Pretty Woman Spitting: An American's Travels in China Page 17

  (me dancing with Director Li, Margaret singing, Director Huang seated)

  Before I could get too comfortable, the next song started and Director Huang was holding his hand out to me. The pattern was clear – if I wasn’t going to sing, I was going to dance. I hadn’t danced so formally since the ninth grade prom. I loved it.

  (me, Margaret, Director Huang, Dean Li and Director Li, stepping in time)

  During one song, I was allowed to just sit. Linda came over and jumped onto the couch next to me and said,

  “This is so much fun. I love to sing and to dance. I rarely get to do this.”

  As we were talking and sipping our beers, another woman walked in. She had a bun in her black hair and a brightly colored shirt on.

  Linda brought her over and introduced her to Margaret and me. A Chinese pop song was playing so loud I didn’t catch her name, but Linda told us that she was a music teacher at the university and that she sang Chinese opera.

  Hearing the words “Chinese opera,” I thought of the earsplitting sounds of I had become familiar with from the school loudspeaker. To me, Chinese opera, with its piercing high pitches, sounded like a cat being mutilated. To many Chinese it was beautiful.

  While I was hoping that she was not going to be singing any opera, Linda chose the next song. When it came on the woman and Director Li grabbed microphones. Linda came back over to me and said,

  “Director Li is a very talented singer, too.”

  I agreed with her on that, wishing that I didn’t have to endure the shrieking sounds that the woman was making.

  (Director Li an the Anhui Normal University music teacher, belting Chinese opera)

  Then Dean Li asked me to dance. For two more hours we drank beer, waltzed and sang. Margaret gave a stirring rendition of “Rocky Mountain High” and I sang my old standby, “I Will Survive” one more time in China.

  At the end of the night, I felt like a rag doll. Karaoke and dancing was the best exercise I’d had in China. My feet were aching. Although I wasn’t drunk, because I had been sweating so profusely, I was exhausted and dehydrated. It was one of the best nights I spent in China.

  A TIME TO SAY GOODBYE

  Throughout the semester the loudspeaker at school played music and news in the morning, at noon and at dusk. The music ranged from Chinese pop to Chinese Opera to American pop and European Opera, but it was the same lineup of songs daily. I loved hearing Andrea Bocelli’s “A Time to Say Goodbye.” It came on near the end of the set. It had been a song that Dianne, Margaret and I looked forward to every day. After Dianne passed, I got choked up every time I heard it.

  By the end of the semester, and my time in Wuhu, I was experiencing the same bittersweet feelings that I had throughout my own academic career, an excitement to be moving on and a sadness to be leaving my new friends and adventures behind.

  As usual, I left grading my tests until the last possible minute – the final night we were in Wuhu. I had meant to start my grading the night before, but the banquet and karaoke drink-off prevented that.

  This insane procrastinating was just the kind of behavior that forced me to pull all-nighters while mainlining coffee in college.

  At dusk, Charles showed up ready to hang out. We all congregated in my living room, Margaret furiously reading students’ journals while I graded tests. Charles busied himself on my computer, looking at web sites and playing online video games.

  Over the next two hours, a parade of our students showed up with treats. One student brought me a cassette tape of a Chinese opera star from her hometown. I played it for the group that had gathered on a tape player that I found in my apartment. Salon brought us small watermelons that his father had grown. I split the warm melons open and cut slices for everyone with the meat cleaver in my kitchen. A group of freshmen brought us a bag of lollipops and other Chinese candies.

  I was starting to feel the dread of leaving the school for good. I had been so busy with exams, worrying about the students cheating and packing that I hadn’t had time to think about how final leaving this place was. I couldn’t just pop back in for a visit. How the hell would I ever find it? I knew I might never see Wuhu again.

  Around ten p.m., all of our visitors had left except for Charles. He showed no signs of wanting to leave.

  By midnight, I was finally finished grading tests. Although I had at least fifteen students fail my test, only one, a boy named Jonathan, failed my class. He had only come to class three times the entire semester. Once was for the exam. He sat next to another boy who had a book and looked at the boy’s exam until I asked him to move a seat over. After that, Jonathan brought his paper to me at the front of the classroom. Then he dropped it on the floor in front of me. I figured he wouldn’t be shocked that he failed.

  At two a.m., I was finished assigning grades. I went to my room and threw the last of my possessions in bags. I was going to sleep in the clothes I would wear on the plane because we had to leave at five a.m.

  I gave Charles everything I was leaving behind. This including a purse for his mother, toiletries from the various hotels I had stayed in and books that I didn’t want to bring back. Whether he wanted these things or not, Charles accepted everything gladly.

  I woke up in my clothes to the sound of my doorbell. Charles was standing in the doorway with that dazed look on his face. He ambled in and handed me a banana for breakfast and said,

  “You will leave Wuhu today.”

  “I know Charles. I can’t believe it.”

  “How time flies,” he said.

  I could feel a lump forming in my throat. Making sure that I had all of my things, I raced around the apartment, not allowing my emotions to get the best of me. Minutes later, five of my students were in my apartment. Two of the boys grabbed my bags. After we rounded up Margaret, we headed downstairs.

  Linda, Tao and Mr. One were already in the van on campus near the entrance to the school. It all seemed to be happening so fast. I was leaving. Linda told me to say goodbye. I turned to face the crowd of my students.

  I could feel the tears then. There was no stopping them. Lack of sleep and being prone to crying were not a good combination for a graceful goodbye. I couldn’t help myself; I opened my arms and hugged each of the students. I could tell that this was a new experience for most of them. It was like squeezing lumber. They were all hard, lean and awkward.

  When my student Stockton whispered to me,

  “Don’t cry, Teacher,” that was it. There was no holding back the flood then.

  “I can’t help it,” was all I could croak out.

  I made sure to hug Charles last. He was the one I would miss the most. He was my best friend in China. He went through hell with me and I would probably never get to see him again. Most of the Chinese don’t have the money to travel to America and our visitation policies are strict. Thinking about this, the tears started to stream down my face even faster. I hugged him and for the first time he hugged me back. I thought I could even see tears in his eyes, too. I turned quickly and got in the van.

  As we drove down the road, I started to panic. Why hadn’t we brought Charles with us? He should have seen us off at the airport. I asked Linda if we could turn back and get him. She refused, saying that it would only be harder for him and that he needed to study for his exams. After another ten minutes, I stopped crying. Then, I leaned over onto the warm leather seat of the van and fell asleep, wondering if I would ever see Charles again. When I woke up an hour and a half later, we were at the Nanjing airport.

  Mr. One pulled our bags out of the van as Margaret and I said our goodbyes to Linda. Then we both gave her a hug. Next, we hugged Tao and then Mr. One. Afterwards, he leaned back and said to me, “Wo shi Zhongguoren. Ni shi Meiguoren.” I am Chinese. You are American.

  Yes. And now we would part ways. The sprinklers started again. Margaret and I left our escorts and turned towards the small Nanjing airport. We were off to Hong Kong for a final vacation and adventure in China before going home
. All I could think of was Charles’s last words to me, “How time flies.” So true.

  I hope to return to Wuhu one day. To see the school that allowed me to visit, and maybe even meet with some of the people who touched my life: Linda, Mrs. Gu, Dean Li, Dean Lu, Mr. One, Director Li, Director Huang, Eva and of course, and most importantly, Charles.

  WATCH, BAG, DVD?

  After my stay in rural China, I wondered if the people who came to visit and only went to the big cities on the guided tour ended up missing what I’d come to think of as the real China.

  What is the real China? It’s the middle-aged men with ten-inch waists sitting on small chairs around low card tables in an alley gambling or playing backgammon.

  It’s the people squatting down on the side of the road waiting for a bus to come because they preferred squatting to just standing or sitting on the ground – a result of the leg muscles they’ve acquired in the bathroom no doubt.

  It’s the produce stands and fresh flower markets lining side streets where you can buy a banana and a Gerber daisy for fifteen cents.

  (a flower tea cart in Wuhu)

  It’s the food streets with scorpions, crustaceans, insects and miscellaneous meat on sticks sold at stands.

  (a Wuhu meat street)

  (a Beijing food street)

  It’s the bowls of snails, crawfish, and snakes at the meat market.

  It’s the men crowding around a huge plastic bowl of communal noodles, alternately sticking their chopsticks in to grab a steaming hot hunk of noodles on a warm summer day.

  (men gathered for lunch in Nanjing)

  It’s the ladies with stockinged-feet in open-toed sandals clopping along with a Hello Kitty bag under their arm and an umbrella over their head.

  It’s the lovers canoodling in a pagoda.

  It’s the young girls giggling and holding hands with their friends and sharing a bag of sweetened sunflower seeds.

  It’s the farmer wearing a straw hat and stooping in the field on the side of a long bumpy road.

  It’s the sight of hundreds of bicycles, mopeds, motorcycles, and wagons carrying enormous loads and not seeming to obey any traffic laws.

  It’s a taxi driver’s jar of hot water filled with tealeaves that looks like a glass full of grass.

  It’s babies with split-pants instead of diapers that slump over in crowded places and do their business on the floor.

  It’s men toasting every sip of wine at a large round table to show respect to their companions.

  It’s so many things one might miss if they just ventured into the biggest cities in China and never took a detour into a place off the beaten path.

  While I lived on the school’s campus, I loved to sit in the red tile roofed pagoda near my apartment and watch a little old man with a shock of thick, white hair practicing Tai Chi in the afternoons. Every day he wore a yellowing white T-shirt with holes around the underarms, fraying khaki pants, and thin, white Chinese shoes. His wrinkled, veined hands sliced the air in slow motion. It was so beautiful because of the ease and strength he harnessed.

  Watching him reminded me of someone playing an old violin. Even though the edges were worn and fraying, the music was brilliant. He never seemed to be bothered that I was there. For those few minutes a day that I watched him, I got to be the one who unabashedly stared in China.

  Soon the real China, like all things, will wither with increasing globalization and the rapid development that China is undergoing. After that it will be a quick show during a hotpot meal or a display in a museum. Get on a damn plane and see the real China while you can – you won’t regret it.

  COMING HOME

  When I finally arrived at the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, I felt like I had been gone for a lifetime. I was a different person. I was a traveler with stories to tell and new ideas about the world. I was going to be a writer and tell the world about Dianne and the Chinese. I was going to act again. But I worried that I wouldn’t be able to readjust to life in America. I had heard that some people experienced reverse culture shock.

  Carrying my rolling bag through the long bustling terminal, I was amazed to see all of the fat people in my country, all of the tall people, the pristine stores and restaurants that lined the terminal halls and the wonderful diversity of people everywhere. I was seeing America as if I were Chinese.

  As I got to the top of the escalator that led to the baggage claim area, I saw his red hair immediately in the waiting crowd. He was standing in the middle of the mob, thinner than I remembered. His blue eyes sparkled and he was leaning forward, waiting for me to cross the security line.

  The sight of George was home. He had waited for me. Although I wasn’t sure if we would work out, I knew that I had made the right choice in leaving him to go to China. I had done something amazing for myself. I learned about the world. I traveled on my own and I did something that no one could take from me.

  THE THINGS I APPRECIATE ABOUT CHINA

  The things I appreciate about China:

  The Chinese can count to ten on one hand.

  They wear slippers in the house. Always.

  They drink hot green tea all day long and in every season. I am a big fan of green tea now but not green tea flavored popsicles or toothpaste.

  Some interesting tidbits:

  The Chinese don’t seem to know how to form lines, especially in rural areas, so it’s every man for himself.

  The Chinese don’t hug, but they will tolerate overly emotional American huggers.

  China is a predominantly atheist country.

  The Chinese eat out of bowls and put refuse on a plate under their bowl or on the table.

  Mainland China has one time zone.

  The eligibility age for marriage in China is (generally) 20 for women and 22 for men. Shouldn’t that be the law everywhere? Or maybe 30…

  Completely observational Chinese cultural learnings:

  The Chinese are like Southerners – they love tea and rice and force-feeding guests.

  Fat Chinese are usually rich (see five-story Walmart in Wuhu, where rich folks shop, for proof).

  Belching at the table and spitting in public is okay.

  Suntans are out, hence gobs of whitening cream in stores and parasols and gloved hands on sunny days.

  All Chinese have straight pubes (this may or may not be true, but if we’re going on my observations at the bathhouse, it is).

  Permed blonde hair is in (at least with young men it was when I was there).

  The Chinese think of us Americans like we think of the Russians – boy can they drink!

  A rural traveler’s toolbox:

  - Imodium - I got travelers’ diarrhea almost every other week in China.

  - Colace (stool softener) – Sometimes I had the opposite problem.

  - A common antibiotic like Cipro – On occasion, my travelers’ diarrhea would last until I was sure it was going to kill me and then I was glad I brought Cipro with me.

  - Kleenex mini packs (to be used as toilet paper).

  - Purell, LOTS OF PURELL! Once you’ve ridden on a bus in any country, you’ll be glad you have this stuff with you.

  - Protein bars, peanut butter, nuts, vitamins and Nutella packets – these may be your staples if you are in a rural area.

  - Rosetta Stone Chinese. Pimsleur apparently taught me some snooty sayings.

  - Index cards for useful spelled out phrases you can’t quite say correctly.

  - A camera that works well but isn’t bait for thieves.

  - Two pairs of ankle-length jeans so you don’t have to roll up your pants in urine-lined bathrooms.

  Items teachers may want to bring:

  - A photo album – Your students will want to know what your friends, family and home look like.

  - Magazines – I made up an entire two-hour lesson out of magazines I brought with me. I had the students find things in them that would not be found in Chinese magazines.

  - Thank you notes, birthd
ay cards, sympathy notes – you will need them all.

  THOUGHTS ON TRAVEL

  When you’re traveling, it’s always important to remember that what you find disgusting, strange or confusing is home to someone else. It’s easy to forget all of the revolting things that happen around where you live when you travel somewhere else.

  Every morning I lived in Atlanta for a year, I saw prostitutes working on a street corner two blocks from my apartment. It didn’t bother me because I was used to it. It was my home. No place on Earth is without crime and ugliness, but those are the things that are easiest to see in a new place because they can be bothersome or scary. The things you should try to look for when you’re traveling are the things that make us the same and different culturally. That knowledge is the fascinating souvenir you can take home free from anywhere you go.

  It took me weeks of being back at home to realize this. At first, I told stories of China laced with humor, sarcasm and even a little disdain. Overtime, the more I talked about the people I met there, the places I went and the things I saw, the more nostalgic I felt, the more I wished I had seen and the more questions I wished I had asked.