school's pre-holiday extravaganza, and that I have to decorate the stage for the Christmas program. I - calmly and politely - protested that a month wasn't enough time for me. She - calmly and politely - informed me that the old art teacher didn't find this to be a problem so maybe I had been a poor choice for the position. I said that I'd get it all done, but that I didn't appreciate being told things at the last moment.
Yes. One month's warning is the last moment when it involves small children you see once a week making cutesy crafts.
Two weeks later, the coordinator in charge of the dog and pony show...errr...the extravaganza...comes and tells me I'm supposed to head up the parents' committee for decorating the whole school, as well. I - somewhat more forcefully than with the principal - inform her that I had more than enough to be getting on with at the moment. She once again lobbed back, "Well, the OLD art teacher didn't have a problem with it." My friendly neighborhood music teacher was standing by when this conversation took place, and she held me back from throttling said coordinator with the promise of talking to the Western principal about it. I went up to my classroom with steam streaming out my ears, and decided that I'd better have a look at my predecessor's schedule. And what I found was that SHE had been given four hours a week in her timetable dedicated to putting up displays. Yup. So I emailed a copy of this very enlightening document to the Western head and said, "Look, I know Music is talking to you - just so's you know, this was the schedule for last year, and I'll be more than happy to do whatever you want as long as it's not more than fair." And that is how Jo-Jo the Chinese/Art teacher got landed with it. And why the stage looks nice and the school looks like crap. Maybe next year I won't have to teach ESL and the school can look nice, too.
Two weeks later now, the stage is decorated, the crafts are as done as they can be, the art display (the only bit I knew I was responsible for a month ago) is up, my belly dancers have done their bit at the after-school concert (and they were SO good, I was really proud of them), and I've attended the bloody staff dinner.
Oh yes, the staff dinner. Pain. So much pain.
Don't get me wrong. I like my coworkers. Mostly. On the other hand, I don't go looking to spend time with most of them, most of the time. But we were basically told that it wasn't exactly optional, and I ditched the last one, so I cowgirled up and waited the half hour for the bus to come and take us into Xujiahui where we had a reservation at a Xinjiang-style restaurant. I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but on the other hand, some of them WERE, in fact, the people I DO spend non-paid time with, and Xinjiang is the Muslim quarter of China, and I was curious what the food would be like. So it couldn't be too bad, right?
Yeah, actually, it could. Cause as we're pulling up to the restaurant someone mentions that our secondary campus was there, too - and this place doesn't look that big. We go downstairs and there are a few seats randomly scattered around the room - and the people I was hoping to sit with ended up scattered at different tables, while I was given the choice between sitting with two of my colleagues that I don't dislike but would rather poke out my eyes than make small talk with...or a table of secondary people that I've never met...Oh, no - wait! It turns out I HAD actually met one of them before. I thought at the time he looked familiar but for the life of me I couldn't figure out where I'd met him. Well, when I talked to Socrates, he tells me that his friend mentioned he'd sat next to me (I met this friend all of once, on a night when I was in just about as good a mood).
At any rate, I chose to sit with the people I didn't know. Yeah, awkward, right? My reasoning was that if I sat with my colleagues, I would have to make small talk and pretend to listen while my mind engaged in other business. With the total strangers, I could get out my iPod and read, and hopefully come down out of my temper. Or I could if people would quit trying to convince me to go sit with people I don't care for (which they did....eventually). So I sat down, said hi, and indicated that I would be playing the part of antisocial bitch for the evening, nothing personal.
Dad, if you're reading this one...try not to worry. I've managed to mostly succeed in life, in spite of my abrasive tendencies.
So - by this time it is around 5:45, and having had nothing more for lunch than cookies, I am getting pretty hungry. It was a half-hour before any food finds its way to the table, although there was a liter bottle of coke on the table which I proceeded to empty over the next hour and a half. Finally, the food began to come, and it was actually really good. Well, most of it - I don't eat seafood no matter what cuisine cooks it. And, as I've been told, it has a lot of similarities with Arabic cooking - although I think this was MUCH more flavorful - including the prolific use of lamb. Lamb's not my favorite meat, but I'm down with it...or at least, I am until they cart it out, roasted and whole, up to and including eyeballs and teeth, making a "Baaaaa!" noise. Eurgh! I mean. EURGH! I'm-not-a-child-I-grew-up-on-a-farm-I-know-perfectly-well-where-meat-comes-from-and-I-believe-if-God-hadn't-meant-for-us-to-eat-animals-he-wouldn't-have-made-them-so-delicious-but-I'm-sorry-I-do-NOT-want-to-see-the-face-of-my-murder-tasty-tasty-murder-victim-thank-you-very-much!!!!!!!
>gasp<
Yeah. So. Food good. I also noted, on my way in, that the wall had an image of a woman wrapped up in Isis wings, and the possibility that this restaurant might have a dancer was one of the reasons that I didn't leave when things started looking tedious (also, as I said, I was hungry, and figured if I had to cab home I might as well get something for my money). When the "stage" lighting came on, I found Giancarlo was back in my pocket and I was looking up before I became aware of what I'd just done. Two ladies and a man, all three of whom looked Persian to me (possibly because they were dressed in the costume that I've come to associate with Persian folk dance, although I don't know the style well enough to be sure), came out and started to dance, and I found that I was happy to be there. Even more so when the girls came back separately to "belly dance" for us. They were pretty okay - I've seen excellent dancers...hell, I've LEARNED from excellent dancers...and excellence is great, but the real show-stopper was when one went dancing up to our wee Irish principal, and dragged him out onto the floor. He's a great sport, and a fine comedian; I thought I'd bust a rib when she dropped to the floor and he kinda wobbled his way down to one knee! The next set saw her pulling -
Oh, I don't have a nickname for this guy! I'll call him Bilbo, cause he's about as tall as a hobbit, but isn't cool enough to be Frodo. A guy as short as Bilbo has only two options in how to live his life, and he chose the enlightened path. This guy does yoga and reads books on how to be a better man while cooking gourmet food for his Chinese girlfriend (cliche, he knows, but when you're that short, you have limited options and a Filipina would make him feel cheap and uneducated!) He's just so bloody earnest in all that he does, it's fricking annoying! Anyways, he was standing on the sidelines aching to bust a move when she pulled him out. Enlightened as he may be, he has no CLUE that when a belly dancer takes you out on the floor, the only expectation we have of you is that you bop along idiotically beside her for a couple moments - possibly mimicking some of her moves with nowhere NEAR her grace - before slinking back to your seat as soon as you can manage (embarassed and yet secretly pleased because YOU danced with a belly dancer). Oh no. He actually danced with her - twirling her over and over, or trying, because with her heels she was about four inches taller than him. And after his fifteen seconds of fame were over, he didn't slink back to his seat, but stood on the sidelines, so she pulled him back out, not once, but twice. It was so awkward to watch that it was painful.
Anyways, that was the staff dinner, and now it's over, and tomorrow, so will this week and school, too, at least until January. Shanghai is freezing, finally, I guess. Yesterday just past noon it started snowing. The kids went wild. I even got a little excited, until I realized that if it REALLY got going Socrates might not be the only one spending the holidays in Shanghai. I finally worked up some enthusiasm for the whole "home for the holidays" thing, as my darling Glamwhore will be in town, hopefully so will my niece, and Babysis invited me to go to the movies with her and a friend next Tuesday. Also - deodorant. I ran out last week, and rather than buying whatever I can get my hands on here, I'm just going without until I get back to the states. It really isn't as disgusting as it seems...well, not if you have good hygiene and don't eat too much garlic...
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Half the Fun???
Whoever said getting there is half the fun needs to be drug out into the street and shot. Seriously.
Socrates, having been unceremoniously given the boot by the bastards at his school, managed to procure work temporarily at a school up the tracks in scenic Suzhou - VENICE OF THE EAST! I've been a bit miffed about it because it's left me largely without a walking buddy, but you gotta do what you gotta do. To make up for it, he invited me to come up and visit this weekend, so Friday I packed my stuff and headed up to the train station. I bought my tickets earlier in the week while my bike chain was being prepared. I didn't go to the station; it just so happens that there is a very handy little ticket office on Hongmei St. So I walked in, showed the lady a calendar, indicated the days that I wanted to go to Suzhou and come back, and what times, and she sold me my tickets. Easy cheesy.
On the other hand, I show up at the train station, and I look for the train number and time on my ticket, and it's not listed. I fight my way through the station, to information, and they inform me that the woman at the ticket office has sold me tickets for Shanghai station, rather than Hongqiao. My bad, I'm sure, for assuming that since I was physically IN Hongqiao at the ticket office that they would assume that was the station I wanted to begin and end at. Oh well, 20 minutes of my life later I had exchanged them for the correct tickets, texted Socrates to let him know I would be two hours later than originally anticipated, and found the Subway in the downstairs shopping area to kill some time (and 30 of my last yuan) in.
The train was fast, clean, and comfy. I have no complaints about the train. But when it pulled into Suzhou station, my life became complicated again. See, there's not a whole lot of guidance to get to the taxi stand, and once you do, you have the opportunity to be stared at and approached by beggars while you wait. Or at least I did. I'm sorry, little Chinese girl with the funny hands, but I teach your kind all week. Your adorableness has no effect on me. I was ready for the communication gap when I finally did get a taxi - I had the address Socrates gave me in Chinese up on my iPod's email - but the smell was none-too-pleasant, and when I texted Socrates to let him know I was on my way, my phone wouldn't send it. Crap. It also wouldn't let me call him. Double crap. But when we got to the business he told me to go to, I thought, "No worries, I'll pop in and use their phone"...only when I did, their landline wouldn't call his Shanghai mobile number. Triple crap. So what's a girl to do? Well, folks, this ain't my first rodeo. I pulled out my iTouch, found an unsecured wireless network, and emailed my partner in crime. For a lot of people, this might not work, but Socrates is the proud owner of an iPhone which (sometimes annoyingly) notifies him every time he gets an email. So two minutes later I got a reply that he was on his way. Problem solved.
Now, writing about all of this two days later, I have gained the proper perspective. I'm proud of my resourcefulness and can laugh at the comedy of errors that took place Friday night. However, when Socrates showed up at the rendezvous, he did not find a particularly happy camper. In fact, I had that feeling I always got when I went on one of my little adventures outside of Seoul, back in the days when I at least knew some of the language; ie, the feeling of WHY THE HELL DO I EVER LEAVE THE CITY?!?! I was also pissed off because people do this to me a lot. A LOT. "Right. When you get into the (airport, train station, bus station, etc) get the (taxi, train, bus, etc) until you get to (landmark) and give me a call." Being competent is a pain in the ass sometimes. On the other hand, if people coddled me the way I do anyone who comes to me, I'd probably get offended, so I guess there's no way to win.
Right.
Well, we went out for a few drinks once I'd finally calmed down, and had a reasonably early night. I went for a wander while he was doing job search stuff, and saw some of scenic Suzhou on foot by daylight, coming to the conclusion that it was not so bad, after all. That afternoon we saw Suzhou's Coiled Gate (which may be the last land and water city gate in all of China) and climbed up a pagoda (invoking fond memories of the Eiffel Tower and a reflection on the value for price of the two), and paid 15 kuai each to shoot crappy arrows with a crappy bow at targets that were way too close...which was enjoyable nonetheless. Later we met some of his colleagues and went to a rock (punk???) show at a youth hostel that involved a lot of screaming and a wee bit of talent, before hanging out at a place closer to home where I made a new friend. Suzhou touts itself as the Venice of the East - it is pretty enough, and full of beautiful places to see (more of which I will hopefully see next time I go, maybe I'll even rent a bike for the day), but comparing it to Venice it probably going a little far (as Socrates pointed out, "For starters, it's not sinking.")
Hmm. Shouldn't have mentioned Venice...now I'm wishing I was there. Oh well, two more weeks of playing Santa's workshop (actually, I might have misspelled something there...) and I'll be home for the holidays.
Socrates, having been unceremoniously given the boot by the bastards at his school, managed to procure work temporarily at a school up the tracks in scenic Suzhou - VENICE OF THE EAST! I've been a bit miffed about it because it's left me largely without a walking buddy, but you gotta do what you gotta do. To make up for it, he invited me to come up and visit this weekend, so Friday I packed my stuff and headed up to the train station. I bought my tickets earlier in the week while my bike chain was being prepared. I didn't go to the station; it just so happens that there is a very handy little ticket office on Hongmei St. So I walked in, showed the lady a calendar, indicated the days that I wanted to go to Suzhou and come back, and what times, and she sold me my tickets. Easy cheesy.
On the other hand, I show up at the train station, and I look for the train number and time on my ticket, and it's not listed. I fight my way through the station, to information, and they inform me that the woman at the ticket office has sold me tickets for Shanghai station, rather than Hongqiao. My bad, I'm sure, for assuming that since I was physically IN Hongqiao at the ticket office that they would assume that was the station I wanted to begin and end at. Oh well, 20 minutes of my life later I had exchanged them for the correct tickets, texted Socrates to let him know I would be two hours later than originally anticipated, and found the Subway in the downstairs shopping area to kill some time (and 30 of my last yuan) in.
The train was fast, clean, and comfy. I have no complaints about the train. But when it pulled into Suzhou station, my life became complicated again. See, there's not a whole lot of guidance to get to the taxi stand, and once you do, you have the opportunity to be stared at and approached by beggars while you wait. Or at least I did. I'm sorry, little Chinese girl with the funny hands, but I teach your kind all week. Your adorableness has no effect on me. I was ready for the communication gap when I finally did get a taxi - I had the address Socrates gave me in Chinese up on my iPod's email - but the smell was none-too-pleasant, and when I texted Socrates to let him know I was on my way, my phone wouldn't send it. Crap. It also wouldn't let me call him. Double crap. But when we got to the business he told me to go to, I thought, "No worries, I'll pop in and use their phone"...only when I did, their landline wouldn't call his Shanghai mobile number. Triple crap. So what's a girl to do? Well, folks, this ain't my first rodeo. I pulled out my iTouch, found an unsecured wireless network, and emailed my partner in crime. For a lot of people, this might not work, but Socrates is the proud owner of an iPhone which (sometimes annoyingly) notifies him every time he gets an email. So two minutes later I got a reply that he was on his way. Problem solved.
Now, writing about all of this two days later, I have gained the proper perspective. I'm proud of my resourcefulness and can laugh at the comedy of errors that took place Friday night. However, when Socrates showed up at the rendezvous, he did not find a particularly happy camper. In fact, I had that feeling I always got when I went on one of my little adventures outside of Seoul, back in the days when I at least knew some of the language; ie, the feeling of WHY THE HELL DO I EVER LEAVE THE CITY?!?! I was also pissed off because people do this to me a lot. A LOT. "Right. When you get into the (airport, train station, bus station, etc) get the (taxi, train, bus, etc) until you get to (landmark) and give me a call." Being competent is a pain in the ass sometimes. On the other hand, if people coddled me the way I do anyone who comes to me, I'd probably get offended, so I guess there's no way to win.
Right.
Well, we went out for a few drinks once I'd finally calmed down, and had a reasonably early night. I went for a wander while he was doing job search stuff, and saw some of scenic Suzhou on foot by daylight, coming to the conclusion that it was not so bad, after all. That afternoon we saw Suzhou's Coiled Gate (which may be the last land and water city gate in all of China) and climbed up a pagoda (invoking fond memories of the Eiffel Tower and a reflection on the value for price of the two), and paid 15 kuai each to shoot crappy arrows with a crappy bow at targets that were way too close...which was enjoyable nonetheless. Later we met some of his colleagues and went to a rock (punk???) show at a youth hostel that involved a lot of screaming and a wee bit of talent, before hanging out at a place closer to home where I made a new friend. Suzhou touts itself as the Venice of the East - it is pretty enough, and full of beautiful places to see (more of which I will hopefully see next time I go, maybe I'll even rent a bike for the day), but comparing it to Venice it probably going a little far (as Socrates pointed out, "For starters, it's not sinking.")
Hmm. Shouldn't have mentioned Venice...now I'm wishing I was there. Oh well, two more weeks of playing Santa's workshop (actually, I might have misspelled something there...) and I'll be home for the holidays.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Doctor Who as a Metaphor for Life
There are so many things I could address in this blog. I could address our fat idiot of a principal threatening me. I could address the fact that Yew Chung eats your soul, even when you don't work there. I could tell you about the old Chinese man shuffling down the street backwards in his brand-new Converse All-Stars this morning on my way to church. But I'd rather talk about Doctor Who.
A significant number of people who have come into my life in the last six years have been Doctor Who fans, and this spring I decided to give it a try. I liked it alright, enough to watch two seasons, and enough to get excited and set the recorder when I found it on BBC America this summer, but it wasn't until a week and a half ago that I decided to start season three. It and four (which I'm halfway through after starting this morning) have been amazing. Why? Okay, I gotta say, I love the whole traveler of time and space thing - repeatedly the Doctor is asked what he does, and he replies, "Travel." That's kind of my life! But what's really doing it for me is the heroines from these two seasons. Don't get me wrong - I liked Rose, I liked what I saw of Amy, but they don't have the flaws that give Martha and Donna meaning. Or their strengths - I love the fact that after a season of pining over the Doctor Martha says, "Look. Enough of this. I'm getting out and moving on." Who has that kind of strength? And Donna, who we meet at the beginning of season three - she's kind of a loudmouthed idiot, but she helps save the world and, more to the point, pulls the Doctor back from the edge that he currently puts himself out on, then says, "You know what? No. Not going with you - ya kinda scare me." She comes to regret that decision, and by the time you see her again at the beginning of season four, she seems like a totally different person. Still a loudmouth, but more with it, more willing to embrace the world, even when it scares her, and still able to help the Doctor remember what makes him who he is.
I kinda want those qualities for myself.
I also love the fact that this show leaves you with that feeling that anything is possible. I don't mean aliens or time travel, but the little miracles of finding your strength, of moving forward and reaching for what you want.
It's November 21, 2010. I've been in Shanghai for three months and eleven days. In that time I've lost some weight - not sure how much, as it's been a while since I last hit the sauna - made some friends, and become a more driven teacher. But I've kind of been holding back. There's so much more I want to do - I want to belly dance again, not just practice but perform, in the body I had when I lived in Korea. I want to write and illustrate my book - I haven't even touched it in almost two months. I want a closer relationship with God. I realized today that the way I feel about one of my friends, who doesn't seem to really care about me unless I'm needed is probably the way I make Heavenly Father feel, even being the patient, omnipotent deity that he is. When I get home from school, there's not much dance in me, or much art for that matter, and let me tell you about how much I feel like hanging out with Mormons for three hours on the other side of town, let alone throughout the week. But I've been that version of myself before, on all three counts, and so it MUST be possible to be me again. And watching impossible things like Doctor Who makes me believe, somehow, that I will.
That's all I have to say, I guess. Except that I wish - OH, how I wish - that the weekends were just one day longer. I could really use another day.
A significant number of people who have come into my life in the last six years have been Doctor Who fans, and this spring I decided to give it a try. I liked it alright, enough to watch two seasons, and enough to get excited and set the recorder when I found it on BBC America this summer, but it wasn't until a week and a half ago that I decided to start season three. It and four (which I'm halfway through after starting this morning) have been amazing. Why? Okay, I gotta say, I love the whole traveler of time and space thing - repeatedly the Doctor is asked what he does, and he replies, "Travel." That's kind of my life! But what's really doing it for me is the heroines from these two seasons. Don't get me wrong - I liked Rose, I liked what I saw of Amy, but they don't have the flaws that give Martha and Donna meaning. Or their strengths - I love the fact that after a season of pining over the Doctor Martha says, "Look. Enough of this. I'm getting out and moving on." Who has that kind of strength? And Donna, who we meet at the beginning of season three - she's kind of a loudmouthed idiot, but she helps save the world and, more to the point, pulls the Doctor back from the edge that he currently puts himself out on, then says, "You know what? No. Not going with you - ya kinda scare me." She comes to regret that decision, and by the time you see her again at the beginning of season four, she seems like a totally different person. Still a loudmouth, but more with it, more willing to embrace the world, even when it scares her, and still able to help the Doctor remember what makes him who he is.
I kinda want those qualities for myself.
I also love the fact that this show leaves you with that feeling that anything is possible. I don't mean aliens or time travel, but the little miracles of finding your strength, of moving forward and reaching for what you want.
It's November 21, 2010. I've been in Shanghai for three months and eleven days. In that time I've lost some weight - not sure how much, as it's been a while since I last hit the sauna - made some friends, and become a more driven teacher. But I've kind of been holding back. There's so much more I want to do - I want to belly dance again, not just practice but perform, in the body I had when I lived in Korea. I want to write and illustrate my book - I haven't even touched it in almost two months. I want a closer relationship with God. I realized today that the way I feel about one of my friends, who doesn't seem to really care about me unless I'm needed is probably the way I make Heavenly Father feel, even being the patient, omnipotent deity that he is. When I get home from school, there's not much dance in me, or much art for that matter, and let me tell you about how much I feel like hanging out with Mormons for three hours on the other side of town, let alone throughout the week. But I've been that version of myself before, on all three counts, and so it MUST be possible to be me again. And watching impossible things like Doctor Who makes me believe, somehow, that I will.
That's all I have to say, I guess. Except that I wish - OH, how I wish - that the weekends were just one day longer. I could really use another day.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Honeymoon's Over
So, I've been in Shanghai for three months now. In my experience, this is about when the whole, "ooh-I'm-living-in-a-foreign-land-kinda-like-on-vacation" period ends, and the reality sets in. In other words: the honeymoon's over.
But actually, I'm not sure I even feel that honeymoon period anymore. Maybe I'm just jaded, but picking up and moving to Shanghai hasn't been that exciting. Like any place where the majority don't speak your mother tongue, there are challenges, and like any international school, there are quirks, but on the whole it is, as they say here in Asia, "Same-same, but different." Same s-h-you-know-what, different toilet (in this case, one over which you squat, and which no longer comes with a hose attachment). I mean, Shanghai is basically a big city, and no matter where you go, big cities operate about the same way. It is modern and fairly clean, has subways and buses, and all sorts of foreign foods and shopping. It's not hard to adjust, under the circumstances, and I've gotten pretty used to communication gaps and being stared at, and the culture shock has quietly eased during my last two adventures.
In fact, if anything, I feel like I'm hitting my stride right now. I've gotten used to the pressure and angle the school uses when they jerk me around, and because this is my second PYP school, I can anticipate some of the things they're going to ask me to do. I'm getting over that awkward period you go through with new friends, and things are normalizing with old friends. I've found a good dance teacher. So maybe the honeymoon's over, but I'm sure the honeymoon gets boring eventually, and the mark of a good life is being happy to be home, and I guess I am.
But actually, I'm not sure I even feel that honeymoon period anymore. Maybe I'm just jaded, but picking up and moving to Shanghai hasn't been that exciting. Like any place where the majority don't speak your mother tongue, there are challenges, and like any international school, there are quirks, but on the whole it is, as they say here in Asia, "Same-same, but different." Same s-h-you-know-what, different toilet (in this case, one over which you squat, and which no longer comes with a hose attachment). I mean, Shanghai is basically a big city, and no matter where you go, big cities operate about the same way. It is modern and fairly clean, has subways and buses, and all sorts of foreign foods and shopping. It's not hard to adjust, under the circumstances, and I've gotten pretty used to communication gaps and being stared at, and the culture shock has quietly eased during my last two adventures.
In fact, if anything, I feel like I'm hitting my stride right now. I've gotten used to the pressure and angle the school uses when they jerk me around, and because this is my second PYP school, I can anticipate some of the things they're going to ask me to do. I'm getting over that awkward period you go through with new friends, and things are normalizing with old friends. I've found a good dance teacher. So maybe the honeymoon's over, but I'm sure the honeymoon gets boring eventually, and the mark of a good life is being happy to be home, and I guess I am.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Pounding Pavements
This is the seventh night Socrates and I have gone walking since last Monday.
Our whole walking thing was a lot more convenient when he was living upstairs from me. The only effort required was one of us phoning the other and suggesting it. (This was not the only convenient thing about being neighbors - it was easier to convince him to bring his movies down to watch on the projector when it was a matter of taking the stairs rather than a taxi. Oh well). Now one of us has to go across town to meet the other. One of us being me. Don't go hating on him, though...I volunteered for it, and not just because I am so selfless that I will go all the way across town just to be sure he gets his exercise. Partly it's because I want the extra exercise of riding my bike over to his place, partly because I eat dinner over there every other night or so, anyways, and partly because afterwards I can stop at Coldstone's, if I'm feeling it. Okay, maybe the trip to Coldstone's negates some of the positive effects of walking for one and a half or two hours...but then, since I rode my bike over and back, I reckon I'm still ahead of the game.
And yes, I said one and a half or two hours. We never walked that long in RAK. Usually we made it forty minutes back then. Of course, there really wasn't anywhere to go in Ras al Khaimah. No sidewalks. Sand in your sneakers. Assholes driving up and ogling you. None of that's a problem here (okay, actually I get stared at quite a bit but I've just accepted that as a fact of my expat life, and I don't mind it when Asians do it), and there are endless tree-lined streets to beat. We've wandered the streets north of his place. We've wandered them all the way to my place. We've even wandered ones that we didn't know the destination of and, thus, ended up getting turned around to the point that neither of us were quite sure of where we were. It was fun...well, up to the point where he had a hypoglycemic episode on the ring road without a convenience store in sight. That was a little scary...as he was swearing and talking to himself about where the next convenience store was, I was having visions of carrying him piggyback up to the walking street (and so yesterday I stuck a pack of candies in my purse just to be safe, tonight he carried a can of coke).
Is it a pain in the ass? A bit. I haven't had the time/energy to work on Kashmir in a week and a half. But I'm enjoying the time with him, and I'm REALLY enjoying the fact that my clothes fit better - whether it's from the walking, or just plain old Asian magic, I can't wait til the next time I weigh in at the sauna!
Our whole walking thing was a lot more convenient when he was living upstairs from me. The only effort required was one of us phoning the other and suggesting it. (This was not the only convenient thing about being neighbors - it was easier to convince him to bring his movies down to watch on the projector when it was a matter of taking the stairs rather than a taxi. Oh well). Now one of us has to go across town to meet the other. One of us being me. Don't go hating on him, though...I volunteered for it, and not just because I am so selfless that I will go all the way across town just to be sure he gets his exercise. Partly it's because I want the extra exercise of riding my bike over to his place, partly because I eat dinner over there every other night or so, anyways, and partly because afterwards I can stop at Coldstone's, if I'm feeling it. Okay, maybe the trip to Coldstone's negates some of the positive effects of walking for one and a half or two hours...but then, since I rode my bike over and back, I reckon I'm still ahead of the game.
And yes, I said one and a half or two hours. We never walked that long in RAK. Usually we made it forty minutes back then. Of course, there really wasn't anywhere to go in Ras al Khaimah. No sidewalks. Sand in your sneakers. Assholes driving up and ogling you. None of that's a problem here (okay, actually I get stared at quite a bit but I've just accepted that as a fact of my expat life, and I don't mind it when Asians do it), and there are endless tree-lined streets to beat. We've wandered the streets north of his place. We've wandered them all the way to my place. We've even wandered ones that we didn't know the destination of and, thus, ended up getting turned around to the point that neither of us were quite sure of where we were. It was fun...well, up to the point where he had a hypoglycemic episode on the ring road without a convenience store in sight. That was a little scary...as he was swearing and talking to himself about where the next convenience store was, I was having visions of carrying him piggyback up to the walking street (and so yesterday I stuck a pack of candies in my purse just to be safe, tonight he carried a can of coke).
Is it a pain in the ass? A bit. I haven't had the time/energy to work on Kashmir in a week and a half. But I'm enjoying the time with him, and I'm REALLY enjoying the fact that my clothes fit better - whether it's from the walking, or just plain old Asian magic, I can't wait til the next time I weigh in at the sauna!
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