This probably should have been two blogs...

Warning: this blog could take you a while to get through, so grab a beer, get comfortable, and read about my first full week in China. That’s right, you heard me, I survived my first week. If you have been following along, you know that I am not actually able to post this blog myself due to the restrictions and filters of the Chinese internet. I for one think it’s admirable the government is looking after its citizens by prohibiting free speech and monitoring the sites they are able to look at. It’s like having a big brother. (Did you get the reference? 1984? Big Brother?) Just checking. Well, if my sarcasm didn’t come through loud and clear, let me clarify, I think this sucks. But, I knew about the government when I signed on for this gig, so I guess my only option is to stop bitching and find people to help me get around the system. Which I did. HA.
I’ve already given you the down and dirty version of my very first night of arrival. Well since that night, my week has been a blur of car horns, bowls of noodles, free whiskey, cheap shopping, transvestites, cabbie fights, and being on the receiving end of a lot of staring and pointing. And you read correctly, I did say transvestites. I’ll get to that later. So, first day, a family volunteered to put me up for a few days until I could move into my apartment at the university. Seems nice, right? And they were nice, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t weird. Apparently some Chinese people are fascinated by foreigners, like we’re some sort of zoo exhibit, and we should be observed and studied. So this family watched my every move, and if I left, they called my Chinese speaking friends to know when I would I return and if they thought I should have been back already. Last time I checked I was an adult, but maybe I can chock it up to them being cautious on my behalf. The awesome part of the deal was that the family cooked for me, and let me tell you, the dumplings they made were in my top 5 favorite meals ever. I think they were actually made by angels. So a free place to stay, good food, and oh yeah, a 13 year old boy whose parents want him to learn English. During the day, I spent my free time with NaNa (as in hey, hey, hey, goodbye), a 13 year old who wanted to learn English as much as I wanted to stick a hot curling iron up my bum. But his parents insist that we spend the day together “learning from each other.” I did my best to teach him English, but he much preferred to watch Chinese television involving a warrior, a pig, and I think it was some kind of monkey. If I tried to work on my Chinese, he corrected my pronunciation by shouting at me. No joke, this kid spoke in normal volumes until it was time to tell me how much my Chinese sucked. Ah well, all part of the experience I guess. So the really weird part came when it was time to leave for the university. The family wanted to follow along so they could see where I lived and come see me whenever they wanted. Not that I don’t appreciate being put up for a couple nights, but really? Does that mean you can have unlimited access to me for free English lessons or observational practices? Not in my book, suckas. Peace out, I’m gone. Except that I left my photo album there so I will have to make one more appearance. Fuck.
So now I am settled, somewhat, into my apartment on the university campus, and it is pretty damn big; so big in fact that it echoes. I haven’t determined whether this is a good thing or not, because it is such a big open space that it borders on creepy, and the dirty white walls and dim fluorescent lighting make me feel like a straight jacket would be welcome attire. So it turns out I’m going to have a roommate, which I was not told about beforehand, so we’ll have to see how it goes with some chick named Nadia from Belarus. Hopefully she’s cool and isn’t offended by a little (or a lot of) mess. A couple interesting notes on my apartment: I have a sunroom for hanging and drying my clothes, which seems delightfully quaint to me. The kitchen, or should I say “kitchen” is a giant room with a refrigerator that smells of old vinegar, and a microwave and a hot plate. No counters, drawers, utensils, or sink. That’s right, I’ll be washing dishes in the bathroom. And speaking of bathrooms, if you are ever in China, don’t flush the toilet paper. Learned that one the hard way. The thing that baffles me most about Chinese homes is the lack of a shower area; the bathroom has a showerhead in it and you just hang out in the wide open space with no shower curtain or boundaries to restrict you. Kind of nice if you have claustrophobia of shower spaces. I personally don’t, but if you do, Chinese bathrooms will be right up your alley. Oh, and a on a quick note, the power and water have been going out spontaneously because of bridges being built nearby, the longest stretch being three days. Yeah, you can guess what I smelled like. Moving along…
So now I am starting to get acclimated and the first week has been what I would constitute as successful, but that does not mean I have not received my fair share of culture shock. Let’s talk for a moment about assless pants, because they seem to be all the rage for kids these days. Yep, kids don’t wear diapers because the world is their toilet, and why not eliminate inconvenience altogether by ripping the ass out of the pants? Who needs to waste time pulling pants down when there is a more efficient alternative? Now, I’m all for maximizing convenience and efficiency, and when I’m in a particularly long line in a women’s restroom I sometimes wish the world were my toilet, but it’s not and I have yet to get used to this. Walking down the street often results in unexpected and particularly atrocious smell pockets that smell like, well, shit. So there’s human feces to deal with, and I’m sad to report that I have not yet acclimated to the driving or crossing the street. These drivers are seriously deranged. We’re talking swerving into oncoming traffic to avoid waiting at a light and putting at least two cars next to each other in a one lane road. If a pedestrian dare try and venture out into the crosswalk, they are taking their own lives in their hands. My safest bet is to try and cross with another Chinese person who knows the ropes. It really is like a game of Frogger, and I’m still not convinced I’m going to win.
Speaking of driving experiences, on my very first solo taxi ride, I had the good fortune of encountering a lovely cab driver whose mother apparently never taught him that violence is not the answer. So I’m sitting in the back seat reveling in my glory that I successfully communicated to the cab driver where I wanted to go, and another cab driver cut us off. (At least that’s what I’m assuming, but with their driving, I don’t know how you differentiate between rude driving and just the norm). My cab driver starts screaming what I can only assume are obscenities and gesturing wildly out the window to this other miscreant, and before I know it we are stopped at a red light and my cab driver is out of the car, dragging the other driver out by his shirt collar and they are fist fighting in the street. I am just cowering in the back seat sending a text message to friends to inquire if this is normal. It’s not. So my cab driver apparently gives up after a while and returns to the car as if nothing has happened, and I can’t help but wonder, was it really necessary to keep the meter running?
As this blog is dragging on ridiculously, I will sum up one final experience that I think helps set the tone for my first week in China. Chinese night life. I met the other foreign teachers in the building, and they are big fans of the Shijiazhuang club scene. Oh and by the way, they’re awesome, and I really like them all, and I’m not just saying that in case they read this. Being more of a hole in the wall bar fan myself, I was quite the skeptic on the whole club thing. Basically, it can be equated to American clubs: loud crappy techno music, people in slutty attire out on the prowl trying to get laid, and crappy dancing. There were some differences, however, that I should note. First off, it pays to be a foreigner for the fact that we get free liquor in many clubs. I’m telling you, foreigners are novelty items over here. Next, I’ve never been to an American club where a python-laden Chinese transvestite was headlining; and if you’re wondering, yes, I touched the snake. (That is not a metaphor). I’ve also picked up on a club specific dice game with special hand signals that is a dice equivalent to the card game “bullshit.” All in all, a good week, and I haven’t had the peking pork scared out of me just yet.