Chatty Taxis

Hello all! Here I am, returning to bring you yet more long overdue anecdotes about my life in the middle country.

So, I've discussed transportation with you all before. Mostly it's buses and taxis. Since my discovery, and mild profeciency, at using China's relpy to Uber (Didi), I am finding myself often resorting to calling a privately owned car to take me from point A to point B. Using a private car is a bit cheaper than the often affordable taxi alternative, and waiting to see if a fancy car arrives or a sensible sedan arrives to fetch you can be a pleasant surprise.

Lately, I've found myself (on the odd outing during the week) picked up by social drivers, drivers who are excited or interested by the idea of shuttling around a foreinger and want to pump me for information through the art of casual conversation. Luckily for you, I happen to have 2 recent encounters with this breed of driver which happen to be kind of entertaining. Enjoy.

Driver #1 - "8 or 9?"
Two weeks back I had the spontaneous inclination to meet a friend for coffee after work (oddly enough, she had a similiar, if not slightly more mild experience with a driver that same night). The nearest coffee shop was a Starbucks about a 20 minute drive from my room. I ordered a car, who phoned me before he arrived (as is custom). Most of the time drivers simply call to ask where you are, but this driver wanted to tell me something else...and of course, I didn't listen before talking.

*in Chinese*
Driver: "I'm 5 minutes away."
Me: "I'm at the gate"
Driver: "Ok...I'm 5 minutes away. Bye."

I always assume that when a driver talks to me before seeing me, he should be tipped off to the fact that I'm not Chinese (my limited language skills, accent, and misunderstanding of information usually tip them off). Within 5 minutes a small black car arrives with a young (not bad looking...) guy in the front seat. However, his face when I open the door assurred me that my ethnicity was a pleasant surprise. As soon as I got in the back seat and shut the door he begins to bombard me with questions, all the while looking like he just discovered gold in his backseat.

*also in Chinese*
Driver: "Oh! What country are you from?"
Me: "America."
Driver: "OH! America! Where do you work?"
Me: "...here. *pointing at the school we are still in front of* Baishan School. I'm a teacher."

He preceeded to ask me how long I'd been in China, if I taught big kids or little kids, and what grades I taught. At this point I'm beginning to get a bit nervous. My Chinese skills are quite limited, and after about a 5 minute conversation I begin to run out of things to say. I was nearing this point. What usually happens at this point is I go into panic mode...aka, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep until I arrive at my destination. Yeah, I know. Childish...but effective.

His next question totally threw me off. I didn't understand every word he used, but he kept repeating, "8 or 9." He really wanted to communicate with me because he kept repeating the question and gazing at me occasionally in the rear view mirror. After the 4th attempt to ask me, I heard the word that means years. It clicked. He was asking me if I was 28 or 29 years old. I laughed and answered no. I was 24. He made a noise of surprise, and then told me that he thought we were around the same age (he was 28). I told him that I was a baby and thought that was the end of the conversation. I was wrong.

After several seconds, he locks eyes with me in the mirror.

*you guessed it, Chinese*
Driver: "You're beautiful."
Me: *awkward laugh* "Uh, thank you..."
Driver: *still locking eyes* "All Americans are beautiful."
Me: "not every American..."  

I'm pretty sure I recieved the compliment mainly because I have white skin. But, aside from the slightly awkward moment, it was a pleasant ride. He even told me at the ride's conclusion that he was happy to have driven me. What a nice guy.

Driver #2 - "Pew Pew!"
This second driver, a kind man old enough to be my father, also from Didi, drove me home after a movie (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!). I shared the ride with a friend. We enjoyed a pleasant conversation until she arrived at her stop, which still left a 25 minute ride for me. It is important to note that my friend is an American with amazing Chinese skills, and our driver didn't say a word to us while we both were in his car (leaving my friend and I to talk).

As soon as my friend exited the car and shut the door, the driver began to ask me questions. Yes, of course the first one was where I was from. If I had a dollar for everytime I was asked this...well let's just say those student loans would start looking affordable.

This driver was quite social and quite patient. He asked questions slowly or would repeat a question if I wasn't familiar with a few words he used. Ultimately he was friendly and seemed earnest in wanting to converse with me. We talked for the entire 25 minutes. And yes, I was extremely surprised by this length of time too. But, he made it easy (or as easy as one can make it when conversing in a language at a kindergarten level) to keep the conversation going.

Things he asked me:
1. Where are you from?
2. What does your dad do?
3. Do you have a younger/older brother or younger/older sister?
4. Does she live in China?

After about halfway through his questions while we were waiting for the light to turn green at an intersection, he half-turns around from the drivers seat and asks me, "Do you have a gun? All Americans have guns." Fun fact, I don't know the word in Chinese for gun, however it was extremely clear to me that he was asking if I owned a firearm because as he talked, he raised his right hand into the shape of a gun, and after asking the question, he pulled the imaginary trigger on his "handgun" and said "Pew Pew!" I found this to be a mixture of cute and funny. Noticing my amusement, he proceeded to fire this gun a couple more time during our ride.

I started asking him some questions about his life, and learned quite about my new friend. He is one of 4 children. He is a local who is married with 2 daughters (a 5 year old and a 12 year old). His oldest daughter is learning English and doesn't like it. He is the only person in his family who has a job (his wife stays at home). He likes America because the air quality is better than in China (less pollution).

Towards the end of our trip, he tells me I should get a Chinese boyfriend. I told him I don't have one, but that's not a bad idea. And, I have some coworkers who would be happy if I did. Then, I explained that I had a American boyfriend last year whom I met at work.

Then, to my surprise, he asked me where I worked. When I told him the name of the school he repeated the name in the form of a question and looked confused. This mildly concerned me. I looked at him and said, "it's where we're going now..." Well, luckily that certainly cleared things up for him, and I was at the school within 3 minutes.

When he pulled in front of the school, his final words to me were a phrase that his wife likes to tell him in English, "I love you." After he stopped the car, he turned around again and laughing, half-shouted these words at me. I laughed and told him in Chinese that I also loved him. Fun night, fun guy. Plus, can't beat that Chinese practice.

It's actually quite popular, and even encouraged, for foreigners who want to improve their Chinese skills to take a taxi and start a conversation with the driver. Many drivers, like mine, welcome this notion (whether it's because they are social, curious, or bored). An engaging and sociable driver can leave you with a good story and some new and interesting insight into the life and culture of whatever country you happen to be visiting. It might start off awkwardly, but most great stories do. 

Lost in Translation

Qingdao, the coastal city I dwell in, is becoming more and more friendly towards foreigners. When you go to an ATM or several of the local restaurants it's not uncommon to find English available to help you navigate. This is quite a convenience for those of use whose Chinese is not quite on native level yet...or might never be on par with the natives (let's be real here).

Translation, even at its best, is not guaranteed to be 100% accurate. There are just some words and expressions that aren't found in every language. That being said, some simple translations (menus for example) shouldn't be that difficult get right. Hey, I'm not saying I'm capable of that translation on my own. But, if someone who spoke basic English could tell me what a menu item was then I'm fairly confident I could assist them so that some of the translation errors I recently found could have been avoided.

What errors am I referring to? Well, I went to a Chinese restaurant a week ago with an old student of mine. (Side note: when I say "old" I mean a student I no longer teach...she's 15.) While we were there we enjoyed some delicious dumplings and the best fish soup I have yet to taste (I'm not a big fish person, and she kind of forced me to try the broth and the fish. Both made me want to take her food away and claim it for myself. I guess you could say my American roots were showing...). However, aside from the exquisite cuisine, this establishment is also memorable for the amount of "Chinglish" found on its menus. Enjoy.

1. "Baby food mix sting skin"

Yeah, I'm not sure exactly what this meant. I seriously doubt this meal was constructed with infants in mind, and I'm hoping the "skin" they are referring to belongs to some sort of vegetable.

2. "Spicy hyper to tear food"

My first thought was, "so this food is so spicy it'll make you cry?" However, the word "hyper" was throwing me off. My only guess is they were looking for a different adjective to describe the level of spiciness...but hey, I wasn't about to order it and find out.









3. "Taste the flank"

This was certainly bossy and presumptuous of the restaurant. I think not ordering this made me kind of rebellious.











4. "Whose balls"

This was my favorite for obvious childish reasons. A very strong part of me wanted to add a question mark at the end of this menu item. However, I think this might have been one of those times I really didn't want to know...










This doesn't happen at every place you go to eat or every time your eyes are captivated by some familiar English message. However, it's not exactly as rare as finding a unicorn or a taxi when you need one on a Friday night. That being said, I hoped you enjoyed these lovely little gems I recently stumbled across. When I see more (cause there will be more) I will happily write a follow up post ("Lost in Translation pt. 2!).

White Chick in Waiting

Man, can you believe it's been this long?
That's totally unacceptable! How could I have slacked so much on such a simple thing: typing a blog? It's quite a ridiculous thing to drop the proverbial "ball" on. So, before continuing on, I shall ask for your forgiveness in a humble manner and then continue on, hoping for the best. Here goes.

*Insert humble apology accompanied with regretful facial expression*
(Note: the "regretful facial expression" is not to mean that I regret my metaphorical facial display choice, but instead it refers to the overall tone appearing on my face...one of regret.)

This past semester has been super busy, and it probably was the toughest moment thus far presented in my young life. Yes, I am recognizing that I am young. I'm not saying that I won't have more and bigger obstacles and "life problems" as I advance in years...but I really hope not.

Let's start with the simple stuff: teaching! Not much stress with school, fortunately for me. The biggest thing I had going for me academically was the senior graduation in early June. I didn't actually volunteer for this. It was one of those "volun-told" situations.

The funny thing is, if you demonstrate once or twice that you are capable of doing something successfully (and "successful" here is a flexible definition which could indicate anything from "the party of the century" to "well, nobody died") and/or you choose to birth "creative" ideas at a staff meeting, you become the "Event Queen." (Yes, that's the actual title, regardless of gender. Who doesn't want to be the Queen?) I actually have no qualms regarding this breed of responsibility. In fact, I was quite flattered that my coworkers would trust and honor me with planning another school event. Plus, I had tons of help. At the event itself, I did minimal prep, and I'm happy to say the event was a success. (One I could not have done in the slightest if it wasn't for the hard-working men and women I teach alongside.)

Basically, this was the one thing I had control of last semester...

My personal life was...well...kind of complicated. Ok, it was a mess, really. I went from dating to engaged, from engaged to dating, and from dating to single within a few short months. It was pretty rough 6 weeks. This past relationship was my first official relationship of this kind. Ever. Yes, that fact could attest to the fact that I am a mere babe in a world of working adults. I, however, (without denying aforementioned fact) would like to view it as a testament to the fact that I taking dating seriously and don't have time to mess around, "play the field," and date for fun.

I wouldn't trade my time with Stan for a life of singleness til this point. I learned so much while dating him. Even our ending, which wasn't terribly happy, was beneficial. To be honest, I wasn't putting God first in my relationship. If I did, I probably would have made some different choices throughout which would have protected my heart. But, doesn't that make grace that much more beautiful? At a time where I needed someone to save me, to pick up the pieces, to comfort me, I had the ultimate assurance. Not to say I deserved this grace in the least. I wasn't making Him number one, yet He never moved away from me. It was I that moved. So, like any hurting child, I went running back to the arms of my Father.

In the early stages of our relationship breaking down I started fervently berating God's ears with selfish prayers. If He would allow this or that, then I would trust Him. Gradually, over those 6 weeks I began to relinquish more and more of my own desires to what He was allowing to happen. To what He was preparing my heart for. Something which I tried to fight to no avail. Those 6 weeks broke me down to the selfish, weak, and sinful person that I am at my Earthly core. Looking back, I'm embarrassed at how stubborn I was when God was leading me to different steps, which ultimately ended up with Stan and I breaking up. I dragged my feet nearly the entire way. Like a child.

I am so grateful to God for carrying me, and He had to carry me. I didn't have the strength some days to teach, but He got me through it. Many people at our school still don't know that we aren't getting married (one of the set backs of having a super romantic proposal at a staff meeting...everyone knows, but it's not as simple to reverse the message). Even fewer know that we are no longer dating. That will make the first month or so of school a bit awkward. Most of my kids left me end of the year notes congratulating me on my upcoming nuptials, and a surprising amount left me notes commenting on the future "cuteness" of my "mixed babies." Not gonna lie, those imaginary babies would have been adorable.

So, I went home this summer for only 3 short weeks. In hindsight, those weeks were not nearly long enough for me to really enjoy my time being home. However, I did have some fun. Spent time with family, briefly (still sorry about that) spent time with friens, and even got a tattoo. I mean, it's not quite as lifechanging as I was expecting this summer to be, but I'm happy with it.

Hopefully I haven't shared too much. That wasn't my intention in the slightest. I guess for me this was just an opportunity to explain:
     a. I'm sorry I've been away from the ol' keyboard (not literally...just in the blogging sphere)
     b. It's been rough, but God is good (I know...duh. But, when was the last time you were really reminded of this?)
     c. I will be writing more!

Yes, that's right my readers (all 6 of you...). I am making this pledge to you now: "I, Sarrah will be blogging about my China-ventures and teaching life on a regular basis starting now!" My goal will be one post a week. If adventures happen, maybe more. Stay tuned readers! Have patience. I will return. And, I might even have pictures. The possibilities are endless.

Lacking a Little Wisdom

I’ve known for almost 2 years now that my body was going through some changes. No, not puberty (aka, the worst 7 years of my life). This was a series of changes that indicated to me the pressing onset of adulthood: pain, growth, and the looming threat of un-affordable medical bills.  Glancing at my sad little excuse for a pun in this posts title should tell you the content of this fun-filled anecdote: wisdom teeth and their inevitable excavation from my mouth.  

I have scheduled several (3 or 4) dental appointments in the past, hoping to rid me of my excessive wisdom once and for all, only to be disappointed when I kept being turned away after they checked out my x-rays. The bottom two teeth were impacted, and that caused every dentist I met with to doubt their skills and attempt to shove me towards the surgical unit at the closest hospital. Not such a fun process, might I add. So, needless to say, when I visited my current dentist for the first time I expected to hear more of the same. 

Dr. Paul (don’t let the name fool you, very much a Chinese man) and his lovely wife run Paul’s Dental Clinic, a new practice conveniently located a mere 15 minutes  from my school.  As the Western-sounding name suggests, both Dr. Paul and his wife, Jihuan, speak English. Dr. Paul learned while getting his BA in China (where he met his wife) and Jihuan’s English was particularly polished from attending a Canadian University to get her MA in dentistry. So, it was a great blessing for me that I could understand everything they wanted to tell me about my procedure, which is always a potential worry for me living overseas. 

The big day comes…I’m a bit anxious. I’ve never had surgery before, at least, not until February 6, 2016, and it’s a challenge to imagine the process of having something violently removed from your body if you don’t have any previous experience to compare it with. I mean, c’mon. I’ve never even had a cavity or a filling. That in itself is a miracle when you consider how inconsistent my personal dental hygiene was as a child. I still don’t understand why dentists ask children anything. Of course I don’t brush my teeth. But that’s not going to stop me from telling you that I brush 5 times a day when you ask me… 

Since we’re on the topic of my wisdom teeth, time for a fun fact (don’t let the word “fun” there skew your expectations into thinking this piece of knowledge will actually get you somewhere in life or make you more popular at parties). Your wisdom teeth have been referred to in that whimsical way since the 17^th century. The name comes mostly from the fact that these teeth (unlike your primary set…let’s call them the A-Team) don’t arrive until you’re older, between 17-25, and hopefully a bit wiser than you were in your more formative years. I’m not sure about you, but I personally know some individuals whose wisdom teeth I’d like to rename…

Getting to the surgery...there’s this reoccurring mindset in Asia that Chinese are very different from their Western neighbors. Now, this concept wouldn’t be that surprising if it was merely chocked up to their outer appearance, diet, and overall way of life (that’s “culture” for you classy cats who went to college). Nope, the Asian community, at least the one located in the Middle Country, believe that when it comes to medicine, pain, and cold foods (but let’s leave that for another post) that the Chinese are more delicate and often cannot/should not (depending on who you ask) experience everything Westerners do…at least not in the same way. My surgery is a prime example of this. 

For starters, most people I’ve conversed with from the states who have had this operation were given laughing gas. YouTube is filled with video after video demonstrating the entertaining side-effects of being given this drug for surgery. I was informed that I would have access to laughing gas, so I was slightly less worried when I arrived. However, during the surgery I discovered an interesting thing: in China, they only give you enough gas to make you feel calm and relaxed. You do not fall asleep.

Ok, that’s kind of a scary concept. It turns out that after your body begins to calm down the dentist administers a series of local anesthetic shots. I think I had around 10 throughout the entire procedure. The first handful were the worst, feeling like bee stings deeply hitting my gums, but it wasn’t too bad yet. Within minutes they were doing their job and my mouth was effectively numbed. 

Let’s get to the worst part, shall we? Immediately after my surgery, I tried my best to communicate (in intermediate pantomime…my face was still very much numb, my bottom lip swollen, and gauze was stuffed in my mouth) with my boyfriend that our future offspring should not have this experience in China. Why? Well, the patient care was great. The facility was clean. And, the dentists were very skilled in their handiwork. The worst part? I was awake the whole time. The good news was the anesthetic did its job throughout the whole operation. However, my ears, brain, and eyes were perfectly functional. 

The sound of metal clicking, clinking, scraping, and uprooting teeth is not a friendly one. I realized after about 20 minutes in that this consistent noise would really start to affect me if I didn’t do something to take my mind off of it. So, I periodically opened my eyes. 

Ok, when I told some people that I would open my eyes I was questioned as to what I possibly could have been thinking. Did I want to see the surgery? The blood? The tools? Not exactly. You see, there was a TV monitor rigged to the ceiling displaying scenes in nature accompanied by light orchestra music. Nice, right? Well, the problem was I had to be super intent on focusing solely on the few inches of the screen I could see, because the operation light and two sets of hands were constantly blocking me from this proverbial “zen” experience. So, let’s just say I saw a couple toucans, alligators, many trees, and every dental instrument they used in my mouth. So much for “zen”…

The surgery was long, and my impacted teeth put up a good fight (hence the 3 hours it took). Looking back I can appreciate having both Jihuan and Dr. Paul in that room. In fact, periodically, Jihuan would check to see how I was doing, commend me for being a “good girl,” and (my personal favorite) brag about how good of a dentist her husband was.

*After completing the first two teeth in 30 minutes*

“This would take new dentist 1 hour or 1 hour and 30 minutes, but not Dr. Paul. He is very skilled.”

*After wrestling with my last impacted tooth for over an hour*

“This tooth has a lot of wisdom. But, Dr. Paul has more.”

(I think you get the point. It was pretty cute, and I can honestly say that Dr. Paul’s wife is his biggest fan.) 

My biggest challenge now is simply to recover. I can tell that my dentists did a great job. I haven’t experienced pain so much as mild discomfort and an overall “icky” feeling in my mouth. I can’t chew, and probably won’t attempt to do so for a while, but I am sustaining myself on yogurt, applesauce, and soup. Feeding myself has become a bit of a chore, but I am definitely not complaining. The worst part of this ordeal was the surgery, and I only have to go through that once. Check. Done. Now, I can recover and look forward to my next adventure in China.