Looking at China through the Fisheye Lens (no pictures!)

Lemme tell you all a little story. It's possible that this story has a moral (I have yet to put it together) but it is certainly no fable, as it is a story OF THIS VERY DAY.

I feel like I'm hyping this thing up, and it's probably not necessary. Lemme just begin, lest ye be underwhelmed:

Today we had "中文桌子”, or "Chinese Table" for lunch. This meant a plethora - nay, a veritable smorgasbord (again?!) - of delicious Chinese dishes, including my favorite: sweet and sour fish (called something I can't now remember - luckily most restaurants have pictures, so I can reliably find it). This is a big ol' foot long lake fish that has been doused thoroughly in sweet orange sauce, not unlike that on your good ol' (does he have something against the letter 'd'?) neighborhood takeout place's sweet 'n' sour pork, and then cut so that it forms nice little cubes, still stuck to the spine, or what have you, such that it is both delicious and fun to eat.

Oh, did I mention that once prepared, it doesn't have bones? Boom. But let me tell what it does have: eyes. And now you guess what I was just enticed into eating.

哎呀，at lunch I was sitting next to my enterprising minority studies 老师 (laoshi: professor, teacher) who informed me that there is a local specialty soup made of just the heads of this very fish - a dish that she finds rather enjoyable. She proceeded to demonstrate this fact by pulling out (no easy task with chopsticks) one of the eyes, and quickly popping it into her mouth. Sensing the challenge, and knowing I couldn't bear to let this opportunity pass (I'd already, last weekend, said no to a chicken foot eating contest) I picked up my chopsticks and made several awkward and deeply disturbing forays into the fish's right eye socket. Taking hold of the eye from both sides, I pulled toward me, and the eye, with a gruesome snap, came free.

And now, came the waiting game. I should have just done it quickly, like my professor, but I wished to conceal my horror with a guise of academic fascination.

Of course, what I saw only made it worse. The eye alternated between gray and whitish blobs, was slimy with what was perhaps only 50% sweet sauce, and had an awful white cable dangling from one side, an appendage I couldn't help but realize was the optic nerve.

Let me pause here and tell you a little something about my personal beliefs. I'm not much of a religious person, but I have a couple deeply-held ethical positions. Firstly: that if in the time of Abraham, there should come to the land of Sharandar a man with a limp, and a goat, and clothes of blue linen, and the moon should be at its zenith, then the king should welcome him gladly, else there's a fair chance that the next day shall be cloudy, with a 40% chance of precipitation and wind from the NE. Secondly: that spiders are, in fact, not our friends, but are instead some of the most wicked creatures known to man. Lastly, thou shalt not eat eyes (this is perhaps related to the fact that spiders have - oh jesus - eight of the things).

And believe me, I have been punished for my transgressions. Not only was the eye itself salty, juicy - essentially everything you think an eye might be - but the fish has taken his revenge. He has responded to my violation of his optical orb by cursing me with "la duzi" (pronounced lah dood-zuh, this is not in fact french for "the doozy" - although that moniker wouldn't be amiss), or what you might call diarrheal oblivion.

I'm gonna leave you guys to think on that - Chinese cooking class starts soon. But here's a cultural note while we're at it: in China, I can discuss the movements of my bowels (frequency and consistency - all welcome!) and it is, well, normal. In America, where you are all reading this, that passage above was a little overly personal. Ah well, we only have culture to blame.

Oh, and I got a bike!

Week II: Echo: The Return: He's Back, and We Didn't Think He'd Post Again

Hey there, friends, family, acquaintances, Italian citizens! Week two update here. Kunming is warm, the air is clear (for China), and… the first week of classes are over! The bridge has been crossed, the wall breached, the fiver forded with minimal loss of oxen and laudanum. The classes have been for the most part interesting – if the content is somewhat lacking given our limited vocabulary, at least constantly reading and speaking in Chinese is challenging enough that there is never a slack moment.

I mean, really, no slack moments. If that’s even a real phrase – my grasp on English weakens by the day, and I fear I shall come out of this experience with my English sounding like a mix between bad modern poetry, old British idioms, and Chinese middle school essays.

But to get back to the point – the point, that is, of the utter unslackness of moments – I shall say that while at Brown, in class, my mind doth often wander. We’ve all been there. You go in, sit down, listen with (the wrong?) half of your brain, take some notes, and then straight-up bounce – all while thinking of a veritable smorgasbord of topics related only subconsciously to the lecture you attended. But here in Kunming I’ve had to change my ways. Ten seconds of wandering and you’re going to find yourself on the awkward end of a grammatically and lexically expectant question. After the first two-hour orientation meeting held entirely in Chinese, my brain hurt – I wasn’t used to paying attention to something for that long. Something that isn’t, say, Lord of the Rings.

The day-to-day speaking grows easier, though. I think. I mean, it’ll seem like it’s far too easy speaking with my 同学们, (I must be getting better) but then I try going up to a magazine stand and asking where to buy second-hand bikes – yikes! After a minute of Chinese translations for “Say wha-?” I hope that they’ll mention something with a number in it – I can do that! Even if this number’s context is “you’ll need to drive for fifteen minutes to get there!” As you may have guessed, I have yet to find that bike – the secondhand market eludes me.

Butanywayguys: I gotta run – I’m off to Fuxian Hu in fifteen minutes – it’s one of the deepest freshwater lakes in China, and, to quote my roommate in translation, “totally bomb awesome” and “legit baller,” so this should be fun. Hopefully pictures are forthcoming – I forget my connector cord, so right now it’s a no-go.

Until next time, have a good weekend everyone!

Episode IV: A New... Place

Huanying! Welcome!

Here starts the wacky(?) account of my time in the beautiful Southwestern Chinese city of Kunming.

It's now the night of day one (two?). Time just moves so slowly in a new place. The days be packed, y'know? With no real solid sleep since Monday night, it feels like I'm going to bed for the first time after a hella marathon day. Lei si le.* It's hard to feel jetlagged after one of those fourteen hour flights - it's hard to feel much of anything, as your body is just about overloaded on vaguely unpleasant stimuli. You've been intermittently chatting, reading, feeling sick, trying puzzles, eating a truly unappetizing meal (is this dinner? What is this?) watching the latest of the Hollywood B list (Iron Man 2, American remake of Death at a Funeral), nodding off for what really can't have been more than twenty minutes - when what you really need is a knock on the head to keep you out for ten hours - having another meal (is this lunch?), trying the book again, dozing only to wake up to find your legs are in some strange pretzel shape, and that you now need to pee, except you're one new sleeping acquaintance away from the aisle, having what is definitely supposed to be breakfast (are they serving these backwards as some sort of time warp?), etc. Ad, if not infinitum, a few more hours.

The final leg, from Beijing to Kunming, was thankfully short, and made interesting by my seat neighbors – an excited teenager and her mother. After initial attempts at conversation ended mostly in her giggles and my puzzled expressions, or with me insincerely asserting that yes, I had understood, I took the opportunity of her looking at my in-flight reading (Alice in Wonderland and a book of kenken) to try to teach them the number puzzle. My explanations were clumsy and lacking in crucial vocab, but after fifteen minutes and several example puzzles, we had something of a breakthrough. But that was enough for all three of us, and we tried conversation once more. The girl tried to tell me where she was in school, or worked. I thought it was the former, as her hand motions seemed to imply cooking, but the word she kept repeating, and which I of course did not know, I recently found to translate as coal mine. So, as they say in Rome, go figure. When they handed out the flight meals I was more exhausted than hungry, but my repeated assertions that I did not need food were taken for politeness, and I ended up with some local rice noodles and an assortment of breads and pastries that the girl and her mother insisted I try. When I poked at the rice noodles and took a hesitant bite without mixing together noodles and sauce, she took my lack of appetite for unfamiliarity, and proceeded to prepare my food for me, dictating my meal. Sensing defeat (I really was far too nervous to eat anything, and unable to stand my ground and continue to refuse her urgings that I try this muffin, and this roll…) I pretended to fall asleep, and then actually fell asleep.

But let me backtrack: Beijing airport: where it hit me what I'm doing this semester. The leap of faith I'm taking by jumping headlong into a lingual/cultural immersion that I am only barely prepared for, with my self-confidence as collateral, and starting bet. That makes it sound bad. What I mean is that the stakes feel much higher here; and as a result, I have so much to gain. WILL I EVEN BE THE SAME PERSON AFTER THIS?

Knowingly entering into an experience that is hailed to be one of the most important and transformative of your life is something that I would guess never feels fully comfortable. It seems that if I’m expecting it, it can’t possibly affect me so much, but I know I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

But ugh, I’m already getting too meta. Bu hao yisi. Not that that was all that thoughtful – I’m just shooting for something a little more surface level for now. The introspection comes later. With the book deal.

Let’s stick to the facts: got a great new roommate, by the name of Li Ming (李明).Met my fellow students, who seem like a great group. More grad students than I expected (I mean, I didn’t expect any) – at least four are here to prepare for Fulbright research or a similar program. I’m allowed to speak English with them until Sunday, and I’ve got to say, I’m treasuring my final days of feeling fully able to express myself. Chinese levels on the program seem to vary a decent amount, and I currently find myself near the bottom. I expected as much, given that I’ve only studied Chinese for two years, while the program recommends the equivalent of three, but it’s still a little disappointing to find myself slightly behind in group conversations. Missing the drift, as it were. My roommate helps me greatly, though – he speaks relatively slowly and clearly to me, so I get the majority. And hey, it can only get better, right? RIGHT? Right.

Anyway, I gotta run. Test in half an hour. Then… bike-buying! Maybe. I’ll let you know.

*author's note: in this blog, there will be Zhonglish (see: Chinglish). It will only get worse. Come ready.