Opera and conversation

Last night, I attended an opera. I saw The Pearl Fishers by Bizet. It was a joint production by the National Performing Arts Center of China and the Berlin Opera. The production was just okay, but the principal soprano was wonderful, the chorus fantastic, and the orchestra delightful. The designers used projections and almost no set. The projections were sort of strange. One person behind me actually laughed when they first appeared. I would describe them as bizarrely cartoonish. Very odd choice. Anyway, back to the music.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised to learn that I had a conversation with the young man sitting next to me last night at the opera. We chatted for a few moments before the opera began. We exchanged a few basic niceties, “Hello.” “Have you seen this opera before?” “I have seen Carmen, but not this one.” Because I like to ask people questions, it was a good way to spend the time waiting for the opening notes. He was willing to go along.

During the opera, though, I noticed him conducting silently from his seat. It was almost as if he couldn’t resist. He was so moved by the music that it seemed almost involuntary. It’s something my husband does, so I thought maybe the young man was also a musician. During intermission, I asked him about his musical background. I learned several things from this exchange, and they seem important to share.

My conversation partner for the evening is not a musician. In fact, although he didn’t tell me what he does for a living, he told me that “opera is very far away” from what he does at work. He said that he attends symphony concerts and operas as a way to leave his everyday life and to “be a full person.” I am not sure exactly what he meant, but I took it to mean that the music filled a space in his life that needed filling. I mentioned that he appeared to be familiar with the music and he told me that before coming to a performance, he listens to the music and reads about the opera. The opera productions are generally about three to four weeks apart. He studies the opera in that time because it makes him happy. I asked if he has any favorite operas. “No. I like old and new operas. Even if the story is not the same as our life, some things are the same. Friendship and love. They are the same.”

Although the story within The Pearl Fishers seemed worn, even tired, to me, it seems always relevant to remember that we can be connected through music, friendship, and love. It is healthy to find a hobby distinct from our professional lives—reading, sports, crafting, music—that makes us happy. I appreciate my drafted conversation partner for reminding me. I needed that. 

Curtain call

When Mother's Day is complicated

My children are wonderful. I view them the same way many mothers view their children. They are my favorite people. They are, after all, my people in the most personal sense possible. One day recently, I saw a photo of one of my kids and I thought, “I made that person. I do good work.”

Today, on Mother’s Day, I have a few observations to share related to Mother's Day. As an adult, I have come to realize that, sometimes, the people your children become is not only not what you expected but seems to be a contradiction to your personal values. I also understand that not everyone has a mother, has a relationship with their mother, or is a mother. Those situations can be isolating. Mother's Day isn't a great day for everyone.

Some of my friends are grieving mothers. In my own thinking about what makes a mother and what being a mother means, I find shortcomings. Being a mother is more than actively caring for a child. For my friends who have lost pregnancies and children, Mother’s Day is for you, too, if you want it to be. I honor your place as a mother.

I have friends who are grieving their own mothers. Their mothers are not present for one reason or another. Friends, I celebrate you this Mother’s Day. I am an excellent listener and will commiserate about or celebrate your relationship, depending on your preference.

Some friends wanted to be mothers but life didn't present the opportunity. Others are separated from their children. I see you and I feel your pain or disappointment or resolve. 

Like me, some friends have a broken relationship with their mothers. For you, I offer my understanding and acceptance. You are my compatriots on this holiday.

Fortunately, I have children of my own who still tell me they love me. They still tell me about their days. They view me as their mother and an indispensable part of their young lives. I love them and am thankful for them every day.

To my friends who find Mother’s Day difficult, uncomfortable, or painful; you are not alone and I love you.

No respect for air conditioning

Oh, wow. The temperature in Beijing is easing toward the heat and humidity of a typical summer. Today, it was 82 degrees and comfortable outdoors. Indoors, however, there is almost no air flow and the air conditioning either isn’t on or is imperceptible in most places. I have always been a sweaty person. My need for air flow is real and significant. If there isn’t any air, I feel claustrophobic and my sweat level increases dramatically. Really. Give me a good fan or a breeze.

I returned to Hongqiao Market today to pick up some last-minute gifts. A jewelry maker at the Market is my newest friend, and she gives me excellent prices with no haggling and always makes an extra pair of earrings for me to keep. Her name is June. If you’re ever in Beijing, look her up. She will treat you well, friend of friend.

Riding the subway was a treat today. One train was blasting the air conditioning. Everyone around me was wearing long sleeves and multiple layers. They were cold. I, however, was delighted by that particular train. Unfortunately, all others were stiflingly hot. No air movement. None of the people around me appeared bothered at all. Sometimes, I wonder if they learn not to breathe on the subway. That would be an advantage. I may try that.

Only 12 days until I fly home. Until then, I’ll try to stay outside or in my apartment where I can catch a breeze or enjoy my fully engaged air conditioning.

Support from home

As my time in Beijing comes to an end, I’m more self-reflective than usual. This says something because I spend a lot of time reflecting, or obsessing, depending on how I feel about my personality that day. Today, I’ll call it reflection and give myself a break.

Thinking about the fellowship opportunity that brought me to Beijing, there were many times when I considered giving it up and not making the trip. At times, it seemed like an impossible gift and an unreasonable burden. There were significant financial concerns that eventually, through the kindness and herculean efforts of people at my home university, resolved themselves. There were coursework concerns. Could I finish my courses from a distance? My professors and administration in the School of Communication helped me make arrangements to do so. How would I stay in touch with my advisor and committee at a time when I should be making arrangements to complete my comprehensive paper and exams? Again, the people at USM came through for me and helped me continue to make progress toward my degree. As wonderful and fantastic as they are, all of these things are second to the work done by my family during the past three months and, more significantly, the past two years.

When people first meet me, they often assume that I am single with no children. Multiple people, both in Mississippi and in China, have told me so. Their follow up questions are, “How can you do this with a family?” or “Don’t you miss your family?” The answers to those questions are similar but different in significant ways. I can only do what I do because of my family.

Sometimes, people express admiration for me. This nearly always shocks me. When it happens, I deflect to my husband. I can only do what I’m doing because he works full time and spends the rest of his time managing our household and caring for our children. He earns every bit of the praise directed at me. Yes. I do miss my family. Often, I want to go home. Right now. And not return. Staying in Omaha, working wherever will hire me, and being with my family is incredibly appealing every day. But, wait! I’m here in China and entering my final year of PhD studies because my family believes in me. My children are independent when they need to be and have learned to rely on their dad for everyday needs. My husband is exhausted but never blames me. In contrast, he encourages me every day to complete my degree and to do extra things like this fellowship.

Thinking about my time in Beijing, I am thankful for this opportunity that I didn’t always want or value. I am thankful for the people in my professional and personal lives who chatted with me via email, text, Snapchat, Facebook, and FaceTime when I needed encouragement or a message from home. I am especially thankful for everyone at home who made it possible for me to do this. I didn’t do it alone. It was a group effort as are all of my adventures and achievements. The people at home earned the kudos, I am the one who gets to enjoy them. 

The Oddity

When I make the decision to leave my on-campus apartment, I spend at least 30 minutes organizing my backpack and checking my appearance. I worry about being too warm (the daytime temperature is in the 80s here now) but worry more about being stared at because my arms or legs are not completely covered. It is strange to be an oddity. I’m certain that I have expressed these feelings here before. The feelings accompany me everywhere on every day that I’m in China.

Internally, I struggle with the idea that I should be comfortable in my body. At home, I’m pretty comfortable, but some of my in-my-head dialogue is the same. I recently learned that my worries at home are the same as other fat people. Will there be enough space in the booth at the restaurant? Can I eat what I want, or will I feel like people are looking at me? What do the chairs look like and will they hold my weight? Is there a place where I can sit/stand and take up a “normal” amount of space? How can I be as invisible as possible? At home, I can manage these worries. I arrive early, choose an out of the way space to settle, don’t move unless I absolutely have to, and eat when and what everyone else is eating. In China, these strategies have proven ineffective because the difference goes much deeper than just being fat.

A friend spent a year in Nanjing. In the U.S., he is a conventionally attractive man, but he also looks different from nearly everyone in China. He told me, “Just stare back.” So, I do. I usually smile as well, but I return the stares rather than looking away, ashamed to be different. The staring makes me feel like I have more control over my existence.

To clarify, I’m not seeking pity or apologies. I’m just pondering the odd sensation of worrying about my body every moment of every day and wondering how many people feel this in my home country. A Chinese friend who has spent a lot of time the U.S. said that it’s not as isolating in the U.S. because there is so much physical diversity present. He spent most of his time in large coastal cities. He went on to explain that in China, people are relatively homogenous and view themselves as such.

I wonder about the experience of a person who looks different than their community. My youngest aunt was adopted from Hawaii. She is Hawaiian. She’s beautiful, but definitely doesn’t look like a farmer’s kid from the predominantly Scandinavian and German community she ended up in. In 1967, my grandparents moved to a tiny rural community in north central Iowa with a child who looked nothing like any of her white classmates. As a special bonus, she also had siblings who resented her presence in their lives. She grew up to have many “problems” as an adult and those issues have proven generational for her own children. I have often wondered what her growing up experience was like. It is strange to be the oddity. It seems unhealthy to be the novelty in a sea of what appears to be similarity.

As with many experiences during these three months in Beijing, I am leaving with more questions than answers. However, I am certain that I will be extremely glad to be home where I am more insulated from open judgment. I sincerely wish that all people felt that security in their home communities.  

The temperature was nearly 90 degrees. I'm wearing my long-sleeved sweater tied around my waist. Later in the day, I would be asked if I wanted to change my clothes "to look more professional." Except for my shoes, I thought I looked nice.

Building Staff

Okay. So, I have a weird thing about sleeping in my own bedding. I blame bed bug hysteria for this somewhat odd preference. When I was preparing to come to China, I wrote and asked what I would need for my apartment. Would I need bedding? Kitchen supplies? What should I bring from home and what should I plan to buy on arrival? You can guess the types of questions you might ask before traveling somewhere for three months. My contact assured me that kitchen and bath supplies would be available, but I would need to bring or buy my own bedding. Into already packed suitcases, I squeezed a pillow, pillowcase, flat sheet, and a light blanket. If I needed more than that, I could make it through the first week with those items and buy others in Beijing. No problem.

As I mentioned in my first blog post, getting here and my arrival were chaotic and full of unexpected, eh, um, well, I’ll call them “opportunities.” When I reached the apartment, I discovered that bedding was provided and changed by building staff, but kitchen supplies were extremely limited, and there were no towels, etc. in the bathroom. I eventually remedied the kitchen and bath shortages by buying things. It was a relatively simple fix. Having brought my own bedding, I added it to what was already on the bed and was very pleased with that.

Throughout my time here, I have used my own pillow and my sheet and light blanket as additions to the duvet and pillows provided in the apartment. It has worked great and is very comfortable. The building staff and I have also worked out a cleaning schedule for my apartment. They come in on Friday morning to change the provided bedding and to sweep and mop the apartment. They do not clean the bathroom or kitchen or do any dusting. Fine. No problem. I’m happy to do those chores on my own. As part of this routine, I organize and clean the apartment on Thursday, except for the floors, and remove my personal bedding from the bed. This has been the routine since my first few weeks in China. It has worked well, and everyone seems okay with it. Until today.

No one knocked on my door in the morning. I placed my little trash can outside the door, the building staff left me with a clean liner, and I moved the trash can back into the kitchen before I left to meet a friend for lunch. Perfect. Except, I had forgotten it was Friday. I have been working on papers and tests for the end of my semester at school. Frankly, my apartment was a mess. There were clothes on the bed, both dirty and clean, and all the bedding was twisted up together like a rat’s nest. I hadn’t made the bed, opened the curtains, or done any of my usual pre-Friday organizing or cleaning.

When I returned to the building, one of the staff stopped me and asked if everything was okay with my room. It was an odd question. I have lived here for 10 weeks and NOW they want to ask questions? Hm. I said, “Yes. All is well.” She said, “Is everything okay with you? Do you need anything?” So strange! I said, “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” She looked me up and down, nodded, and walked away. What a strange interaction! I hadn’t experienced anything like that previously.

I hustled up the stairs to my apartment and opened the door. I immediately recognized that EVERYTHING was clean. My dishes were washed. My clothes were organized and put away neatly. The floors sparkled. Even the bathroom was clean! The apartment smelled like citrus, the curtains were open, and everything was neatly organized. I was horrified. Embarrassed. Truly upset with myself.

I ran back downstairs and found the woman who stopped me on my way into the building. She told me that she goes by “Jun” and asked again if everything was okay. After several minutes of translating questions and answers on our phones, I discovered that the building cleaners had waited until I left to clean the room. They “did some extra” today because the apartment “looked like stress.” I am still embarrassed but am somewhat comforted that the two women noticed that things were different and took their time to make things better. Actually, I’m incredibly honored that they did this for me. It was truly a caring act for a virtual stranger. Amazing. For the next two weeks, however, my goal is to always be ready for Friday.

Tourist markets and air quality

In the past week, I visited both of the most famous and popular tourist markets in Beijing. The Silk Market is the oldest in Beijing with the Pearl or Hongqiao Market running a close second. Today, I am sitting in my apartment avoiding the air pollution. After constantly battling upper respiratory stuff and the flu, I am now paying closer attention to pollution levels and staying inside if possible. More about that later. Now, let’s talk about the experiences that are the Silk and Pearl Markets!

The Silk Market was my first big tourist excursion during my time here. I say that because it is a market for non-Asian people which was recently renovated so that the former vendor stalls are now fully encased in glass. It more closely mirrors a shopping mall than a market. All of the vendors are Chinese, but they speak what I call sales floor English and all of the shoppers are most definitely not only not Chinese, but non-Asian.

I met a man from Ghana. We high-fived when I laughed at a comment that he made in English to a shopkeeper about haggling being part of his culture too. I met a family from Israel. The older man in the group and I had an extended conversation about the “many” National Geographic documentaries that he has seen about Nebraska. Who knew? Haggling was definitely not part of the Israeli man’s background, and he expressed great discomfort with it. In the end, I purchased a watch for a friend, a hand-carved name stamp for myself, and successfully avoided the aggressive sales tactics of most of the salespeople. I heard many languages that day and was thrilled to be in a place where my Western ideals about personal space were honored.

The Pearl (Hongqiao) Market is more difficult to reach than the Silk Market. Getting there requires walking about a half mile from the closest subway station. In contrast to the Silk Market, there were no tourist busses parked outside the Pearl Market. Inside, there was a more mixed crowd of people. Some of the shoppers were Chinese! The design of the Pearl Market is more traditional. It is open air without the glass walls found in the Silk Market. I knew immediately that this was a better place to shop. I suspected that the prices would be lower and the vendors less pushy. My hunches were correct.

It happened to be a slow day for the vendors at the Pearl Market, so they were more than willing to talk with me about their products and processes. The vendors I spoke with all own the business they represented and are all women. Most of the people working in the Pearl Market on the day I was there are women. I exchanged social media contacts with two vendors, and we communicated over WeChat during the past week. One of them asks a lot of questions about my experiences living in Beijing. She has visited the U.S. and would love to visit again someday. Both women agreed to talk with me about my research project.

I took the combined opportunities of a slow sales day and a dual-language population to ask a few more women about my research. I was surprised by their willingness to participate. Some of them looked so bored that I think I was a welcome distraction. By the end of the day, I had completed nine interviews, purchased another watch for the same friend, and bought pretty hair accessories for my daughters. When the vendors realized that I am living in Beijing, the haggling became less intense and the prices were lower. I will definitely return to the Pearl Market.

This week marked the fourth time that I have been sick since my arrival on March 1. I have no desire to return to the U.S. with pneumonia—something that happened to a friend who spent extended time in Beijing—and so I will do less wandering. I downloaded an app for my phone that not only gives me air quality levels and activity recommendations, but also a seven-day air quality forecast. For my last few weeks here, I will use it to plan my outings and activities when possible. My newfound understanding of air quality as it impacts health makes me value our pollution regulations in the U.S. The ones still standing, anyway.

I am still looking forward to being home, but I feel like my final few weeks here will be my most enjoyable and productive. My confidence to explore on my own and to reach out to people has increased exponentially. If I can get a few good air quality days before I leave, I’ll have many experiences to share with my friends and family. 

A view of the Temple of Heaven from the rooftop garden at the Pearl Market

New adventures and reflecting on home

Traveling, for me, is an exercise in people watching and self-reflection. Much of my learning about a place comes from observing and absorbing what is happening around me and mentally comparing it to what I already know. I guess it’s a form of satisfying my cognitive dissonance about a new place, if you’re into that sort of thing. It requires thinking about home—in my case both Omaha, Nebraska and Hattiesburg, Mississippi—and things that could be done better at home and things that I can’t wait to leave here. On Monday, I traveled to the city center for lunch with friends. Yesterday, I visited the National Performing Arts Center and a grocery store. Both days brought experiences that forced me to think about my life at home.

The lunch on Monday was something I have looked forward to since arriving in Beijing. I met two friends near their office, and we walked to a restaurant for lunch. They spent a semester at Creighton University when I was a student there in 2014. I was really glad to see my friends again.

During lunch, we talked about the mistakes I have made since arriving and how those are similar to their first month in the U.S. We spent a long time telling funny stories about crossing the street in Beijing vs. crossing the street in Omaha. In China, cars have the right of way. I don’t know if this is official, but I know that they do not stop for pedestrians. Ever. My first week here, I nearly got run over by a bus because I assumed it would stop for me, the pedestrian. No. Not at all. In the Unites States, pedestrians have the right of way. Especially in the area around Creighton, drivers are pretty good at watching for people and waiting. My friends stood still at many intersections while drivers waved them forward and waited, often not so patiently. We laughed and laughed at our shared experiences, and I felt truly comfortable for the first time since my arrival in Beijing.

After lunch, we walked through a nearby public park. It was beautiful and full of people taking afternoon or lunch time walks. The grounds appeared perfectly maintained with trash bins and bathrooms available in the park. I remarked that the park was gorgeous and obviously well cared-for, and my friend told me that the regional and federal governments fund the maintenance of green spaces. On my trip back to campus on the subway, I thought about parks in Omaha and Hattiesburg that could be beautiful and widely used if a value for natural spaces were reflected in our budgets. That would be pretty amazing for our national parks in the U.S. As I rode, I daydreamed of public transportation to and from fabulously maintained green spaces. It was a lovely ride.

I spent part of this week sick. Again. It was my third round of actual illness since arriving in Beijing just 45 days ago. At home, I’m sick about once a year. This time, it was a 24-hour flu bug, so at least it was over quickly. By Wednesday morning, I felt good enough to start planning some future adventures. After firing up my VPN and Google, I searched for Beijing opera performances and discovered the National Performing Arts Center website. After fiddling with the online ticket purchase site that is only in Chinese, I decided that I should go to the physical box office to buy my ticket.

It has been hot here. Wednesday, it was 83 degrees. I debated about what to wear and decided that a sleeveless shirt was a good option. That was good for my physical comfort but damaging to my emotional well-being. Women wear long sleeves, even during the summer here. The staring and whispered comments that make me so uncomfortable were multiplied. I am fairly certain that two people took photos of me. This reinforced my hatred for U.S. websites like “People of Walmart” and our propensity to laugh at people when we think they aren’t paying attention. I will be really happy to return to the U.S. where I am not the great oddity that I am here.

After successfully purchasing my ticket for next Wednesday’s performance of the nationally commissioned opera, 170 Days in Nanking, I boarded the subway for my favorite supermarket. I needed wine. Needed. The subway provides time to think. Again, I envisioned all the cool performing arts stuff that could happen if we aligned national, state, and local budgets with those priorities and taxed the wealthy and corporations appropriately. Although Chinese public transportation may seem an odd place to have these thoughts, it works for me.

The grocery store, Carrefour, is one that I have written about before. It is chaos. I love it. After choosing snacks and wine, I meandered toward the checkout. A cashier saw me approaching and enthusiastically waved me over to her lane. She spoke English and guessed that I did too. Coupons printed after my transaction and she lit up as she asked me to wait and pointed at the printer. She carefully explained what each coupon was and told me to come back to see her. She always works on Wednesday afternoons. I said that I would return and complimented her on her sequined sneakers. It was a wonderful interaction to have after my self-conscious time on the subway.

China is made up of 1.4 billion people. Beijing is a city of 24 million people. There are people everywhere all the time. People work long hours many days of the week. I can find things to love and to dislike in nearly every corner of the city. My next adventure is to the famous Pearl and Silk markets. Haggling is the standard way to do business. I’m steeling myself to negotiate fiercely and walk away when we can’t meet in the middle. Being uncomfortable here is good for me. It forces me to think about the good and not so good things at home. So, I’ll keep going new places and try to ignore the subway and street-level staring.

Strange happenings and things I love about Beijing

This is more a list than a blog post. Today, I’m telling brief stories about my time here already and listing things that are special and desirable about living here, even temporarily. Enjoy!

At a conference a few weeks ago, I realized that the drinks on the open bar had almost no alcohol in them. A German filmmaker and I were chatting when we jointly made this discovery. We looked around and spied the bottles of alcohol on the back of a table. We looked at each other, both smiled, and I grabbed the gin to top us off. The Chinese bartender objected in Mandarin. A bystander told us that he said, “Don’t be foolish. The drink won’t taste good.” Gin bottle still in hand, I looked at the bartender and said, “It’s okay. I’m American, he’s German. We can handle it.” The bartender shrugged his shoulders, walked away, and we poured proper drinks. I felt badly about pulling the American card, but it seemed like the right time.

Just yesterday, I was walking through security at the subway station and I said “Ni hao” to the young man at the security station. He laughed and said, in very good English, “You don’t say hello on the subway! Ni hao is only for friends.” One of the young women working the same security station said something back to him in a stern tone and he turned bright red. She said to me, “I told him he can never say hello then. He won’t have friends if he says those things.” She and her female co-worker laughed and laughed. I scurried away before I could draw any more attention to myself.

One of my biggest (like, actually biggest) pet peeves is the way old men stare at me. I stare back and smile. Sometimes, I wave. It appears to make them very uncomfortable. Today, a middle-aged man was riding past me on an electric scooter and he looked away from the road when I entered his field of vision. He stared and continued to stare as he unknowingly veered toward the closed entrance gate. He was within about fifteen feet of the still closed gate when I yelled, “Stop!” He did stop and did so quite suddenly. I don’t know if he understood me or if he was so shocked that I yelled at him that he jammed on his brakes. The security guard came rushing over to him and started yelling. Again, I exited the situation quickly and quietly while being secretly thankful that he was experiencing some sort of retribution for staring.

Things I love about Beijing:

If I’m lost or have a question, people will always help me if I ask for help.

Beijing is an extremely safe place, especially for foreigners. I could travel alone throughout the city and the country without worrying about my physical safety.

People often yell, “Hello” at me as I walk by. I always answer and give a big smile. It makes me happy.

Inexpensive, extremely reliable public transportation built with stops near schools and residential areas. Brilliant. We could do this in the United States. We really could.

Fresh, in-season food available in every neighborhood. Food is grown by people in China, not corporations, and is sold in-season at reasonable prices. Available food varies from region to region for this reason, but it seems to be a healthier way to eat and shop for people and the planet.

The value placed on art and music. Financial support is available for the production of all types of art, and it is highly valued in society. Even young people are interested in and participate in traditional and contemporary artistic pursuits.

I could make an equally long list of things that I miss about the United States or that seem more difficult here. However, while I’m here, the positives are where my focus and interest remain.

Adventure Day

Five years ago, I began a family tradition that we call “Adventure Day.” It really isn’t as fun as it sounds. It started because we were a one-car family and two of the kids and I were at home Monday through Friday with no transportation. One day a week, we would ride the city bus to Eileen’s Cookies, a local park, and maybe Kohl’s or the grocery store. This was Adventure Day! Like I said, not really an adventure, but the idea of adventure made waiting for the bus, transferring busses, and the walking more palatable for the kids. I was feeling restless when I woke up today, so I decided that Adventure Day could be a solo effort and could happen in Beijing.

While thinking about my time spent here already and looking forward, I realized that I haven’t done much sightseeing. I was in Beijing for two weeks just a few years ago and visited all the major sights on that trip. It also still feels a little strange to be one of the few non-Chinese people—often the only non-Chinese person—in the crowds. I’m not as confident as my life makes me seem. In fact, I often require a pep talk and bribery (self-administered, of course) to consider engaging in social activities or in anything close to an Adventure Day. Today, however, I made a plan and pushed myself. It was fun. It nearly always is.

I left my apartment around noon and walked to the subway. I disembarked at the Tiananmen East stop and stumbled through Tiananmen Square security with my passport and a smile. After walking around the place, I returned to the subway and went back one stop to Wangfujing. I read about a four-story bookstore with a food court in the basement and had to go. It was amazing! I bought graphic novels written in English and Mandarin for my kids. After eating lunch and walking through the shopping area, I bought a souvenir for my husband and headed back toward the subway. It was 5:30pm and I was nervous about riding the subway, but it wasn’t too bad. I traveled back to the Dawanglu stop, visited the bank, the mall, and bought some fruit and a bottle of wine at Walmart. I was tempted by the three-buck-chuck at Walmart but wasn’t feeling that brave. I settled on a $5 bottle of red something. It’s the first wine I’ve had since leaving the U.S., so I will enjoy it no matter how it tastes.

It was 7:10pm when I walked out of Walmart, and I headed for the subway. I was horrified when the first train arrived and was so full that people couldn’t push their way into the cars. Oh, boy. My greatest fear. I had to board an already-packed train. I squeezed my way into the second train. My route required a change of trains at Sihui, so I pushed out of the train car onto the platform, followed the crowd up three flights of stairs, and down a different three flights of stairs to the platform for the next train. The photo included here is of the crowd waiting for the next train. They are all waiting for one train going in one direction. Wow. The first train came a went. I didn’t make it on. The second train pulled up and I was crushed into the car with thousands of my (physically) closest friends. At the next stop, no one left, but more people pushed their way into the train car. By this point, I was in danger of hyperventilating or vomiting or, if things went really well, both. So much pushing, shoving, and swearing. I really have never seen anything like it. Fortunately, I only had to ride three stops until I was back to where I began my day.

Adventure Day went pretty well. I’m glad I talked myself into getting out and exploring. I’ll do it again next week, but earlier. No more 7pm subway rides for me.

Feeling second-best

Somewhere out there in the seemingly endless depths of the internet is a TED talk about not using the word “best” to describe a person’s achievements. The idea is that it sets up unnecessary competition and leads to unwarranted hard feelings. Regardless of how you feel about that idea, there is some truth to the concept of unnecessary or unrequited competition. I witnessed a display of those concepts yesterday during a conference about the making of documentary films in China. Although I was somewhat out of place at the conference, I learned much and observed some fascinating communication from and about Chinese government officials, academics, and film industry professionals.

As seems to be the norm with many big, expensive, showy events, the conference began with presentations from sponsoring agencies. In the United States, this takes the form of an opening ceremony, session, or the ever popular “remarks.” In Beijing, this included nearly two hours of speeches by government officials and representatives from academic and business partners. Throughout the speeches, I noticed one prevailing theme in multiple forms; the idea of the United States as primary, but newly inferior, competition in all areas of media production.

When the first government official spoke, I picked up on this idea. After a rambling few minutes praising the leadership of the country, the official told a story of visiting the U.S. and riding the high-speed train. Based on his description of the location, it was probably one of the high-speed commuter lines that Amtrak runs on the East Coast. He abruptly ended his presentation after this story by laughing and saying that the train service was anything but high speed and that the trains in China are far superior. I’ve traveled by train in both countries, and his criticism is apt, but oddly placed and communicated.

Next, a professor spoke about the fall of U.S. influence in the world, but specifically in all forms of media and the prowess of Chinese companies creating their own versions of American social media. If his data are accurate, he’s partially correct. The number of people using Chinese versions of social media and other internet applications is impressive. However, much of this is likely due to censorship and the sheer number of Chinese people. This twisted praise was especially interesting. I don’t claim to know much about international trade, but I can guarantee that U.S. companies would love to have access to the money possessed by 1.4 billion Chinese. However, I don’t think being cut out of the market by the government is viewed as competition for that market by U.S. corporations. Again, the competition seems contrived and one-sided.

Several speakers throughout the day talked about the fall of U.S. media as the worldwide standard and the rise of local media. I’m a fan of local media. After all, no one can tell the stories of their people or nation like a person from that location. This viewpoint was expressed fully by the industry professionals at the conference. There was a genuine spirit of cooperation and encouragement of new ideas and independent thinking. The discussion centered around ways to make “good and relatable documentary films.” Authenticity, professionalism, and openness were professed to be the most valuable traits of a documentarian.

Several European filmmakers and industry executives spoke during the middle of the day. It was fascinating to watch them carefully approach the issue of government control and censorship within the expressed triad of authenticity, professionalism, and openness. One representative from the UK said simply, “until the Chinese government ends censorship of documentary films, all materials produced by Chinese filmmakers will be viewed under the cloud of propaganda.” Ouch. He was more direct than the others, but they all echoed his sentiments on some level. The Chinese industry professionals seemed to agree via silence.

At the end of the day, additional academics and government officials revisited the calls to competition with the United States. This was done in the form of stories about the “terrible” U.S. health care system, corruption in the U.S. government, and the number of people living in poverty in the U.S. I didn’t necessarily disagree with anything that was said, but the framing was incredibly interesting. Each item was displayed as a shortcoming of the U.S. and then contrasted with an achievement by China. Enthralling.

Being who I am and having spent the entire day internally analyzing what seemed to be expressions of feeling second-best even though there was only one competitor, I asked the professor who talked about the decline of U.S. influence about his data. He confided that it was accurate, but it left out the influence of censorship and population. Asked if presenting data in that way bothered him, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “China needs to think they are superior. These numbers give them that feeling.” Wow. Wow. Wow. He went on to explain that he is a citizen of the U.K. living and working in China because it exempts him from paying taxes in the U.K. He’s moving to Hong Kong in August which will afford him the same tax exemption, but his work will be free from Chinese censorship. Is that the person you want telling your country’s story? What is your preferred telling of the story worth to you? I listened to his justifications and felt repulsed by what I saw as a lack of ethics.

Given the current state of politics and government in the United States, it seems that we may be similar in ways that are very unflattering. Who do we want telling our stories? Even if it’s our preferred story, does it matter who tells it?

I’m left with one question about being the “best.” Does that designation mean anything if it comes from within, and you’re the only one aware of competition for the title? There are times when I need to ask myself that very question.

Learning about myself through my research

For much of my adult life, I have been a defender of people. I’m the person who steps in and speaks up when others can't or won’t. I’m not always right to do so. It’s not always productive for me to step into the caretaker role. My internal sense of justice for all gets me into trouble sometimes. It also leads me to some pretty cool discoveries about myself and the people around me.

One of my primary research interests is women. I love talking to and listening to women. It makes me happy to feel like they trust me to tell their stories. I wish more women felt comfortable telling their own stories and had a platform and the freedom to do so. In my role as a researcher, adopted mom, or friend, I listen to women talk about men. Sometimes, these are sad stories. More often, they are happy stories. Too often, they are frightening tales of relationships gone wrong. Most of the time, the woman just wants to be heard. She wants to tell her story in her way. I hide any judgmental or directive thoughts and offer support and understanding.

As I listen to women in China tell me their stories about conflict at work and home, I realize that they are often the same as those in the U.S. There are some differences in family structure and expectations, but the underlying experiences and feelings are very similar. My feelings about their stories are the same as for women in the U.S. However, I experienced a moment of self-discovery as I conducted research interviews last week with Chinese women.

Many of the people who know me are familiar with—and probably tired of—my frequently voiced disdain for authority. Last week, a young woman talked to me about making decisions and then telling, rather than asking, her family about those decisions and rarely talking to her father because "he didn't do enough listening" when she was young. In that moment, I realized that my objections to authority aren’t actually a disdain for authority; they are a general dislike and distrust of men in those positions. I’m comfortable if the man doesn’t behave like a prototypical alpha, but rebel instantly if I witness chest-puffing, blustery superiority. This is well-documented in my choices of male friends throughout my adult life.

This was quite the revelation for me. I had always assumed that I just don’t like to be told what to do. Since I was a small child, I have been reminded that I’m stubborn and too sensitive to criticism. Well, no, although those things are likely true, that’s not the root of my problem. In fact, I perform remarkably well under the tutelage or supervision of a strong woman who makes space for other women or a man who does the same. I am not a man-hater. I am a person who really does believe in justice and opportunity for all and gets really cranky when a powerful person—still too often a man—rests on awarded or inherent power without working to make space for others.

As I wrestle with the final year of my doctoral studies, this improved understanding of my strong need to stand up for others and to challenge authority will make me think a little more clearly about my goals. Am I really making things better or am I just being obstinate? It won’t stop me from speaking out. In fact, I’ll likely speak up more, but my objections will be more focused. Regardless of changes in the way I handle authority, this revelation will change my research. Understanding myself improves my understanding of others. Women of the world, I’m here for you.

Carrefour

Groceries are a big deal for me. Many of my happiest moments as an adult involve cooking, serving, and consuming food and drinks with the people I love. Like a lot of people who grew up without a lot of money, I have some serious food issues that center on the way I think about food and the cost of food. These two things together make buying food and having enough money to buy it a source of both happiness and worry. Regardless of my worries, though, grocery stores are a happy place for me.

Because grocery stores are a happy place, and I feel out of place in Beijing, many of my outings involve grocery stores. Over the weekend, I visited Carrefour. Online, it is described as a “mega supermarket.” That title is earned and apt. The location I visited was directly across a street from the subway station. Perfect! Carrefour occupies the second and third floors of an enormous shopping complex with small stores on the bottom floor. I rode the flat, but inclined, moving walkway up to the second floor of the building and immediately marveled at the sights and sounds of Carrefour.

In front of me were pallets of goods from various departments that were on “special sale.” After walking through palletland, I found an impressively large electronics department. To my right was a woman hawking some sort of vacuum cleaner. She was demonstrating its performance using beads that she repeatedly dumped on the ground. The beads scattered farther than intended, and children gleefully chased them.

As I continued through the store, I spied a very bored looking salesman in the aisle with the pots and pans. He was looking at his cell phone while glancing into the throng of shoppers occasionally. Just a few feet away were three women aggressively (one of them grabbed my coat sleeve and jammed a bottle of Downy under my nose) touting the benefits of the various laundry aids on the nearest shelves. The store seemed to hold every item of clothing and housewares that any modern family could need. I reached the end of that floor and found myself in the “beauty” aids. I picked up some sunscreen and used my phone app to translate the bottle. Bummer. It, like many skincare items, contained a skin lightening agent. Not on my list of skin care items and certainly not FDA approved.

I found the moving walkway to the food floor and was transported to floor three. I found bread! Donuts! Dried fruit and snacks in every shape and variety. Meat including live turtles and fish. Food, food, and more food. At this point, I was pretty happy. There were yogurts of every variety and enough dried fruit and nuts to feed an actual army. After spending as much time as the noise level—very noisy with sales people behaving like carnival barkers—would allow, I found the checkout.

A man standing at the end of the checkout yelled, “Hey! What’s your name?” I told him my name and asked him the same question. He repeated his name twice for me and began to sing. I have no idea what he was singing, but then he yelled, “Hey, Amy, I love you!” I waved and silently wished all of my wishes for the cashier to finish ringing things up so that I could leave. Finally! I paid and moved to leave with my goodies. The man stopped me and asked me if I wanted a massage. No, no, and nope. It was a sales tactic. That was more comforting than if his declaration was intended in another way. He grabbed the collar of my jacket. I wriggled free, said, “I’m going this way,” and took off toward the exit. Whew! That was intense.

For me, much of making my way through Beijing as a foreigner is about experience. As I have new experiences, I know how to behave in the future. I will visit Carrefour again. My love of a good grocery store is a strong motivator. However, next time, I’ll be aware of the sales tactics and will be ready for them. I’m living and learning as I wander through Beijing.

My first Taobao order and a subway creeper

This weekend, I spent time exploring new places and riding public transportation to new destinations. I’ll write here about two things that stick out from the weekend and, I think, are important to understanding current Chinese culture: online shopping and dirty old men.

Taobao is a massive Amazon-like website that is central to Chinese material consumption. Although in-person shopping is still necessary and popular, for younger people, Taobao is their first choice.

My first Taobao order cost $4.53. I ordered a glass and black plastic teapot for use with loose leaf tea and six matching teacups. Placing the order took about 45 minutes, but only because I had to use an app to translate 23 screenshots as I entered my shipping address. I requested the address from an international student who has been here for a year and is well-versed in all things foreigner-in-Beijing. My first mistake was removing the parts of the translated address that seemed redundant or didn’t make sense. Really? What was I thinking? Because I had to tinker, it shipped to the wrong address.

Fortunately, the customer service person contacted me to confirm the address. After many messages back and forth and a good workout for my translation app, I was able to update the address. Today, I received a text message that my package had arrived. Hooray! But, after translating the text, all I could understand is that I could pick it up until 7pm and it was at the west gate of campus. Phone in hand, I hustled to the lobby and showed the text to the desk clerk. She pointed a direction, spoke to me in Mandarin, and smiled. I thanked her, walked out the door, and headed that direction.

After finding the west gate, I realized it was the wrong place. I showed a stranger the text, and she walked me across the road to a shop. I showed someone in the shop the text, and he walked me to the next shop. Ta-da! That’s where it was. It’s lovely. I rushed straight back to my apartment, washed everything in boiling water, and am waiting for it to dry. Although circuitous, I’ll count that as a success. Earlier in the day, however, I was not so lucky.

I decided to go souvenir hunting. Looking up supermarkets in my area led me to what Google called a “megastore” that I could access by riding the closest subway line with no transfers. Off I went. All was good until the subway ride home. I ended up standing next to an older man who was talking VERY loudly into his cell phone. That was annoying, but when he hung up, things kicked up a notch. He tried talking to me. When a young woman standing nearby realized that I couldn’t understand anything he was saying, she started translating for me. He asked where I was from. Fine. He asked if I was married. Fine. He asked how long I was in Beijing. Fine. He asked if I had children. Fine. He asked what I was doing in Beijing. Fine.

That’s when it stopped being fine. The young woman suddenly stopped translating and looked around in horror. Several people nearby turned and stared. The older man laughed, so I laughed. I was nervous and uncomfortable. He said something else. More people turned to look. At this point, I started looking around and smiling. He handed me his business card and asked me for my phone number. I said no. He asked me for my WeChat code. I said no. 

As I prepared to depart the subway, the young woman who had been translating tapped me on the shoulder said, “It’s your eyes. They are so beautiful. He shouldn’t be saying those things.” I still don’t have any idea what he said to or about me, but it was likely sexual or derogatory. She was wonderfully kind to speak up and say something nice to me.

Because I’m all about learning stuff, I took some time to think about my reaction. I could have moved away or translated something like “please leave me alone” and shown it to him on my phone. Instead, I laughed and smiled nervously. I didn’t want to humiliate him, no matter how rude he was being to me. In part, that was because I wasn’t completely certain at the time that he was being rude. However, in hindsight, I’m questioning my commitment to being nice or conciliatory over protecting myself. Next time something like that happens, my goal is to move or speak up rather than smiling.

Today was a pretty good day. I have a swanky new tea set, I discovered that most people are incredibly helpful if you look lost and ask for help, and I learned something about myself. There’s a quote lurking out there on the internet about learning about yourself through travel. I’m too tired to look it up, but it feels pretty accurate today. 

An invitation from a new friend

In my previous post, I wrote about homesickness. My way of overcoming a longing for another place and people is involving myself with the place I’m in and the people I’m around. There’s an old song about that—something about loving the one you’re with. It applies here, but not in the way the song originally intended.

Exploring is one of my favorite things to do. I love it. Seeing new things, meeting new people, and learning about everything around me is my happy place. In the U.S., I go new places frequently and don’t really give it a lot of thought. In China, I’m much more hesitant. This afternoon, I followed a known routine. I took the subway to a familiar place, bought groceries, and returned to campus. While I was out, though, a wonderful thing happened. One of the international students, Jamal from Pakistan, invited me to go to the night market with him. I was thrilled!

Jamal is a 25-year-old graduate student from a small town in northern Pakistan. He is the youngest of seven children and is avoiding adult responsibilities by going to graduate school in China. I learned so much tonight! We talked about media representations of Pakistan and travel within the country. He educated me about his practice of the Muslim faith and arranged marriage. He talked about his mother, niece, and nephew. I told him about my husband and children. We laughed and told stories about being foreigners and agreed that living in China was an awesome opportunity that had to be seized when it was available.

The market was super cool but learning about a new person in a new place was even cooler. It was incredibly kind of Jamal to invite me on an adventure. I so appreciate the invitation and enjoyed every minute learning about my new friend.

Back in the classroom and homesick

It’s still exciting to be in Beijing, but the homesickness has hit. I knew it set in when I started craving very American food and marking off days on the calendar. Yes-I have a countdown to my flight home. It’s part of the process and will subside soon. In the meantime, social media apps and FaceTime are keeping me connected to the people and places I miss. Also, there are some really cool things happening in Beijing.

Part of my fellowship agreement is to give four public lectures in Beijing. Because I don’t necessarily listen to instructions and love teaching, my public lectures have developed into a group research project. It will be amazing! I’m so excited to work with young adults from around the globe on research that can be developed by each of them for individual projects later in their studies. It’s such a cool opportunity. I may have discovered my true teaching passion. Teaching research methods is pretty much my favorite classroom experience EVER.

In addition to the lectures, I’m also participating in a filmed documentary, an upcoming documentary conference, and taking field trips with a group of international students. (I have always been a field trip fan.) This week, we visited one of the last ghost markets in Beijing. A ghost market is like a flea market, but it doesn’t start until nearly midnight and closes by dawn the following morning. It was crowded, dirty, full of bargaining and negotiating, and fascinating. I had at least 10 ideas for research projects that could be done in the market. We were yelled at and chased away by a man who had preserved tiger feet for sale. It was marvelous. And, as a bonus, we ate “dirty food.” Dirty food is the literal translation for unhealthy food sold by street vendors. Delicious!

To get through this bout of homesickness, I’ll continue to make friends and create adventures. Although sitting in my apartment and watching Netflix is tempting, I can do that anywhere, and there’s a big city full of new experiences waiting for me outside. 

He played his violin for me during today's FaceTime chat.

Telling me all about the items he wants from the book order at school.

Always ask "What time?"

I stayed up too late last night. It was nearly 1am before I went to bed. Then, I had trouble sleeping. One of my last thoughts before finally drifting off to sleep is that I didn’t know what time “morning” meant in the last message I received about a trip to the art museum the next day. Asking the simple question “what time” would have made my transition to daytime a little better this morning.

At 9:10am, I rolled over and picked up my phone to check the time. I had two WeChat messages. One at 8:48am read, “Let’s leave at 9am” and another at 9:03am that read, “We’re in the lobby. Are you coming down soon?” EEEEEEEEK! There were two people waiting in the lobby for me, and I just rolled out of bed. Oh, dear.

After deciding that I needed deodorant but could pass on clean underwear, I put on clothes, brushed my teeth, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, jammed my feet into my shoes, and rushed downstairs to emerge from the elevator with apologies streaming. Surprise! There were seven people in the lobby, all waiting for me, three of them bearing video cameras. Oh, boy. So, there I was, dirty, rushing, and looking like someone who just woke up facing a full day of traipsing around Beijing with video cameras trained on my every move.

The short version is that I made it through the next nine hours with the video cameras and the subway and the bus and had a wonderful time. No one noticed or cared that I didn’t look (or smell) my best. We have plans to go to the Beijing Ghost Market on Tuesday at midnight. For this next adventure, I’ll be wearing clean underwear and ready to go on time.