My Big Fat Chinese Birthday

Fun fact: I am officially an adult. 

At least, that’s what one of my fellow teachers told me last Thursday when I turned 22. If I had known that I wasn’t an adult until I’d survived 22 years on Earth, I might have made some different choices in the weeks leading up to this day and blamed it on my childish disposition in an effort to escape adult responsibility. Ah well. Maybe next year…

Anyway, this was my first birthday in China, or any foreign country for that matter, and I was a bit nervous in the days leading up to my birthday that it would just be another day that I’d teach, work, eat, work, and then sleep. Well, this was all foolish thinking on my part, because God definitely gave me a birthday to remember. 

The Night Before

Wednesday night, 3 foreign ladies (including myself) had a lovely dinner with 6 of our fellow Chinese teachers. These single Asian ladies hosted us graciously in their dorm, cooked an amazing dinner for us, and then gave me my first birthday surprise. 

After dinner was served, the hot tea was brought out (cause it’s China…duh). One of my friends asked if she could have some hot water and was told, “if we have electricity, you can have some.” Another Chinese lady mentioned that she hoped the power wouldn’t go out. As soon as these words were uttered, the room went dark. 

So, maybe I’m just slow, but my first thoughts were, “of course it would happen just as they are talking about it” and “I’m glad this doesn’t happen at our dorms.” Still dark, the door to the room was opened, and one of the women was in the hallway holding a tray with two lit candles that gradually bathed the room with light. My next thought was, “oh wow, she was prepared. This must happen all the time.”

It wasn’t until they started singing happy birthday to me that I realized that the tray held cupcakes and my first birthday surprise. I didn’t know these women too well and had met most of them for the first time at dinner that night, which made this special treat all the sweeter. If I was more of a female, I would have cried. (Note: this is a phrase that I will repeat at least 2 more times as I describe my actual birthday.)

My Birthday

The morning of my birthday was like any other day: I woke up, showered, got dressed, and ate a light breakfast before work. However, at one point during this routine I was alerted to my neighbor, Britney, in the hallway. She was taking pictures of something. I waited a few minutes and then opened the door to discover a plant of goodies she had left me to celebrate my special day. Needless to say, I walked to work with a smile on my face. 

On my way to the school building I passed several people who wished me a happy birthday, and one of Chinese teachers gave me a small blue bag and card from her and the other Chinese teacher (these talented ladies have the, often, arduous task of teaching me some China talking). 

Thursday is my busiest day. I teach 4 classes and have club after school, so I wasn’t expecting too much when I got to work that day. Boy, was I wrong. My middle school office desk (yes, I have two. One in the high school department and one in the middle school department) was littered with flowers, food, delicious muffins, and cards. Shortly after I arrived, one of my 8^th grade students appeared with a gift from her class. It was a beautiful silk scarf with Daniel Boone-esque characters all over it. (A bit strange? Perhaps. But I loved the gift and the thoughts behind it.) 

All of my kids and fellow teachers (except one) knew it was my birthday. I didn’t tell them. I think my boss spread the word a week in advance, and I was certainly not prepared for the love I would receive this day.  

And yes, I have wings...

 

                                     One of my students drew this...impressed? You should be.

I taught 12^th grade first that morning, and by midday, they had brought me a cookie and a card they had decorated. 10^th grade was my next class, and I always have fun with them…they might have spoiled me the most (at least, emotionally).

I walk into the class and the bring me this…

It’s a cake. They made me a cake out of construction paper. How creative is that?! Then they handed me a pop-up birthday card from the whole class and a square piece of paper. This square piece of paper had the date on it, and they urged me to write my name. I probably should mention that they have a birthday wall in their classroom where each student has a card with their name and their birth date. Yep. They made me my own card on their birthday wall. If I was more of a female, I would have cried.

I also received some notes from one of my students. When I was learning their names a couple weeks ago, I couldn’t remember hers and she made pantomimed “cute,” so I guessed that her name was cute. Note: her name is Nancy…not cute. Since then we’ve had a fun relationship, and she’s always urging me to smile. She drew me several pictures and wrote me a note (half in English and half in Chinese because she couldn’t fully express herself in English). 

 

Guess which one I am. 

I always have fun with the 10^th graders, and Thursday was no exception.

Both of my 8^th grade classes made me cards, and some of them wrote me notes in addition to the class card. It was adorable. If I was more of a female, I definitely would have cried.

Some other birthday blessings I received included cheesecake from a high school teacher and even more cheesecake that evening with two lovely ladies I had the pleasure of hanging out with for dinner. 

One of my musically gifted coworkers who lives on the floor beneath mine even serenaded me with the birthday song from the stairwell that night. It was so sweet! If I was more of a female…yeah, you guessed it. I would have cried. 

I was definitely blessed on my birthday by everyone around me. In addition to it being my favorite birthday in China (so far), I have to say it ranks as one of my best birthdays so far in my young life.

In fact, I even got a date on my birthday.

Climb Every Mountain

So, after engaging with my fellow foreign teachers for an hour-long hike up the mountain that sprouts behind our school, I’ve decided that I should share some more about China’s culture with you, my beloved readers. Pay attention, there might be a quiz.

1.  Bonding

In China, there are two ways to bond with your peers/co-workers/friends: go out and eat a ton of food or climb a mountain. You think I’m exaggerating? Well then, you wouldn’t be very cohesive with the Chinese culture Doubting Thomas (or Thomasina for you lady doubters). Not entirely sure if I can explain it to its fullest potential, but there is just something appealing to Asians in regards to both food and mountains. I can probably explain the former better than the latter. Cause I mean, who doesn’t love to chow down with friends? 

Heck, isn’t that in the Declaration of Independence somewhere? “We hold this food to be self-evident that all eating was created for bonding, which upon shall be delivered by their local restaurant wait staff for a certain attainable price, and among these are unlimited soup, salad, and bread sticks.” Hmmm…maybe I just miss Olive Garden.
  

2.    Money

One of the beautiful things about China, or at least about Qingdao, is the way things are priced. Most daily expenses (food and transportation) are reasonably priced, if not leaning on the cheap side. If I wanted to go downtown, I have two affordable options: the bus or a taxi. Bus stops are scattered all around the school and have regular stops at major shopping centers and residential areas. Convenient, yes? Did I mention that it is only 1-2 yuan to ride the bus one way? Oh, let me put that into perspective for you. One US dollar is equal to about 6.1 yuan. Which means, a round-trip bus ride, at the most, would be 4 yuan….or 70 cents. 

And taxis are pretty decent too (at least the honest drivers who don’t try to rip you off extravagantly because you’re foreign. There are 2 types of taxis: 9 yuan and 12 yuan. That’s the rate the car starts out at. Then, depending on where you are going, it will add money to your total at rates based on the taxi you chose. A 9 is not as nice/clean/new as a 12, but it’s cheaper and the meter doesn’t run as fast. The most I’ve spent on a taxi so far has been about 15 yaun (less than $3 for a one-way ride). Not too bad if I say so myself. 

3.     Fresh Air

Chinese people, or at least the one’s I work with, are very big into the idea of “fresh air.” So much so that it could be 45 degrees Fahrenheit outside (or less), and they open all the windows in the office. Many think it is healthy and quite good for their well-being. That might be true…if the air was actually clean and fresh. Not to sound rude, uncultured, or childish, but China smells. Sometimes it’s not too bad, but other times it’s quite rank. We’re on the coast so our Qingdao fragrance is a mixture of dead fish, garbage, industrial plant smoke, and construction dust. Air pollution is a problem over here, and “fresh air” isn’t always easy to come by. Heck, I noticed such a big difference today coming down off of that mountain. It may be a clear day, but it’s not a nasally pleasing one.

4.    Birthdays

Yes, birthdays still exist in China, albeit 13 hours ahead of American birthdays. However, they celebrate birthdays a bit differently than how many of us are used to. Instead of being showered with gifts and food, the tradition here is that the birthday man/woman takes out his/her friends and family for food at a restaurant and pays for everything. I’m not homesick yet, but I think I might feel a tinge of nostalgia on my own escape the womb day.

5.     Fake Goods

Maybe you already knew this about China, I sure didn’t, but there is such a market here for fake goods. Seriously, you can find them everywhere: on the streets being sold by vendors, outdoor flea markets, some local shops, and the black market. No, it’s not officially called “The Black Market,” but that’s what it is, and the foreigners refer to it as such. Pick a name brand, any name brand, and there’s a good chance it’s being made here for cheaper as a fake. Apple, Samsung, Nike, Northface, Ecko…clothes, electronics, home goods. There’s a serious market here for fakes.

See what I mean? That teddy bear is obviously a knock-off.

Don't you feel enlightened? Slightly jealous? Pity me? Well, I'm ok with all of the above as long as you do me one little favor today...breathe in some of that good American (or Spanish, you know who you are) air. Then, give your lungs a high-five. You go lungs. You're pretty awesome, and don't you forget it.

The Second Floor

We find our heroine in a seemingly relaxed state where she finally discovered the portal to the second floor, an escalator beyond customs. So, everything is good, right? I should be fine, my blood pressure should be slowly lowering, and maybe I can sit down and buy a cool beverage and calmly wait for the remaining two hours I have before my plane departs. Ha. Ha. Ha…

Once I step off the escalator, I have a brief moment of accomplishment and happiness. I made it to the mythological second floor. I wasn’t destined to die on the first floor of a Chinese airport! However, upon my immediate arrival to the second floor, a couple of very important details were made painfully aware to me. 

For starters, 90% of what was being advertised was in Chinese. An airport in China is mostly advertising to Chinese-speaking individuals? GASP! Ok, so this piece of information was more like a frustrating reminder that I now belonged to a minority group in the sea of Asians that comprises this Chinese airport. Aside from airline names and numbers, everything my eyes beheld was illegible, which brings me to my second realization…I didn’t know the name of the airline that was taking me to Qingdao. 

When I left Charlotte, I was given three ticket-sized pieces of paper stapled together. These were my new best friends. I assumed that they were my three tickets, destined to take me through every leg of my journey one airport at a time, because two of them had already served their purpose in Charlotte and Detroit. Upon further examination of this third “ticket” once I got to the second floor, I realized that it was not a ticket, but a voucher for a ticket. My seat was reserved and ready to be sat in, once I figured out which airline I was supposed to be on. However, this voucher didn’t have an airline name. All that was written on it was my name, my destination, and a letter/number combination (which I found out later was code for my airline’s name). 

I also realized, upon looking up from my examination of this imposter-ticket, that the second floor of the Beijing airport made the track-sized arena I had just been hoofing on the first floor look like a one-room shack. The second floor appeared to go on forever. It was bigger, brighter, more crowded, and the ceiling resembled an enclosed stadium. At one point I saw birds flying around in the rafters…that’s how giant this place was. 

So, here I am in front of a Chinese-inscribed ticket counter near the escalator I rode to freedom, hoping to find some answers. I walked up to one of the flight attendants and showed her my phony ticket. In broken English she gestured that I keep walking to my right (towards more vastness that is the Beijing airport) and said that I should go near “H.” “H?” Is that code for something? Well, I wasn’t sure, but I doubted she could help me further so I thanked her and started the trek towards, what I hoped would be, “H.”

After walking about 8 more minutes I realized what she meant. She had directed me towards a giant T-shaped intersection where there were rows and rows of airline ticket counters all labeled with a letter of the alphabet. I maneuvered slowly through the throngs of people (seriously, so many people) and stopped several times when my bags tipped over (because at this point, I had stacked my duffel on top of my rolling suitcase because my arms were about to give out. The only problem is my rolling suitcase was being uncooperative, and I’m sure it didn’t help that it kept getting jostled by rogue Asians). After 10 more minutes of trekking, I made it to the “H” counter. 

And here I return to our heroine’s main obstacles: I still didn’t know which airline I needed to show my ticket voucher to, I was still in a primarily Chinese-speaking environment, and (something I realized days after I arrived in Qingdao) I kept mispronouncing my destination city to everyone I asked for help, which I’m sure hindered my communication at times. (The city is pronounced, “Ching-dow,” but as an educated American, I kept referring to it as, “Key-dow” so nobody knew where the heck I was going until they looked at my ticket voucher.) 

Oh, and at this point, after walking around nearly half of China (which I’m convinced is the approximation of the Chinese airport) looking for my flight, I had to pee, and I was so sweaty I looked like I just showered. I wish I was exaggerating. I kept using my sleeves to wipe sweat out of my eyes and off of my face as much as I could, especially after I noticed that NO ONE ELSE was sweating. Nope. No one. I was the largest person (obviously, I’m American) I had yet encountered thus far, which helped boost my confidence of course. Not to mention that all of the Asian women I had seen were supermodel thin and had impeccable style to match. 

Me? I’m huffing and puffing around the airport (after almost 24 hours of flying) in a t-shirt and jeans, simply drenched. I felt like a hippo trying to hang with antelope. Oh, and I was still lost. 

This is exactly how I felt right about now.

Anyway, so my goal at this point is to calm down and ask someone for help. I glance around at the multitude of people I’m standing near and have few choices that look promising: a Middle Eastern family, a handful of preoccupied Asian businessmen, and an airport worker helping a Chinese family. I decided to walk around a bit and see who else I could find. I made my way around the ticket counters until I approached the security checkpoint, where you go once you have a ticket. And that’s when I met my new best friend. 

I finally saw a slightly chubby Asian! He was a guard working around the security checkpoint, and he had the best English of anyone I met in the airport that day. I don’t know if it was the look of utter desperation on my face, the fact that I was drenched in sweat, or my white-girl complexion, but all I did was look over at him and make eye contact and he made a beeline for me. I told him I needed help, and the first thing he did was pull out a folded pile of paper towels from his jacket pocket. 

“You look like you could use some paper.”

 

I noticed his forehead was slightly glistening, and I realized that he was a fellow sweater in a sea of non-sweating Asians. We had a special bond. I could have hugged my new paper pal.  

After looking at my ticket for about 8 minutes, he gave me the name of an airline and told me which ticket counter to go see. I wandered over to the ticket counter, and after pondering for an additional 5 minutes over which of the 3 lines I should stand in, I boldly stepped forward and approached one of the counters. Fortunately for me, it was exactly where I needed to be, and I received my real ticket and dropped off my rolling suitcase with the attendant. I was then directed to return to the security checkpoint, my final step before I can wait at the gate. 

Happily, I stood in line and wiped more sweat from my face with my new paper towel. The hard part was over. As I stood there waiting in line, I heard someone behind me call, “American! American!” Turning around, I saw the guard who had helped me earlier. He made his way over to where I was standing in line and asked if I had found the counter and if I was ok. I told him I was all set and thanked him again. “If you listen to me, you will get where you are going,” he told me with a smile before walking back to his post. I will probably never see him again, but he is one of my favorite people in China. Go with God paper pal.

The rest of my time in the airport was pretty docile in comparison to my experience on the first and (part of) the second floor. I finally found a bathroom where I met “the squatty potty,” and was able to dry off my saturated face a little more thoroughly. I didn’t meet anyone else who spoke English until I arrived at my last destination, Qingdao, even though I began to mistakenly think that I could understand certain Chinese words. 

Upon further reflection, I’m pretty sure that my airline stewardesses were not asking guests if they wanted “cinnamon rolls” and were really asking in Chinese if they had trash. At least, that’s the new theory because there wasn’t any trace of this confectionery treat on the plane. Trust me, I checked.

The First Floor

It’s official. I’ve been in China for 2 weeks! 

I’m practically Asian. In fact, if you listen closely, I will amaze and wow you with fluent Chinese expressions like, “hello,” “thank you,” “this,” “where is the bathroom,” and “I want to eat food.” See? I’m an expert. 

It’s crazy how long it feels like I’ve been here already. 2 weeks? It might as well be 2 months. (But I’m glad it’s not, because if my Chinese is still at this level in 2 months I might as well just hire an Asian to walk around with me and be my translator, cause then I’d be hopeless). 

Now that I’ve been here 2 weeks, I think it’s time to describe my first (I’m sure of many to come) traumatic experience in China. An adventure that was thrust upon me as soon as I arrived in China 2 weeks ago: getting lost in the airport…for almost 2 hours.

We begin this tale at the Detroit airport on October 24 of this year. I had just taken my first connecting flight from Charlotte in the wee hours of the morning, and I was waiting in the airport terminal for 3 hours until the Beijing flight was ready to take off. 

Already I could tell that this flight was going to be different from my previous flight. For starters, I was one of 12 Americans out of the 150 passengers who were going to Beijing. What? You mean to tell me that I’m flying to China with a bunch of Chinese people?! I know, shocker. So at this point, I’m surrounded by many, many individuals who do not speak English. 

At the time, I thought this was one of the coolest things ever. I was appreciating this cultural difference because it was new and mildly exciting. Reality was beginning to sink in: I was really going to China. 

The plan ride was pretty uneventful. Fortunately, although I was surrounded by Asians in the adjacent seats, I was seated next to one of the Americans on the flight. AND we had an empty seat between us so we could spread out a bit. Let’s just say on a 13 hour flight, sometimes one needs to spread out.

I tried to get some sleep, but my body just wasn’t having it. I did pee on the plane though. Ok, rephrase: I used the airplane bathroom (something I told myself at the beginning of the flight I WASN’T going to do. But 5 hours in nature called, and if I didn’t answer the phone…well, you can probably imagine what would have happened). 

Anyway, 5 free movies, 3 meals, 2 snacks, and 13 hours later, I arrived in Beijing. Exciting, right? Well, I did what any other world traveling expert would have done when I got there: I followed the giant mass of people who looked like they knew where they were going. Luckily for me, they knew exactly where to go…the baggage claim. 

My bag was one of the last ones to be popped out onto the conveyor belt, but I had a pretty good idea of where to go next. The customs/domestic transfers area was directly behind me, and that’s where everyone else from my flight was headed, so why not me, right? With luggage in tow, I wheeled over to the security desk and showed the guard my ticket only to be promptly told in broken English that I was going the wrong way. 

“Upstairs. You need to go upstairs.”

“Ok…thanks. How do I get upstairs?”

*some gesturing and vague finger pointing*

“Ok, thanks.”

Slightly daunted, but happy to be corrected before I erred, I started walking in the direction she pointed. 

PAUSE: A few things I should mention first….I haven’t flown by myself ever, and the last time I flew on a plane was in 1998 (for all you non-math people out there, I was 6 years old). Second, I was toting around heavy and awkward luggage (a heavy duffle, a backpack, and a wheelie thingie…yes, that is the technical term). Third, the section of the airport I was in resembled a football field. I am not exaggerating. It was large and about as big as the track that runs around a football field. Oh, and a very important thing I also should mention, there was no air-conditioning. It was probably about 87 degrees, at least, and there were a couple office fans by no AC. 

At this point in our tale, I had taken a lap around the airport, trying to locate an escalator, stairs, or an elevator that would take me to the next floor. I had been awake for about 22 hours, was tired, and feeling a little worried. I tried to ask someone else for help and was directed to a baggage claim office nearby. I waited there for about 20 minutes before I was told that I needed to go upstairs, but I was not given directions on how to get there. 

I took another lap and asked 2 ladies at a money exchange for help. They couldn’t help me. I took another lap, partly feeling like I was missing something and partly feeling like the upstairs didn’t exist. I must have walked in circles at least 5 times in that airport, and by this time everyone from my flight was long-gone, so the area was pretty empty of fellow travelers. 

At last, I saw some stairs. This must be it! I started dragging my bags toward this sweet freedom when another female guard stopped me and pointed me away while jabbering in Chinese. I almost cried. At this point, I was over the “cuteness” of the cultural differences between Asians and myself. I wanted a white person to speak English to me. Nothing would have made me happier at this moment. 

I start to take another lap when I notice something that should have been pretty obvious to me. About 40 feet away from the stairs was a sign that read “Customs.” I had never seen this sign in the many pilgrimages I took around the airport, so obviously they erected it while I was heading for the stairs.

I sheepishly approached the guards at the entrance and asked them if this was how to get upstairs. It was! I was saved and wouldn’t die in the Beijing airport! I was rejoicing to myself, at least I was until I arrived on the second floor.