I’m going to apologise now if I overuse the following words: strange, weird, foreign and alien. Only because that particular lexis is very much reflective of my experience so far…
I arrived in China on 21/2/12. The last couple of days building up to my arrival were some of the hardest and most nerve racking of my entire life. Not only because I’d be adjusting to a new culture, but also because I’d be facing the prospect of teaching English to kids, with about 6 hours worth of teaching experience under my belt (6 hours of teaching experience involving adults). I repeatedly joke with my family, “Is it too late to change my mind? Yes? Ok then.” My anxiousness became clearly evident as my journey drew close. It may as well have been scrawled across my face.
Boarding the plane to Beijing, a nearby passenger could see my expression and asked if it was my first time. Her name was Carol and she was a teacher of English and American Literature at a university in China. She was extremely friendly, kind and reassuring. I appreciated her advice above all else because, at the end of the day, she had been to the country and new what I was letting myself in for. She told me what I wanted to hear, but also what I needed to hear. There was one piece of advice in particular that stuck with me: don’t get drunk. Now, having just graduated, I haven’t completely left my student mentality behind. She warned me that getting drunk in China, as a Westerner, is sometimes an extremely stupid thing to do. If something goes wrong, more often than not, it will be your fault. In effect, you’ll either be arrested, deported, who knows. That was a sobering thought.
On approach to Beijing Carol asked me if I’d like her to accompany me to my gate. I know I came across as scared, but still, I’m an adult and I can look after myself. Just to be on the safe side though, I accepted her offer. Better to be safe than sorry right?
We arrived at Beijing and the transfer was a lot smoother than I had expected; underneath all the Mandarin instructions there was English. I was also worried about transferring not only due to the potential language barrier, but also because I had to go through the process of collecting my luggage and checking in again. Once when I was 15 years old, travelling with a friend, I had to do this in JFK airport on my way to New Zealand. Due to some mistakes filling out the arrivals card, the bustling environment and the nature of the people we were dealing with, we missed our connecting flight. Eventually someone was kind enough to help the two foreign, stranded teenagers, and after running to another terminal we just managed to board an alternative plane in time.
Carol kindly left me at my gate, where I had a couple of hours before my second departure. I expected Beijing to be much, much busier, considering it’s the airport for the capital of the most populace country in the entire world. And yet open space, empty seats and a distinct scarcity was what surrounded me. This can’t be Beijing. This can’t be China. I soon realised it only felt this way because the airport itself was grandiose; its exteriors seemed to be made entirely of glass, the ceilings were extremely high and the structure seemed to stretch for miles. Staring through the windows I was struck by the sky and the prominent, murky, greyness. At first I couldn’t tell if it was the weather, or if it was the pollution that gave it this tinge (it soon became clear it was the latter).I boarded my plane to Xi’an and that was when I had the biggest shock of this experience to date. I sat down towards the back of the plane, and then, taking in my surroundings, I could only see jet black hair above all the headrests. I’m a minority, which I know shouldn’t have surprised me. If anything I expected it, but you can’t control a reaction like that. At that moment I couldn’t help but let some doubt creep into my mind. I’ve been brought up in, and have only really experienced, Western society. I’d been to Bali as a child, but it’s something I barely remember, and it was an age where you couldn’t fully appreciate the culture around you. I wanted an alien experience, and right then I knew I was getting exactly what I asked for.
I stepped off the plane in Xi’an, where John and Brianna met me, as promised by the school. They were both teachers, American and very informative. Stepping out of the airport, I was once again hit by the pollution in the air, or by the fact you could basically taste it. I’d compare breathing this air to very, very slowly smoking a cigarette. When you breathe in the smoke from the tobacco, you can sometimes feel what your inhaling tickling your throat, which is caused by the burning of the tiny hairs inside your windpipe. I have a similar sensation breathing the air in Xi’an, and like the first time I ever smoked, it makes me feel like I need to cough. Last night I even woke up with a headache, which I think was due to the fact my throat had become extremely tight.
We were driven to Aston in Xi’an, about 40 minutes away from the airport. The way people drive here is, well, as expected I guess. From the outside it appears unworkable, ridiculous and extremely dangerous. The logic involves driving through the smallest gaps, ignoring all zebra crossings and cutting across incoming traffic if it’s in anyway possible to do so. The weird thing is though, from what I’ve seen so far, they seem to make it work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to tour China in a Tuc-Tuc, because I actually value my life. I do, however, feel relatively comfortable in a taxi, despite the nation’s driving tendencies. I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s ignorance, perhaps it’s because there’s so much traffic they can barely move at a speed that’d give you whiplash, or perhaps it’s because here it’s just normal. Either way, I’d never drive here.
John and Brianna showed me around the school and to my hotel, which happened to be adjacent to each other. Looking at the hotel, well, you wouldn’t know it was there. The ground floor has three people dressed all in black, sitting behind desks, in front of shelves filled sporadically with food available to purchase. The hotel lobby is actually on the 5th floor, and my room is on the top floor. The hotel room was nothing short of a massive disappointment; it’s tiny, it stinks of what I think/hope is mould and it doesn’t have any windows. I feel the lack of natural light has definitely played a large part in impairing my ability to adjust quickly to the jet lag, as I’ve been falling asleep far too early every day so far.
We swiftly left the hotel and John and Brianna took the time to lead me to a nearby hostel, where we eat a pizza, drunk beer and played a Chinese drinking game involving dice. The aim was to try and teach me the numbers 1-10 in Mandarin, but due to some heavy jet lag I only managed 1-7, which may have hindered me slightly. We couldn’t stay long as I was due to for a medical check up the following day, which is mandatory in China for any potential foreign workers. The hostel workers were also trying to sell us more beer, which definitely wasn’t allowed as I couldn’t eat or drink up to 12 hours before the check up, and I’m pretty sure it was in 10 hours.
I lead the way (best I could) back to the hotel, which was difficult in Xi’an as the streets were ridiculously busy. Xi’an seemed, to me, to be busier than London. I should know too, having only been there a few days before to sort out the visa.
The following day I got up for the medical appointment, where I was poked, prodded, scanned, the lot. They even asked if I’d ever had any problems with my ribs, because (as I later found out) one happens to be bigger than the other. I was taken to the hospital with another new teacher named Barbara, by a teacher’s aid named Cathy. Cathy is about 5ft, extremely friendly and like a tiny ball of energy, waving at you frantically whenever she sees you. Barbara is originally from Uganda, but has been brought up in London. She told me that she’s been in a relationship with her boyfriend from back home for over nine years, and that he was willing to come out and live in China, if she wanted to extend her contract past its six month expiration date. I was glad to hear I wasn’t the only person in a relationship embarking on this experience, and I think she was too. We both laughed about the number of times we’d heard the questions concerning what we’d do with our other half once we’d left, as if everything would just come to a grinding halt.
After the hospital I went back to the hotel to form a plan for the day. So, basically I fell asleep at 11 a.m. and woke up at 2 a.m. ... Nice one.
The following morning I left the hotel at about 7 a.m. and I had another one of those experiences that really struck me. Despite the swarm of people in Xi’an’s streets the previous evening, the city was now the complete polar opposite. Hardly anyone was up at that time, in comparison to before at least. Even London is still busy at 7 a.m.; it doesn’t just die down. I could also hear what sounded like an ice-cream van coming towards me, playing what sounded like a Christmas carol. Except it wasn’t an ice cream van at all… It was a rubbish truck playing “Santa Clause is coming to town”. I wandered round trying to find a place to eat, but almost everywhere was still closed, except for a few venders on the street.
Eventually I found a Starbucks, where I ordered an egg and bacon panini. Apparently egg doesn’t translate well into Mandarin as this was a cheese and bacon panini, with some weird, sweet purple stuff in. It must have been OK though as I had another one today. I sat by the window in Starbucks, where I stared at passers by and they stared back at the Westerner eating his ill-described food. People were outside on the streets doing Tai-Chi, some were even jogging into work in their work clothes, but I couldn’t tell if this was because they wanted to or if it was because they were late. In the UK this would only ever be due to the latter. One guy, carrying a plastic bag in one hand, was even running backwards, turning his head when he deemed it necessary, so as to ensure he wasn’t going to hit anybody.
Afterwards I found a nearby Wal-Mart, which was difficult to shop in, as almost everything was written in Mandarin. Some brands were recognisable, such as Lays (the American version of Walkers). However, the flavours were not. Numb and sour, lemon and thyme, and some fish varieties too, just to name a few. I ended up buying crisps, bread, peanut butter, cutlery and water. I forgot to mention that water is essential here, as you can’t drink the tap water, due to the pollution.
Later I met my American manager, Tom. I’d heard his Mandarin was profound, which quickly became evident when he casually dropped it into side conversations with his Chinese colleagues. Hopefully I’ll be that good in six months. I can always dream. After this meeting I went back to the hotel, and once again I fell asleep far too early.
The next day I was up early again to go to the police station with Cathy and another family, in order to get the process for my resident’s permit started. The family was an interesting concoction of nationalities: Kiwi, Ausi and Chinese. The Kiwi father had previously lived in Australia, where he met his Ausi wife and where they had also adopted their three Chinese children. The children had been Australia long enough to lose much of their original heritage, however, so they could no longer speak Mandarin and also had Australian accents. Apparently this played part of their reason for coming to China, as they wanted their children to try and rediscover/reconnect with their roots. Due to the ethnicity of the children, many of the Chinese people had been approaching them and speaking to them in Chinese, expecting them to respond in kind.
I went for lunch with the family and tried my first bit of authentic, local Chinese cuisine. We had dumplings. No, let me rephrase that: we accidentally ordered five plates of dumplings. I still don’t know whether they had tricked us on purpose or whether this was an accident, but either way the food was nice. With the dumplings came hoi sin and chilli sauce, broccoli and pork with chillies. Overall it was nice, but I don’t think I’ll have dumplings again for a little while.
I’m missing everyone at home, but simultaneously, I’m also adjusting to the culture shock, and in many ways, enjoying the transition.
