The travels of Justin

One of the classes I enjoy the least is our listening class (听力). If you recall, my class is an absolute beginner class. After enjoying more than a year in China, my experience makes the initial classes terribly boring for me. Indeed I was warned by my Nanchang teachers that the first couple months would probably be very dull review while my classmates learnt about the 4 tones™ and other key principles of Mandarin Chinese. Logically I recognize that attending these classes is still beneficial for me, but the economist in me says the net-benefits of doing anything else (even studying at home) are much higher—especially now that our unheated classroom feels like an icebox despite how many layers of clothing one might wear.

Weeks ago the class agreed that the cassette tape used in class was impossible to hear. Garbled by the cheap cassette player, we were all confounded when extremely simple exercises were rendered unintelligible. The school agreed they would buy a CD for RMB$140 and then copy it for each of the students; thus, it would cost RMB$20 each and please don’t bother to ask about copyrights. I’ve had my copy of this disk for a couple weeks, but I’ve never used it. Imagine my surprise when I pop it into my computer and find out where my money went. Someone had recorded the cassette version into a series of MP3′s and put it onto a data-CD. Each track starts with the unmistakable sound of the gears pulling blank tape over the magnetic reader before the now-doubly-degraded audio begins.

At least we can understand the recording and use it to study at home; although, I still don’t understand why our teacher isn’t capable of reading the exercises from her book in our class, because she still uses the cassette and we still can’t understand so well. Another good reason to stay home.

“Hello,” said the little girl. I guessed her age to be less than 10-years old as I looked up from my dinner.

Sitting alone in a quiet corner of CBC Chicken I smiled as I replied: “hello.”

“What is your favourite colour,” she asked after a slight pause. Obviously curious about the bearded foreigner, she felt confident enough to practice her English while never taking her eyes away from mine. As I answered, I asked her for her favourite colour. “Orange,” was her reply.

“That’s a very nice colour,” I said. She paused again. Perhaps she took a moment to comprehend my words. Maybe she felt unsure about asking another question, or what question she could ask. I just grinned long after she disappeared beyond by view to tell her mother about her experience. When their food came, they took it to go, but the little girl popped into my view one more time. “Goodbye,” she said.

“Bub-bye,” I answered waving to her. Mom didn’t peek around the corner as they exited the restaurant; however, I noticed a familiar face peeking through the store windows. Partially hidden by posters on the window, she peered in with her mom before escaping into the brisk night of Nanchang city.

I’m relieved!

Almost a million people in the Vancouver area remain under a boil-water advisory for a fifth day, although coffee giant Starbucks is once again serving residents.
—CTV.ca News

Starbucks, computers, and the Vancouver skyline
(Photo credit: Mezzoblue)

I arrived home from dinner yesterday to find no water in my house. The pipes are totally silent when the sink is turned on. I haven’t seen a single drop of water in about 24-hours.

It’s really normal for the water pressure to be non-existent for long periods of time. I have slowly learned that from about 8 to 11:30 every morning the water pressure is no more than a trickle — good enough for brushing teeth, but impossible for showers. The water always comes back for an hour or two at lunch and for most of the evening. In addition there is some random times when the water will flow at a barely useless trickle. Today is different.

I’m starting to wonder if my landlord paid for the water this month; certainly, I paid him for the water as I do every month. I’ll try to contact him tonight. He works in the night and probably can’t help me now anyway. Luckily I have some bottled water in the house. Bottled water is a basic provision around here since the water from the sink is always of a questionable quality. At least I can brush my teeth before teaching my English class; my students don’t need to suffer from second-hand halitosis.

Update: My water is back. I don’t know what happened. Now I’m back to being able to shower (assuming the water pressure is present) and boil water, as I normally have to, for drinking and cooking.

Why can’t I stop thinking about this tonight?

A city block in China is huge compared to those in North America. Often the area within a Nanchang city block will contain a small maze of streets connecting the random collection of buildings.

A quiet hidden street

Another foreigner introduced me to a small restaurant that was in an area hidden from me until I was introduced to the pedestrian thoroughfare that links two major shopping streets — essentially a shortcut. I’ve now decided this little restaurant has the best eggplant dish I’ve eaten in China. Tonight I decided to show this restaurant to another foreigner.

While sitting together in the small empty restaurant, a Chinese man came into the restaurant to pick up some food to take out. As he walked past us he stared a little bit and casually asked the restaurant owners about their new foreigner customers in the same way someone might ask about the weather. I met his gaze with a polite ”你好“ (hello) and suddenly he was standing over our table and interrupting our conversation with 3 questions:

1. Where country are you from?
2. Where do you work?
3. What is your salary?

Every conversation I have in Nanchang starts with #1 and #2 and usually becomes a chance for the person to ask as much as they can about my personal life. People are curious in cities where foreigners are a rare sight, but it surprises me that no one seems interested in my opinion of their city, or what life is like in other parts of the world. Not that my opinion matters, but instead of talking to people, I find myself being interrogated.

Recently I mentioned on this website about different privacy boundaries held by North Americans and Chinese people. The students of my oral English class think it’s pretty funny that western women would keep their age a secret, let alone lie — even jokingly — that they’d been 30 for the past 10 years. It seems equally amazing to me that a total stranger would ask me about my salary.