On the Train

Recently I found myself standing on a train seat, singing a song in Chinese. Many of the other passengers had formed a circle around me, cheering me on and helping me sing.

This sounds more glamorous than it was.

It began with simple conversation. I was talking to others around me after they realized I could speak Chinese (I smiled at the right places during their conversation). We discussed the main 3 questions: Where are you from? What are you doing here? What do you think of this place?

All was usual of a train ride. I was poised to do what was necessary to promote harmony; I wore my Chinese skin. Carts rolled by with shouts of "水果，水果！“ (Fruit, fruit!) and the people who failed to purchase tickets early stood in the aisles with forlorn expressions.

The commotion began as a song.

People stood up to see. Others walked over. A crowd began to gather.

I remained in my seat and began to read my book. This will pass, I thought.

As more time passed however, the songs grew louder and more insistent. Chants rose from the animated passengers, ”再来一个！“ or, "Once more!" Curiosity turned into a conversation with myself, "I might as well find out what's going on, maybe I can learn something."

I stood up and turned around. Halfway down the car, where the revelers passed their train ride in good fun, a pair of eyes met my own. It was too late to sit down. That person had whispered to another, and so on, until all eyes were on me and everyone was yelling, ”过来，过来吧！“ (Come on over!), and suddenly I found myself standing in a circle of 20 Chinese College students and young adults, calling for a song. Despite my best efforts to convince them that I couldn't sing (this is true), they managed to learn that I knew a Chinese song (this is only partly true). And after much encouragement and coaxing, I found them ignoring my terrible voice, ignoring my wretched pronunciation, ignoring the forgotten words in the song, and, actually, singing along with me. I was an instant ”外国朋友“ (translates as "foreign friend," but I'd like to say "rock star").

By suffering the small embarrassment of my singing, I bought my way into watching that of so many others as they were cajoled, no, bullied to sing or dance or both, to the great entertainment of all.

It was one of the shortest train rides ever.

Military Training - 军训

If you were raised in the western world then some of this may seem a little odd to you. Please remember that these are only my observations and thoughts; I do not mean to upset anyone.

For weeks now I have been trying to prepare a fair account of the compulsory military training that happens throughout China before students begin their college classes. Speaking to students, reading articles, and watching the training has given me a lot to think about. I remain uncertain about the true feelings and motives of the people who have orchestrated this annual welcome ceremony: the people in the upper echelons of the Chinese Communist Party.

I am certain about widespread student contempt for the activities based on interviews with them. When the occasional student says they enjoy the training it may be genuine and it may be meant to impress me. The student disapproval of this military drill instruction is largely due to the long hours and relentless standing and drilling, however, not because they have a fundamental disagreement in philosophy.

I have interviewed about ten students regarding the reason for military training and the answer is always a spirited, “To keep healthy and exercise.” Strangely, the military drilling includes virtually no component of exercise whatsoever. Instead of doing something that will help strengthen muscles or heart the students are constantly marching. Perhaps the “exercise,” they mean is related to the leg workout from standing for long periods of time. I have yet to see a group of students going for a long jog to improve their cardiovascular system.

So what’s the deal? I see several possibilities for the students to give this answer. The first is that they were told this throughout the training. Common in China is the pat answer for common questions.

Me: “How can we stop littering?”
Student: “Stop using disposable chopsticks.” [this is said as they are using disposable chopsticks]

Me: “Why do the Japanese have a history of attacking China?”
Student: “They are a small island country and they need to take resources from other countries.” [I have heard this more than ten times now]

Essentially Chinese students have been trained to respond to questions without having the understanding and synthesis required to make a sound argument about the issue. This is rooted in how characters are learned (memorization), and how learning is viewed (facts to be learned). Another encouraging factor is the Confucian tradition of following the group in the interest of social harmony.

Perhaps the students are embarrassed about what the military training is truly about: it’s more political than they would like to admit.

Personally I think the training is geared more towards the twofold aspect of discipline. A combination of self-governance and respect for authority (the party) is sought as students march to the beat of one drum. Self-discipline comes from enduring the training and making it, tearfully, to the end. The government sends People’s Liberation Army (PLA) officers to preside over groups of students as their trainers for the two to three weeks of drill. The time is so intense and difficult that many girls have fallen in love with their drill instructors by the end of the training, giving their phone numbers and their QQ instant message nicknames to the officers. The government recently re-wrote the guidelines to help prevent this kind of behavior from happening.

I think there is a real benefit to this training. Nobody gains much knowledge from the mind-numbing routine, but the students are prepared for a time when they would have to organize to defend their country. Nationalism runs thick in China and people are willing to make small sacrifices for this ideal. Over a decade ago this military training included trips to the countryside where students would fire guns. Though this practice is no longer in place, watching the students march in their camouflage uniforms offers little room for doubt: this is the beginning of training soldiers.

"2"

The number of mosquitoes required to drag me itching and scratching from my bed in the middle of the night. (It is time to embrace my mosquito net)

The Condition of the English Building

Texting at Night

My Favorite Restaurant

Last year I mentioned my favorite restaurant in a post. Shortly thereafter the walk became too long and the flies too many. Even after months of eating in a new restaurant people continued to ask me about the people in the blog photo. "Sorry, I really don't know," I would admit, "I don't eat there anymore." I have found a new family.

The "kitchen" is located at the front of a room, with two burners and a fan running throughout the day. The husband and wife take orders, scooping ingredients from bowls on the tables behind them. There is a fridge on the side that I've never seen them open.

Their children (a 5th grade boy and high school girl) help with cleaning and cooking duties when they are home from school.

If the main restaurant (two tables) is crowded there is a room downstairs (two more tables). At the back of this room is a large curtain that covers the living space (2 beds) for the family.

When I spit inedible things on the floor of the restaurant I rarely think about the fact that this is where they live. Thinking this way is unnecessary: it will all be swept up soon enough, and this is the culturally appropriate way to get rid of used napkins, bones, or spicy peppers.

Perhaps my favorite thing about this restaurant is the view of the neighbors. This was taken from my table: