One of the things I noticed during my LPI was my new ability to speak in Chinese to help me speak better Chinese (circumlocution)! For example, if I wanted to describe a car's characteristics in Chinese, but I didn't know the Chinese word for 'engine' I would talk about the machine inside the car that makes it go and ask what the word for that machine was. After the tester told me the word I would continue speaking and use the new word in place of the string of words describing that object.
I received the results of my LPI: Advanced Low. This is according to the American Council for the Teaching of Foreign Languages scale (ACTFL), and roughly corresponds to a 2 on the Interagency Language Roundtable scale (ILR). People had asked how this would correspond to a number of college courses completed, but colleges use these scales if they want to determine a student's level (specific classes in college are not geared to assess language proficiency in such a comprehensive way). I could say that I have completed two semesters of Chinese texts during my last semester, but I believe my speaking and listening ability is higher than a student who has studied Chinese in college for one year. In any case, the following is the ACTFL explanation of my current level:
Speakers at the Advanced-Low level are able to handle a variety of communicative tasks, although somewhat haltingly at times. They participate actively in most informal and a limited number of formal conversations on activities related to school, home, and leisure activities and, to a lesser degree, those related to events of work, current, public, and personal interest or individual relevance.
Advanced-Low speakers demonstrate the ability to narrate and describe in all major time frames (past, present and future) in paragraph length discourse, but control of aspect may be lacking at times. They can handle appropriately the linguistic challenges presented by a complication or unexpected turn of events that occurs within the context of a routine situation or communicative task with which they are otherwise familiar, though at times their discourse may be minimal for the level and strained. Communicative strategies such as rephrasing and circumlocution may be employed in such instances. In their narrations and descriptions, they combine and link sentences into connected discourse of paragraph length. When pressed for a fuller account, they tend to grope and rely on minimal discourse. Their utterances are typically not longer than a single paragraph. Structure of the dominant language is still evident in the use of false cognates, literal translations, or the oral paragraph structure of the speaker's own language rather than that of the target language.
While the language of Advanced-Low speakers may be marked by substantial, albeit irregular flow, it is typically somewhat strained and tentative, with noticeable self-correction and a certain 'grammatical roughness.' The vocabulary of Advanced-Low speakers is primarily generic in nature.
Advanced-Low speakers contribute to the conversation with sufficient accuracy, clarity, and precision to convey their intended message without misrepresentation or confusion, and it can be understood by native speakers unaccustomed to dealing with non-natives, even though this may be achieved through repetition and restatement. When attempting to perform functions or handle topics associated with the Superior level, the linguistic quality and quantity of their speech will deteriorate significantly.
2.02.2008
A Journey, An Exodus, A... you get the idea, right?
After leaving Peace Corps In-Service Training (IST) in Chengdu, we found ourselves on a soft-seat 18 hour train. Terrie asked the conductor and, luckily, we upgraded to hard sleepers. After arriving in Kunming, finding our Hostel and checking-in, we wandered around the plaza looking for something to eat. A strange tofu and rice-noodle dish looked good, tasted not-so-good, but filled me up. That night I had the beginning of what was to be several days of stomach pains. I paced back and forth throughout the night before falling asleep for only a few hours. The next day I called the Peace Corps Medical Office in Chengdu (the very place I had so recently left!). The doctor asked me several questions and I performed a battery of tests to rule out the immediate concern of Appendicitis (one included jumping high into the air and coming down hard on my heels). The day after I began to feel better, though the pains would come and go. The day after that we decided to leave for Vietnam, but the doctor was still concerned about the pain in my abdomen. Though the pain only came for a few minutes every hour or so, the Doctor wanted to make sure there were no major concerns before we left the country. An orchestrated effort on the part of Peace Corps and Terrie and me led us to the hospital to get a check-up and rule out any serious concerns. Upon entering the hospital we saw several signs in Chinese and many people with white masks. We walked up to the center reception island and I explained my need to see a doctor. The woman at the reception directed us upstairs to the gastrointestinal ward where we checked in for a small fee (about 60 cents) and we were then whisked into a doctor's office. This was a concern because it seemed that there were many Chinese people waiting in the adjoining room, but we did not ask if I was being treated differently. The doctor looked at us with alarm and began to ask questions in Chinese (How long have you had this pain in your stomach, do you have an appetite, etc.). Instead of answering the questions I asked the doctor to call the medical office in Chengdu so that the Peace Corps medical staff could answer her questions. "Can't you answer the questions yourself?" she asked, obviously nervous about making this phone call. After explaining the need to call (because PC had specific things they wanted to know about my condition) the doctor pulled a cell-phone from her pocket and learned of my situation from the PC medical staff. During the examination she applied pressure to different points on my abdomen and there was no pain. Finally she sent me down to have my blood drawn and examined (the fee for this was about $3.20). Here are some pictures of this process:
Drawing Blood
Waiting for the Doctor to Analyze the results
After taking my blood, the hospital personnel placed the vial in a large machine which printed out a paper for us to give the doctor. The doctor called the PC medical staff and explained that all of my blood results indicated no serious problem. We had the medical go-ahead to begin our trip to Vietnam. Interestingly, this entire process (leaving for the Hospital, registering, examination, paying for the blood exam, drawing blood, getting the results, the final examination of the results, and returning to the hostel took under one hour. We were impressed.
That night we boarded a bus bound for Hekou, a Chinese town on the border of Vietnam. Before getting on board a man took our bags and put them under the bus. "There is a 50 yuan fee ($7.50) for each bag because of gas," he said to us. We looked at one another skeptically and he pointed out that it was written on the back of our tickets and that all Chinese people must pay the bag fee too. We paid him 100 yuan and borded the bus. The bus was filled with 2 stories of very small beds in 3 rows. We squeezed our way through the aisle and found our beds before settling in and getting comfortable. The man who had taken our bags returned to ask other foreigners (a Japanese man and a Dutch woman) to pay the gas tax for their bags. They refused and he said he was going to take their tickets and refund their money so they could go the next day before he stormed to the front of the bus. I asked them about it and they said they didn't pay for their bags when the man put them in the compartment under the bus. Suspicious, I began to search the back of my ticket for a "gas fee" or "baggage fee." Although there were only Chinese characters on the back of the ticket, I found nothing regarding bags or extra fees. I challenged the man, explaining that others did not pay fees for their bags and that there was nothing on the ticket to suggest a need to do so. First he claimed that we paid an extra fee because our bags were so large, then showed me his clipboard and a hand-written "fee" of 50 yuan was on the top. Lies, I suddenly realized. Everything had been a show to get extra money from us, the unwitting foreign travelers. "You're cheating us!" I yelled in Chinese, alerting everyone on the bus that an argument was about to begin. A woman looked our over her sleeper-perch and asked to see my ticket. "It is the same price as mine," she said. I said that the man also charged me a luggage fee, which wasn't listed anywhere on the ticket. The man said, "You can go get the police if you don't believe me." But the last bluff belonged to me when I said, "I will, let me off this bus before we get going, I want to see the police immediately." As I spoke to the driver and a bus station employee at the front of the bus, the man quietly slipped off the bus. After several minutes I finally explained that the man had charged me a "luggage fee," and that nobody else had to pay it. The station employee asked me in Chinese, "Did you give him any money?" I didn't understand and she asked it louder and more frantically until another passenger translated very slowly, "she says... did you... give... money?"
"Yes!" I said, "We gave him 100 yuan." The woman, obviously angry, went after the man yelling at other employees in the crowded bus parking lot to try and stop him. Then she told me to wait at my sleeping perch because my money (which, this entire time had actually been Terrie's money) would be returned. A minute later it was returned and the matter was resolved. The bus crawled out of the station lot and we were on our way to Hekou. The ride was bumpy, but the sleepers were almost comfortable and we slept well. Early the next morning we awoke at the Hekou bus station and began the next phase of our journey: entering Vietnam. A fast talking Chinese man offered to help us get a train to Hanoi and the price seemed reasonable, so we bought tickets using Chinese Yuan. He said he would meet us on the other side of the border crossing (after we passed through Chinese and Vietnam customs) and offered his phone as proof of his sincerity (which I gladly tucked into my pocket).
China-Vietnam Border Crossing (Hekou to Lao Cai)
After passing customs (where they seemed especially concerned about books) we met the ticket salesman who provided our tickets and directed us toward the taxi area so that we could catch our soon-to-leave train at the nearby station. Three of us climbed into the van after the man explained that it would be 5,000 VND (Vietnam Dong) per person (about $7.50 total). When we arrived at the train station and gave him 100,000 VND he returned 50,000 VND, grossly overcharging us. We argued and demanded our money back, but he laughed nervously and refused. As a protest we threatened to sit in his van so that he would lose business until he gave us the fair, agreed-upon price. He walked over to talk with some friends on motorcycles while we talked about our next move in his van. One idea was to take his keys and wait until he gave us a fair price before we gave them back. This idea was the most daring we had and we began to get nervous about the repercussions of such an action (would we be pursued by a gang of angry Vietnamese?), so we decided to just leave. On our way up the steps to the station we encountered the driver again and his friend started to explain how such a van costs so much to maintain, etc. etc. I have never felt such a strange combination of anger and sadness at such injustice. The added fact that we were all volunteers who were struggling to travel in the first place made it seem so unfair. We shook it off and boarded the the train to Hanoi. The new lesson was clear: always arrange prices up front, and wait for change to materialize before handing over bills.
On the train there were two interesting aspects: First, when the Vietnamese say "bench seats," they literally mean bench seats. Second, the reason it takes 10 hours to cover 200 miles is, well, I'll let you do the math (We also had about 15 stops which were 5 minutes each). No, really, I want you to do the math.
The low point on the train was when we looked at our tickets, converted the currencies in our heads, and realized that we'd paid the fast-talking ticket salesman (whose phone I had held for extra security) about double the actual ticket price.
The high point on the train was the limited communication with Vietnamese people by pointing to phrases in our guide-book (we asked almost everyone if they spoke Chinese but nobody understood). People were happy to try and communicate and find out where we were from. We had finally arrived in Hanoi, but were stopped at the gate because Terrie had lost her ticket. We stood to the side searching through her bag for the ticket and wondering what would happen next when the attendants decided to turn a blind eye and allow us through. We had made it.
Today in Hanoi we were in line for water-puppet theater tickets (I'll explain later, I promise!) and we heard the first Chinese since we left China more than a day before. It happened after a man cut in front of me in line as he asked his wife questions about which tickets they should get. Clear language was coming from his mouth in the form of Mandarin Chinese! Terrie and I smiled at one-another and I said in Chinese, "Excuse me, would you please get in line, we got here first." His wife, in perfect Chinese custom, said, "oh, how embarrassing (we are sorry)." The husband then whispered to his wife, "They speak Chinese!" We later talked with them about our work in China as volunteers and how we were just traveling through Vietnam.
And now we look ahead. Our next destination is warmer and the Lonely Planet guidebook claims that it is "[the] intellectual, cultural and spiritual heartbeat of Vietnam". We will leave in two days.
Drawing Blood
Waiting for the Doctor to Analyze the results
After taking my blood, the hospital personnel placed the vial in a large machine which printed out a paper for us to give the doctor. The doctor called the PC medical staff and explained that all of my blood results indicated no serious problem. We had the medical go-ahead to begin our trip to Vietnam. Interestingly, this entire process (leaving for the Hospital, registering, examination, paying for the blood exam, drawing blood, getting the results, the final examination of the results, and returning to the hostel took under one hour. We were impressed.
That night we boarded a bus bound for Hekou, a Chinese town on the border of Vietnam. Before getting on board a man took our bags and put them under the bus. "There is a 50 yuan fee ($7.50) for each bag because of gas," he said to us. We looked at one another skeptically and he pointed out that it was written on the back of our tickets and that all Chinese people must pay the bag fee too. We paid him 100 yuan and borded the bus. The bus was filled with 2 stories of very small beds in 3 rows. We squeezed our way through the aisle and found our beds before settling in and getting comfortable. The man who had taken our bags returned to ask other foreigners (a Japanese man and a Dutch woman) to pay the gas tax for their bags. They refused and he said he was going to take their tickets and refund their money so they could go the next day before he stormed to the front of the bus. I asked them about it and they said they didn't pay for their bags when the man put them in the compartment under the bus. Suspicious, I began to search the back of my ticket for a "gas fee" or "baggage fee." Although there were only Chinese characters on the back of the ticket, I found nothing regarding bags or extra fees. I challenged the man, explaining that others did not pay fees for their bags and that there was nothing on the ticket to suggest a need to do so. First he claimed that we paid an extra fee because our bags were so large, then showed me his clipboard and a hand-written "fee" of 50 yuan was on the top. Lies, I suddenly realized. Everything had been a show to get extra money from us, the unwitting foreign travelers. "You're cheating us!" I yelled in Chinese, alerting everyone on the bus that an argument was about to begin. A woman looked our over her sleeper-perch and asked to see my ticket. "It is the same price as mine," she said. I said that the man also charged me a luggage fee, which wasn't listed anywhere on the ticket. The man said, "You can go get the police if you don't believe me." But the last bluff belonged to me when I said, "I will, let me off this bus before we get going, I want to see the police immediately." As I spoke to the driver and a bus station employee at the front of the bus, the man quietly slipped off the bus. After several minutes I finally explained that the man had charged me a "luggage fee," and that nobody else had to pay it. The station employee asked me in Chinese, "Did you give him any money?" I didn't understand and she asked it louder and more frantically until another passenger translated very slowly, "she says... did you... give... money?"
"Yes!" I said, "We gave him 100 yuan." The woman, obviously angry, went after the man yelling at other employees in the crowded bus parking lot to try and stop him. Then she told me to wait at my sleeping perch because my money (which, this entire time had actually been Terrie's money) would be returned. A minute later it was returned and the matter was resolved. The bus crawled out of the station lot and we were on our way to Hekou. The ride was bumpy, but the sleepers were almost comfortable and we slept well. Early the next morning we awoke at the Hekou bus station and began the next phase of our journey: entering Vietnam. A fast talking Chinese man offered to help us get a train to Hanoi and the price seemed reasonable, so we bought tickets using Chinese Yuan. He said he would meet us on the other side of the border crossing (after we passed through Chinese and Vietnam customs) and offered his phone as proof of his sincerity (which I gladly tucked into my pocket).
China-Vietnam Border Crossing (Hekou to Lao Cai)
After passing customs (where they seemed especially concerned about books) we met the ticket salesman who provided our tickets and directed us toward the taxi area so that we could catch our soon-to-leave train at the nearby station. Three of us climbed into the van after the man explained that it would be 5,000 VND (Vietnam Dong) per person (about $7.50 total). When we arrived at the train station and gave him 100,000 VND he returned 50,000 VND, grossly overcharging us. We argued and demanded our money back, but he laughed nervously and refused. As a protest we threatened to sit in his van so that he would lose business until he gave us the fair, agreed-upon price. He walked over to talk with some friends on motorcycles while we talked about our next move in his van. One idea was to take his keys and wait until he gave us a fair price before we gave them back. This idea was the most daring we had and we began to get nervous about the repercussions of such an action (would we be pursued by a gang of angry Vietnamese?), so we decided to just leave. On our way up the steps to the station we encountered the driver again and his friend started to explain how such a van costs so much to maintain, etc. etc. I have never felt such a strange combination of anger and sadness at such injustice. The added fact that we were all volunteers who were struggling to travel in the first place made it seem so unfair. We shook it off and boarded the the train to Hanoi. The new lesson was clear: always arrange prices up front, and wait for change to materialize before handing over bills.
On the train there were two interesting aspects: First, when the Vietnamese say "bench seats," they literally mean bench seats. Second, the reason it takes 10 hours to cover 200 miles is, well, I'll let you do the math (We also had about 15 stops which were 5 minutes each). No, really, I want you to do the math.
The low point on the train was when we looked at our tickets, converted the currencies in our heads, and realized that we'd paid the fast-talking ticket salesman (whose phone I had held for extra security) about double the actual ticket price.
The high point on the train was the limited communication with Vietnamese people by pointing to phrases in our guide-book (we asked almost everyone if they spoke Chinese but nobody understood). People were happy to try and communicate and find out where we were from. We had finally arrived in Hanoi, but were stopped at the gate because Terrie had lost her ticket. We stood to the side searching through her bag for the ticket and wondering what would happen next when the attendants decided to turn a blind eye and allow us through. We had made it.
Today in Hanoi we were in line for water-puppet theater tickets (I'll explain later, I promise!) and we heard the first Chinese since we left China more than a day before. It happened after a man cut in front of me in line as he asked his wife questions about which tickets they should get. Clear language was coming from his mouth in the form of Mandarin Chinese! Terrie and I smiled at one-another and I said in Chinese, "Excuse me, would you please get in line, we got here first." His wife, in perfect Chinese custom, said, "oh, how embarrassing (we are sorry)." The husband then whispered to his wife, "They speak Chinese!" We later talked with them about our work in China as volunteers and how we were just traveling through Vietnam.
And now we look ahead. Our next destination is warmer and the Lonely Planet guidebook claims that it is "[the] intellectual, cultural and spiritual heartbeat of Vietnam". We will leave in two days.
1.21.2008
The Train We Missed
Yesterday we left in plenty of time to catch our train from Guiyang to Chengdu. When I say "plenty of time" I refer to an amount of time which is typically needed plus fifteen minutes due to the holiday rush (Spring Festival is like Christmas around here). After having difficulties catching a cab we finally secured one and 3 of the 5 of us piled in. As we watched the clock in our taxi and thought about our 2 friends still waiting for another taxi at the curb, we realized that it was possible that we would miss our train.
Suddenly hope appeared on the horizon. The silhouettes of our two friends could be seen in a taxi which had just pulled into the crowded lane ahead of us. Somehow their taxi had made better time and was more successfully navigating through traffic. Our driver happily waved people into the lane, waited for people to cross in front of us and, at one point, began clipping his nails indifferently. Never have I seen a driver with such courtesy and never have I been in such a hurry.
We pulled into the train station about 5 minutes before our train was scheduled to leave and we sprinted, laden with bags, to the x-ray station at the station entrance. After cutting in line without shame we dropped our bags onto the x-ray belt, picked them up, and chose the stairs instead of the escalator because there were no people blocking our way.
When we arrived at our gate and asked about our train, the conductor pointed to a train just outside the window which, for a moment, was motionless. After that brief moment passed, train began to move and our 7 friends (who had boarded and were wondering where we were) officially lost all hope that we would make the train. We all dropped our bags and looked at one another with a sense of being robbed. The Chinese people in the train station, understanding what had happened, looked at us with a mixture of wonderment and curiosity.
I have never seen so many cars and people, or felt so overwhelmed. People were everywhere and the lines for purchasing tickets stretched out of the station, into the plaza, over the steps and into the street. Hundreds of people waited in each line and we didn't know how to change our tickets or what to do.
Getting a call from our Chinese teacher (from last summer) who was on the train with our friends, we were told to get on a bus to Zunyi immediately, where we could pick up the train again. Excited, but still not realizing that the crowds of people were all waiting to travel too, we rushed to the bus station to try and catch a bus. The tickets were sold out for several days and the only hope was a man with a sinister smile who told us he'd sell 5 tickets for 1000 yuan (about 4 times the actual price).
We called the Peace Corps office in Chengdu and they told us to try and get tickets for the next day. We thought about the length of the train station lines dejectedly. Because we had so much luggage we decided to split into a group of 3 that would take the bags back to the house and 2 of us who would try and exchange tickets for another train. Because of the universal ticket shortage we thought the possibility of exchanging our tickets for anything but money was not likely.
A Guiyang Volunteer and I went to face the long lines at the train station and our friends returned home. When we arrived I wanted to ask in which line we should wait. I have had the unfortunate experience of waiting for a long time in the wrong line and these lines did not look like comfortable waiting. The police officer told me that changing tickets could be done at stall 16 or 17, on the far side of the station. When we got there the lines were very short and we had to wait behind only about 15 people. These two lines were the smallest by far, and we felt slightly fortunate.
The police officers standing there talked to us and mediated line disputes during lapses in conversation. The people were generally very relaxed, but a select few did things like pushing to cut in line and asking people close to the ticket window to buy their tickets for them (both are things which bother me to no end). Somehow our conversation with the police officers led to them helping us out. We are volunteers, we said, we get a stipend from Peace Corps but the schools at which we work do not pay us. Besides, this was a business trip for us and not simply traveling for enjoyment. They were pleased and talked to the ticket sellers for us. We were a special case and they had us wait on the side of the line while they tried to see if there was anything they could do for us. We waited and continued talking with the police officers.
After about 15 minutes another ticket seller came back with 5 new tickets for the same train the next day. We were overjoyed. Our adrenaline levels lowered and we felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Somehow we had done something which I still think was impossible. I don't know how it happened that all tickets were sold out for all trains for several days, and yet they happened to find 5 tickets for us. I guess I will wonder about this for quite awhile.
And now we are sitting around at Todd and Jessica's house in Guiyang, watching the clock. It passed noon awhile ago. We are quietly talking, but not without sneaking glances at the clock, making sure we leave in plenty of time to catch the train today, rather than "plenty of time," as we did yesterday. Our talking has been interrupted only by a phone call from our friends, who had only just arrived in Chengdu.
Suddenly hope appeared on the horizon. The silhouettes of our two friends could be seen in a taxi which had just pulled into the crowded lane ahead of us. Somehow their taxi had made better time and was more successfully navigating through traffic. Our driver happily waved people into the lane, waited for people to cross in front of us and, at one point, began clipping his nails indifferently. Never have I seen a driver with such courtesy and never have I been in such a hurry.
We pulled into the train station about 5 minutes before our train was scheduled to leave and we sprinted, laden with bags, to the x-ray station at the station entrance. After cutting in line without shame we dropped our bags onto the x-ray belt, picked them up, and chose the stairs instead of the escalator because there were no people blocking our way.
When we arrived at our gate and asked about our train, the conductor pointed to a train just outside the window which, for a moment, was motionless. After that brief moment passed, train began to move and our 7 friends (who had boarded and were wondering where we were) officially lost all hope that we would make the train. We all dropped our bags and looked at one another with a sense of being robbed. The Chinese people in the train station, understanding what had happened, looked at us with a mixture of wonderment and curiosity.
I have never seen so many cars and people, or felt so overwhelmed. People were everywhere and the lines for purchasing tickets stretched out of the station, into the plaza, over the steps and into the street. Hundreds of people waited in each line and we didn't know how to change our tickets or what to do.
Getting a call from our Chinese teacher (from last summer) who was on the train with our friends, we were told to get on a bus to Zunyi immediately, where we could pick up the train again. Excited, but still not realizing that the crowds of people were all waiting to travel too, we rushed to the bus station to try and catch a bus. The tickets were sold out for several days and the only hope was a man with a sinister smile who told us he'd sell 5 tickets for 1000 yuan (about 4 times the actual price).
We called the Peace Corps office in Chengdu and they told us to try and get tickets for the next day. We thought about the length of the train station lines dejectedly. Because we had so much luggage we decided to split into a group of 3 that would take the bags back to the house and 2 of us who would try and exchange tickets for another train. Because of the universal ticket shortage we thought the possibility of exchanging our tickets for anything but money was not likely.
A Guiyang Volunteer and I went to face the long lines at the train station and our friends returned home. When we arrived I wanted to ask in which line we should wait. I have had the unfortunate experience of waiting for a long time in the wrong line and these lines did not look like comfortable waiting. The police officer told me that changing tickets could be done at stall 16 or 17, on the far side of the station. When we got there the lines were very short and we had to wait behind only about 15 people. These two lines were the smallest by far, and we felt slightly fortunate.
The police officers standing there talked to us and mediated line disputes during lapses in conversation. The people were generally very relaxed, but a select few did things like pushing to cut in line and asking people close to the ticket window to buy their tickets for them (both are things which bother me to no end). Somehow our conversation with the police officers led to them helping us out. We are volunteers, we said, we get a stipend from Peace Corps but the schools at which we work do not pay us. Besides, this was a business trip for us and not simply traveling for enjoyment. They were pleased and talked to the ticket sellers for us. We were a special case and they had us wait on the side of the line while they tried to see if there was anything they could do for us. We waited and continued talking with the police officers.
After about 15 minutes another ticket seller came back with 5 new tickets for the same train the next day. We were overjoyed. Our adrenaline levels lowered and we felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Somehow we had done something which I still think was impossible. I don't know how it happened that all tickets were sold out for all trains for several days, and yet they happened to find 5 tickets for us. I guess I will wonder about this for quite awhile.
And now we are sitting around at Todd and Jessica's house in Guiyang, watching the clock. It passed noon awhile ago. We are quietly talking, but not without sneaking glances at the clock, making sure we leave in plenty of time to catch the train today, rather than "plenty of time," as we did yesterday. Our talking has been interrupted only by a phone call from our friends, who had only just arrived in Chengdu.
1.17.2008
Posts
Today I'm leaving on a small adventure:
A few days in...
Guiyang (visiting one of our favorite married couples ever!)
Chengdu (Peace Corps In-service Training)
Kunming (Wait for Visa processing)
and, finally, a few weeks in
Vietnam (because we hear it's warm there)
I will probably not be posting anything for awhile, but I plan to update my www.flickr.com account so the slide show on this site will include more pictures from my travels. If you want to look at my pictures on flickr you can create an account and become friends with me (dustinooley).
Peace,
Dustin
A few days in...
Guiyang (visiting one of our favorite married couples ever!)
Chengdu (Peace Corps In-service Training)
Kunming (Wait for Visa processing)
and, finally, a few weeks in
Vietnam (because we hear it's warm there)
I will probably not be posting anything for awhile, but I plan to update my www.flickr.com account so the slide show on this site will include more pictures from my travels. If you want to look at my pictures on flickr you can create an account and become friends with me (dustinooley).
Peace,
Dustin
1.09.2008
Stuff
A brief wish-list if you are feeling benevolent:
Realia (restaurant take-out menus, real-estate brochures, ANYTHING with English)
Any board games (used)
Any Lit Magazines (used)
Hand Puppets (used)
A large pizza with extra cheese (new)
Realia (restaurant take-out menus, real-estate brochures, ANYTHING with English)
Any board games (used)
Any Lit Magazines (used)
Hand Puppets (used)
A large pizza with extra cheese (new)
Reflection
On this rare day I saw the sun. Outside students could be found doing...absolutely nothing. Instead of moving constantly to stay warm, everyone tried to catch the sun while it was here. After all, it is the middle of winter, right?!
At night while returning home I realized that I wasn't wearing 15 or 16 layers of clothing and I could almost compare my attire to that of what I'd wear on a typical day in America. I looked up and I could see the stars; though they have different stories, the stars are the same.
The warm, clear night reminded me of another place and another time, but I couldn't figure it out until I smelled the late-night dinner: This night brought me back to my training. Though only 6 months ago, events and circumstances make it seem longer...and shorter.
I think that I probably miss training because I don't look at it like I did when I was there. 4 hours of mandatory language study does not equal 4 hours of voluntary language study because it's required. From here, though, I can see that we were all together, the Southwestern China volunteers. But then, when we were all together we had less need for one another (reliance, support, whatever you want to call it).
This time has been short and I have gained so much. I'm still looking for ways to give, but it's hard to keep up with the things I get from this experience.
As I prepare to leave for IST in Chengdu I look back at what has happened in this short time and realize that, though I have accomplished some things, I have a lot to do. Now I can speak Chinese well enough to do just about anything I need to do, including mailing packages, traveling, making conversation, making jokes, and buying anything (if I can afford it). Though I am able to communicate, often I have difficulty understanding people. My communication tends to be me telling people what I want and crossing my fingers (perhaps my tones were correct!). I can currently read over 500 characters, but I can only write about half of those. And every day I learn how to "be" more Chinese, though I am constantly reminded (in many ways) that I am indeed a foreigner.
After one semester of classes my students understand what I'm saying most of the time. I can explain things and almost everyone gets it the first time.
The cultural differences can be daunting. Sometimes I get angry and frustrated. Sometimes it's easier to complain than to try and understand.
There are days when I really miss home. There are days when I miss home so much I start imagining myself doing things in America: the silly little things like shopping at Safeway, watching a tv show, or eating ice-cream. And there are so many people I would like to talk with, too.
I don't know how to describe being a Peace Corps Volunteer yet. People say it's "the hardest job you'll ever love," but for me that's not quite it, exactly. One thing that I do know is that I have learned more about people, culture and poverty in the last 6 months than the entire rest of my life.
At night while returning home I realized that I wasn't wearing 15 or 16 layers of clothing and I could almost compare my attire to that of what I'd wear on a typical day in America. I looked up and I could see the stars; though they have different stories, the stars are the same.
The warm, clear night reminded me of another place and another time, but I couldn't figure it out until I smelled the late-night dinner: This night brought me back to my training. Though only 6 months ago, events and circumstances make it seem longer...and shorter.
I think that I probably miss training because I don't look at it like I did when I was there. 4 hours of mandatory language study does not equal 4 hours of voluntary language study because it's required. From here, though, I can see that we were all together, the Southwestern China volunteers. But then, when we were all together we had less need for one another (reliance, support, whatever you want to call it).
This time has been short and I have gained so much. I'm still looking for ways to give, but it's hard to keep up with the things I get from this experience.
As I prepare to leave for IST in Chengdu I look back at what has happened in this short time and realize that, though I have accomplished some things, I have a lot to do. Now I can speak Chinese well enough to do just about anything I need to do, including mailing packages, traveling, making conversation, making jokes, and buying anything (if I can afford it). Though I am able to communicate, often I have difficulty understanding people. My communication tends to be me telling people what I want and crossing my fingers (perhaps my tones were correct!). I can currently read over 500 characters, but I can only write about half of those. And every day I learn how to "be" more Chinese, though I am constantly reminded (in many ways) that I am indeed a foreigner.
After one semester of classes my students understand what I'm saying most of the time. I can explain things and almost everyone gets it the first time.
The cultural differences can be daunting. Sometimes I get angry and frustrated. Sometimes it's easier to complain than to try and understand.
There are days when I really miss home. There are days when I miss home so much I start imagining myself doing things in America: the silly little things like shopping at Safeway, watching a tv show, or eating ice-cream. And there are so many people I would like to talk with, too.
I don't know how to describe being a Peace Corps Volunteer yet. People say it's "the hardest job you'll ever love," but for me that's not quite it, exactly. One thing that I do know is that I have learned more about people, culture and poverty in the last 6 months than the entire rest of my life.
1.08.2008
Grades, Giardia, Journey
The stack of 213 final examinations has been graded, the grades entered, and my first semester in China complete. The exams took around 20 hours to grade and process, making me envy doing Elementary report cards.
On another note, I called the Peace Corps doctor about some of my stomach issues. There has been a pattern of problems since August, but finally it has been resolved: I took the Giardia medication yesterday and my stomach has never felt better (except, perhaps, when I first arrived).
In the coming week I have freedom at my site. Most of my students are going home today or tomorrow, and the only thing left is to study and prepare for the Spring Holiday. After our In-Service Training in Chengdu I will be going to Kunming for a week (waiting for a Visa) before leaving China for a 3 week Vietnam vacation. We plan to take the train down through the country (from Hanoi to Saigon), stopping at various cities and beaches along the way. This is wonderful compensation for having to work on Christmas Day.
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