China through the Kaleidoscope of a Curious Traveler

Predicting the national Olympic fever, the textile manufacturers flooded the Chinese market with T-shirts carrying slogans for the coming Olympiad. I was going to buy a few for myself. My interest was not in the Olympic, but t-shirt itself. I stood by a peddler on the side walk. While waiting for my turn, I enjoyed observing the bargaining of a Chinese couple. I was surprised to see the guy taking off his old sweat-soaked T-shirt and putting on the new one. After his wife made a comment, he took the shirt off returning it to the peddler. The peddler was constantly talking loud and encouraging them to buy it. Then, the woman decided to try it herself. She did not take her shirt off; she just wore it over. The peddler was continuously talking; perhaps telling her how nice she looked inside that white thin T-shirt. After about ten minutes, she decided to purchase it. She took out 100 Yuan from her purse. Since I did not have any idea about the price of the T-shirt, I started carefully watching and counting. She received 45 Yuan back. The T-shirt was sold to 55 Yuan or $8. The peddler started to wrap up the T-shirt. But the woman picked it up from his hands and sniffed it. Yes, she sniffed the very T-shirt that she and her husband tried on themselves. She made a face like a male chauvinist changing his child’s diaper, and uttered a few words pointing at another T-shirt. The peddler did not object. That was the time I decided not to buy any T-shirt from that peddler.

The following day, I purchased five of the same T-shirts from another peddler who had reduced the price because of the timeliness of the souvenir. I paid 15 Yuan or $2.2 per shirt. A parent, who was going to purchase more than 20 shirts for students and staff, became greedier. She decided to wait after the Olympic torch passed through the town. Then she thought she could buy them for 10 Yuan each or $1.5. I accused her to be greedy and she accused me of being gullible. What she did not know that I wanted those poor peddlers to make a few extra dollars from me. Well, the night the Olympic torch left the town, no peddler was selling the same T-shirt. So, she missed the best discount on t-shirts in town.

You might wonder why I was buying 5 T-shirts in one day. Well, the following days I would buy even more. I had a capitalistic dilemma, which danced around two questions: to buy or to wash? The cost of laundry per t-shirt at our hotel was 20 Yuan ($3) and buying a new one at price of 15 Yuan made more sense. Changsha is known for its heat. We thought that Tucson was very hot. Well, it was before we landed in Changsha. Here, in June, the temperature is around 100 F. No problem, we the desert lizards, could handle that. But, enter the high humidity and we were done. We were melting like the Antarctic ice cap. Everyday, I had to change my entire garment: shirt, pant, underpants, and socks twice! So, I had two choices: either invest daily in the laundry or buy thin and cheap t-shirts and shorts. I solved the stinking socks problem by purchasing sandals. We were told that the real heat is in July and August. We could not wait to return to Tucson to enjoy its dry heat!

Fitness Centers: Free and Fun

There was a public square and a fountain in the middle of the intersection where our hotel was located. (As you may notice, I do not give the street names, since I was totally illiterate there, and I could neither read the names of the streets nor pronounce them properly). In early morning and after the sun set, there were free activities for every age group on the streets. The young and restless Chinese enjoyed shopping, eating at MacDonald’s, KFC, etc., while the adult and aged women following the rhythm of the Chinese music generated by a hand-held CD player, exercised together in public. And middle aged men like me and children watched them. It was like a public aerobic and solo dance class in the middle of the town square. I wanted to join the group, but I did not want to violate the perceived norms. Though anyone could join the dance, the demographic was non-verbally discriminating against men and younger women. Nevertheless, I saw this mass public exercise/dance in the sidewalks of smaller streets and parks, and they were mixed in gender and age.

After a week, I was taken to the lively neighborhood where a colossal closed stadium, a giant Ferris wheel, and a French-owned underground super store were located. The stone tiled vast area was filled with children riding little motorized cars, skating with rollerblades with lighted wheels, and adults dancing, mostly in pairs.

These street classes have no ceilings, no air conditioners, no teachers, no membership cards, and no monthly fees. But, if you ask me, I would prefer these to any luxurious American aerobic class. I found the street version to be more elegant, open, and more natural. You can feel the spirit of a community there, not the spirit of a spoiled individual. There you can enjoy the spirit of an egalitarian society, an extinct one indeed; not the spirit of an exclusive class and the sound of a money-counting machine. (What do you think if we start that tradition in Tucson? In front of the Main Library?)

Streets with No Trash, Yet Still Look Dirty

What about children? Well, they have their territory on the streets too. On the corner of the public squares every evening, children as young as 2 years-old show up with their rollerblades. They do all kinds of practices under the loving and caring eyes of their parents. Somehow someone brings small orange cones and places them on the street in rows and there you have a great show on the street. Open and free of charge, both for the players and spectators. 

When you speak of Chinese children, you cannot ignore the zippers in the backs of their pants. Some do not have zippers at all; just a hole in the back. I detest it, and I am sure so does the multi-billion diaper industry, which has considerable contribution to the amount of trash and pollution. Though I have yet to see, but I am told by others, that when small children want to leak the uric acid in their bladders they just squat on the sidewalks. I was told that they do so also for the “number two” but not exactly in the middle but on the side of the street, perhaps next to a bush. To make it easier for you, compare the Chinese children with no diapers to spoiled American pets, which enjoy the goods of the multi-billion pet industry, health care insurance, and occasional cosmetic surgery.

I hate this practice, I said, because despite the omnipresent street sweepers with brooms and dustpans, the side walks and stairs have spots of dirty yellow, brown and black, which remind me the floor of a garage with a geriatric Ford or Chevy. Chinese people have not yet embraced the idea of not littering the streets. Though litters and trash are immediately swept away, their traces or shadows remain on the streets. I assume that most of those spots were created by the leaks of children with backward zippers and gums discarded by young and adults. Based on my little investigation before visiting China, I expected to see everyone spitting in public, yet so far, I saw only one in a week, which can be considered an anomaly in the city. I was told that the country side is very bad in hygiene, though.

With its 2.5 million central city population, Changsha is about five times bigger than Tucson. Its downtown where major department stores are located, an area consisting of several blocks, is restricted to automobile traffic. With its busy side walks, high rising buildings, flickering huge advertising displays, and gleaming colorful lights, it resembles Times Square or the Strip at Las Vegas.

Being an Illiterate Professor in China

The rule for real estate is 3L: location, location, location, and I believe the rule for a trip to a foreign country is also 3L: language, language, language. Without language you may end up wetting your pants, or get frustrated and frustrating at the same time, or buy a bag of dry fruit that deceptively looks like delicious sour plums sold in America, but have a bizarre sweet flavor which make you hesitate to take a second bite.

Nineteen years ago when I immigrated to USA, escaping from political and religious persecution in my country of birth, I found myself in a very difficult situation. At age thirty one, as an accomplished author and public speaker; I was suddenly reduced to the level of a secondary school kid. My conversational English was even worse. I knew some big words, yet I was unable to ask some simple and vital questions or understand the given answers. I used to carry a dictionary in my hand to communicate. I still remember the embarrassment of asking the lady who lived in the next apartment with the aid of the dictionary. I needed to wash my socks and I did not want to waste water and energy by using the washing machine. I wanted to wash them in a container by hand. When she opened her door and heard me asking her, “Kathlyn, Can you give me your pelvis?” I noticed the shock and surprise in her face. To make myself clear, I added, “Can I burrow a pelvis; I want to wash my socks in the pelvis!” We were both relieved when she understood me. I washed my socks by hand; but after that incident I lost my trust to my dictionary, which confused the Turkish word “leğen” (big bowl) with the word “leğen kemiği” (big-bowl bone, that is, pelvis).

Here, in China, I cannot even ask to wash my socks in someone else’s pelvis. If I were in Spain, in Italy, or France, I would not be illiterate at least. I could recognize the words and use a dictionary to find its translation, which would allow me to roll clumsily some isolated words on my tongue. This would greatly help me survive the debilitating alienation in a foreign country. But, the Chinese characters are like noodles and doodles, and I had no clue how to identify them, thousands of them.

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