Some people think I'm funny. Some people just raise
their eyebrows.
I think I'm funny.
Haerbin is truly the land of winter and, without
exaggeration, as cold as Dante's hell. If it were not
for my knitted scarf, I would have no neck. Were it
not for my new Chinese thermal underwear, I would be
legless. No matter how many times people told me that
my 衣服 (yifu / clothing) was 不够 (bu gou /
inadequate) before I got here, I didn't believe them
until I was here to experience the 20-30 below (C)
that is the land of Haerbin.
I saw something fascinating today. The bus I was on
couldn't get through this little alleyway because
someone had parked their car (California style with
the lights flashing) very poorly and left insufficent
room to squeeze by. Of course, that elicted many
comments and much controversy from everyone on the
bus, including the bus driver. He hopped out of the
bus and investigated the situation. Finding the car
empty, but the keys still inside, he looked around
confusedly for a moment or two and then jumped in,
reparked the car (he's not as good at the sedan as he
is at the bus, which was noted by most passengers on
the bus) and then retook his thone at the front of the
bus. I've never seen that before.
I was also pickpocketed for the first time today. On
another bus, as crowded as any I have ever been on
(possibly the most crowded I have ever been on), I was
standing there pressed full-body up against people in
every direction. There was some punk kid to the right
side of me and I noticed some strange movement near my
right pocket, but as I couldn't really move and as I
didn't expect to be robbed, I just figured it was
someone shuffling this way or that, or perhaps it was
the movement of the tripod I had slung over my
shoulder. Anyhow, the kid got off at the next stop.
I didn't realize anything was missing until I went to
pay for my phone call to Ma telling him I had
arrived at the entrance to Heilongjiang Daxue. There
was no money in my pocket, just my 房卡 (fangka / room
key). The 贼 (zei / thief) was probably disappointed:
he came away with 26 kuai in mostly one kuai bills.
He probably thought he was getting a better deal. At
least he left my room key. My valuables were in the
pocket that I always keep my hand in (even that pocket
only amounted to about 100 kuai).
I have seen the Bingdiao (Ice sculptures): a six year
journey complete. When I was in Beijing visiting my
people , I mentioned that I was just passing through Beijing,
dropping off a friend less than ordinary and heading
eventually to Haerbin. Zhao reminded me that she
is from Haerbin and said she would have a friend meet
me. This is the fundamental difference between
Chinese and American hospitality: Chinese hospitality
is voluptuously comprehensive whereas American
hospitality is skiddishly uninvolved. I love that
when a Chinese person that I just met (as has happened
on umpteen occaisons) tells to look him or her up when
I come to their city, they are frighteningly serious.
And looking them up means a three day all expenses
paid vacation. If an American does make such an
invitation (usually to a close friend or long-term
acquaintence) the meaning is "Let's go grab a meal
when you are in town." Zhao (unbeknownst to me)
went right then and called Ma (her friend and it
turns out also her husband) who is a professor at
Heilongjiang Daxue to inform him of my arrival. Well,
I called him today as Zhao instructed. In
truth, I might not have called except that I told Zhao
that I would; sometimes the hospitality can be
smothering. The man took me around the whole day and
offered me his home to stay (I declined because I just
met him that day and wanted the freedom that a hotel
affords). We even went out to eat a typical three hour
dongbei style meal with three other professors. It
was great because today has been a superb Chinese day
(you know, some days Chinese comes fluidly and
impressively from one's mouth, some days it dribbles
out like curdled milk) and I impressed them with my
skills. I have a habit (some of you are keenly aware
of this) of lying to people. When asked how long I
have been in China I say three years. I say this for
a number of reasons: first, the truth is too
complicated to explain in detail to strangers who are
just asking small-talk questions (that explains my
answers to many, many questions). Second, telling
people that I have only been in China most recently
for four months and only a total of 14 months if all
my time in the middle kingdom were added together
leaves them very confused because of my Chinese level.
It leads to questions I cannot answer (how did you
learn so much Chinese so quickly) and focuses the
conversation on something that I would rather just
skip over (my Chinese ability). Telling people I have
been here for three years mitigates those problems by
simplifying my answer and presenting a scenario that
seems more in agreement with my Chinese speaking
abilities. But lately I have found that people (such
as Yang Laoshi and about everyone else that I have met
as of late, including mine and Isabel's taxi driver on
the way to the Airport) feel that three years is not a
very long time to speak as I do (poorly in my own
increasingly enlightened opinion). The problem is
that they equate my three years with their 10 years
studying English. I might just have to up the ante
and start saying six years.
I've lost my train of thought. At any rate I am
grateful for the 好客 (haoke / overwhelming
hospitality) of those here in China that I have so
often come in contact with (and that even includes
JB. He's half-Chinese anyway). Ma
guided me through the adventure that is Haerbin and
helped me fulfill my dream of seeing the 冰雕(bingdiao
/ ice scupltures). In return, I paid for almost
everything (I had to fight on each) except the meal
(which was a battle in itself between two of the
professors).
I'm going skiing tomorrow (I've never been). Honestly,
can my life get any more Riley?
One last thing: when I called the ticket office at the
hotel to inquire about a ticket back to Nanjing, the
woman wanted me to give her my name over the phone. I
waffled because it is so difficult to give English
names to people over the phone. I insisted that I
come downstairs to give her my name because it was
hard to write. She was very surprised to see me; she
hadn't thought I was a laowai. She told me later that
she could tell I wasn't from the North, but that she
figured I was from Guangzhou or (get this) Shanghai.
I never know what to make of that because in my mind
(and in the mind of most Chinese)
天不怕，地不怕，只怕广东人讲普通话 (tian bu pa, di bu
pa, zhi pa guangdongren jiang putonghua / I'd rather
lose a finger than listen to someone from Guangzhou
speak the Common language (Mandarin)). I'll take what
I can get, I guess.
