Even China Has Country Roads (Or… Feel The Force and Strike For Freedom!)(Or... Dragons and Dragon Slayers)

So, liquor still tastes terrible, I’ve forgotten how much I miss cycling, I never knew I could move so slowly, and I don’t remember being scared of salamanders.

I.
Friday night, after my last class earlier in the morning, we had our official welcome banquet at a Chinese restaurant here in town. All the big names were there. The Dean, Vice Dean, Party Secretary, Foreign Teachers, and the like. It was basically a joint-welcome for the new foreign teachers (Ashley, Lynn, and myself) as well as the new Chinese teachers who would be teaching in the Foreign studies Department.

Not unlike the previous banquet (see: “Chinese Dinners and Hard Liquors”), the atmosphere was one of strange, spinning food and traditional Chinese liquor, called baijou. Luckily for me they gave us shot glasses this time, so it was less sipping and more throw-your-head-back-and-let-it-burn-down-your-throat action. The only time I’ve ever used anything that even resembles a shot glass was in church, so I did what I did there and just gulp it down, eyes closed, and feel the goodness fill me up inside. Unfortunately, unlike in church where I feel refreshed, rejuvenated, and generally cleansed after communion, when I toss baijou down my throat it feels like Satan himself is washing down into my inner being and setting fire to anything good and wholesome that resides there. Now I know what it means to be baptized in fire.

Luckily, I was able to stay away from too much baijou this time, even though I helped Ashley with some of hers because getting drunk for friends is apparently a courageous and respectful thing to do. I do what I can.

I have been reading a lot of books on China lately and have learned that it is disrespectful to not drink when someone offers it to you during a banquet or dinner. The only true way to get out of it without offending the host party is to plead allergies. Unfortunately, I was not aware of this at the first dinner and already I had a reputation of a “good drinker.”

“That is not a reputation you want to have here,” explained Brando, another one of the foreign teachers who has been in Xuzhou for nearly four years. “I nearly ruined my liver the first year I was here.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured him, “these banquets will be the only time I ever drink.” Maybe.

Luckily I made my way to the beautifully watered down Chinese beer, fittingly called shanshui or “mountain water.” It tasted more like Sprite than beer and I was just fine with using that to go around and toast the other tables, including the new foreign teachers and the Communist Party Secretary and the other Cadres.

I spoke with another new teacher called Wang Mina for a short while and we finally agreed to give each other language lessons. Wang Mina is Chinese and studied Japanese as her second language and she is now teaching Japanese at CUMT. She heard that I was desperately searching for a Chinese teacher and because she wanted to sharpen up her English, her third language, she asked me if I’d like to trade lessons off with her. I agreed to in a heartbeat. We are meeting this Tuesday to work out a formal schedule and hopefully I can have as many lessons with her as possible to improve my Chinese. I also tried to use some of my Japanese that I learned when I was much younger (konichiwa!), but failed miserably. Sorry, Mom – those lessons weren’t as useful as we hoped.

Afterwards Brando took us and some of the other new teachers out to explore the nightlife of Xuzhou, however limited it may be. We found ourselves at a interesting little bar called Soho, and soon found that our group of ten individuals made up 66% of the bars total attendees.

This is my kind of bar on a Friday night, I thought. Only in China could a city of nearly nine million people only have fifteen total people in one of the few bars in the entire city.

After a round of Budweiser, we went out onto the makeshift dance floor to get our groove on. During which I was recruited to play on the school basketball team by the other teachers (“we need you very bad!”).

After a good forty-five minutes of dancing (Thrashing? Head-bobbing? Writhing? Flailing?) nearly everyone left the dance floor and Lynn and I were about to do the same when a familiar line struck over the unbelievable, way-too-loud, eardrum splitting sound system.

“Coouuuuntttryyyyy rooooaaadddsss… taaake me hoooome”

“It’s John Denver!” I yelled to Lynn and without really wondering why in the world a techno version of “Country Roads” was playing in same random bar in Xuzhou, China we were kicking our legs up and spinning each other dosey-doe. We got seriously country with it.

We kicked our legs out sideways like a bad riverdance impression and thrust our fists down towards the floor. I got a small running start and did a heel click to cheers from our Chinese colleagues. I spread my arms wide and with just me and Lynn in the middle of bar, singing at the top of our lungs, I tried desperately to hear myself over the thumping bass and blasting speakers.

“Country roads, take me home to the place where I belong: West Virginia! Mountain Momma! Take me home!”

It was a moment that both made me proud to be where I was from and for the first time truly feel that I was far, far from home. I’m about as far away from West Virginia as you can be, exactly a half day, twelve hours, in a country that is so unlike anything I have ever experienced, and yet here I was, arms outstretched, voice straining, clicking my heels like Huckleberry Finn, and singing the one song that every West Virginian knows. And it made me realize how much everything in the United States (my family, our freedom, Wal-Mart, bike lanes, toilets that project from the ground, silence, air-conditioning, internet, McDonalds, M&M’s, books in English, people who never use their horn, toilet paper, clean water, dryers, people who have taken driving lessons, crosswalks, and cheese) really means to me. And it’s funny, that how when you get that small, fleeting touch from home, this time in the form of a techno-version of a song, it may be the first time you realize just how much everything back home really means to you. I will be happy to have it back, that comfortableness. But I came here to be uncomfortable. I came here to be challenged, and I came here to see just what I’m made of.

In the end, I may crack and cry for my mommy, but right now I am in China and I am loving it. I love its differences and I love its mysteriousness. I love how people either love me or yell obscenities at me as I walk down the street. I figure either way, I have caught their attention, and I intend to show them that while I may be an illiterate loawai now, I won’t always be that way, and the next time they throw an obscenity in my direction, I’ll understand what they are saying and knowingly ignore them, instead of ignorantly ignoring them now.

Wait, is that a good thing?

II.

The following morning Brando, along with his Chinese girlfriend Lena, invited Ashley and I on a bike ride of the surrounding countryside.

The day before Ashley and I decided, after a week of fleeting deliberation, that we would just go ahead and buy bikes. She went with the well-known brand Giant and got a light greenish, bluish, white-ish, velvetish (is that color?) bike with a nice frame and a little carrying rack on the back.

I looked thoroughly at the other bikes on display, paying particularly close attention to the darker, blacker, manlier looking ones with full suspension and four inches of travel on the front shock and Shimano components and twenty-eight speeds. I spun the pedals and checked how smoothly the gears shifted. Ran my hands along the seams of the tires, making sure each bit was clean and smooth. I checked the traction on the tires, noting their strength and reflected on how they would hold up if I was to hit rough streets, and because this is Xuzhou, China, the chances of me meeting rough streets was about 99%. The only way I wouldn’t hit rough streets would be if I carried the bike home and let it sit in my room for the whole year. I checked the air in the tires. I rang all the bells and horns on the bikes handlebars, noting that it would be my most useful weapon on the busy streets of China.

In the end though, I basically made my decision by what it said on the side of the bike.

“Check this out!” I said to Ashley as I pointed out a red and black bike with a hard-tail. “It says “Feel the Force and Strike For Freedom on the side!” I grabbed the bike out of the rack and quickly took it for a short spin down the aisle. Despite the fact that it said ‘aluminum frame’ on the side, It felt like it weighed about 100 pounds, and I’m pretty sure that was a pretty close estimate.

“I am soooo getting this one!” I said in my best thirteen-year old girl impression.

And so, after the helpful bike mechanic at The Lotus general store (Xuzhou’s Wal-Mart), pumped up my tires, installed my horn, and wiped off the seven years of dust that my bike had collected, we paid for our bikes (around 200 dollars together, including locks, pumps, and other bike necessities) and hit the streets.

As we walked through the crowds shopping for noodles and dumplings, I turned to Ashley.

“Hey Ashley.”

“Yes?”

“Did you see what my bike says on the side? Feel the Force and Strike For Freedom! How American is that?!”

“America!” she said in a deep Texas-like tone, which has become our habit whenever we speak of something that reminds us of the great country to the West. (Or East. It doesn’t really matter which way you go, I suppose.)

“America!” I echoed.

We made our way outside, probably bought some ice cream, though I can’t be sure, and made our way to the busy, hectic, and downright deadly streets of China. Walking on the streets is one thing, because you are generally secluded from them since you are able to take refuge and seek safety on sidewalks or on the grass somewhere. But when you are on a bike, you become one with this moving mass of death, and we did not belittle the danger of such an undertaking.

“Lets try to not get killed on our first ride.” I said.

We made our way out to the crosswalk and watched as the cars hurtled by in every direction. And just when you thought it was safe, bikes, mopeds, and motorcycles ran red lights and whizzed in front of you. It was like being underwater watching killer whales swim by only to be replaced by great white sharks and giant octopuses. Whichever one you chose, they could all kill you fairly equally.

I mounted my bike. It’s go time. I waited for the light to turn red on the street we were crossing, and once it did the green-walking sign across the street began to flash. The greatest part about these signs is the little green guy rarely just walks, he looks like he is running for his life (or dancing madly), and it really shows the urgency and danger of crossing a street in China.

“Lets go!” I yelled excitedly behind me to Ashley as I pushed off. I checked for cars and bikers turning right from our left. All clear. Safe. That eighteen wheeler passed behind me with at least two feet of clearance! No problem. I checked for motorcyclists running the red light from the other side as I began to pick up speed. All clear again. This is easy. I had made it nearly halfway across the street; the part that generally meant safety, as the cars going the other way were obviously still sitting and waiting for the red light. I began to think that this crossing had been pretty easy. A little tooo easy.

That was when I saw them: Left hand turners from the far street! They were bearing down on me like an elephant charging, their ears fanned out to their sides like I had just cut them off from their young. Actually, they looked more like black VW’s coming at me like a swarm of black, killer ladybugs. Or maybe they looked like the jaws of death waiting to munch on me with their molars and grind me down into dust, just like everything else is ground down in China. Whatever simile they may have appeared to represent, I knew they looked a bit like forthcoming pain.

“oooh booooyy…” I whimpered. I thought about slamming on my brakes, but I was afraid that doing so at my five miles-per-hour speed would send me flailing over my handlebars. Dodge and weave, I told myself. Dodge and weave. The first few cars buzzed right in front of me, nearly clipping the cars in the other lane (though, that was nothing new) and another buzzed behind me, cutting Ashley off as she stopped, hopefully, safely behind me.

Before I was able to confirm her safety, another black VW was coming straight at me, coming too sharp to go behind me and too late in coming to go between me and the cars in the opposite lane. Wheels screeched and brakes burned as the driver attempted to stop before ramming me with his front bumper. I pulled hard to the right and realized that while I had dodged certain death from the black VW I was now on a course to T-bone a small, blue taxi. I whipped my handle back to the left, brought my chest lower to the handlebars and pumped my legs furiously to build up speed and shoot through the small gap that remained between the two cars. The black VW’s momentum took him just behind me and I picked up just enough speed to keep him from clipping my back tire. I rocketed through the gap to safety.

“Feel the force!” I yelled in the direction of a twelve-year old girl on a scooter beside me, who seemed very unconcerned with what I thought was a death-defying ride full of skill and determination. “And strike for freeeeedom!”

She looked in my direction, probably rolled her eyes and then turned her head back to begin ignoring me again.

“America!” I added for emphasis.

III.

The following day we went on a five-hour excursion with Brando and Lena to tour the countryside around Xuzhou. We biked through old, traditional villages and towns and it was amazing to see the real China. The hills were very beautiful and we stopped next to a small lake/pond to go for a short swim.

“Most of the water in China is very dirty,” Lena explained. “But this water is clean.”

Suuuure.

“As long as I don’t have an leeches attaching themselves to me, I’ll be fine.” Ashley said.

“Agreed.” I said.

The water was cool and refreshing. Afterwards we snaked around the countryside, stopping to try some delicious street foods and Chinese sodas. My butt hurt. A lot.

Brando, who has been here for four years, has been truly helpful this weekend it telling us the ins and outs of the city and the school. Also, because he is dating a Chinese woman, we have learned a lot about the Chinese culture and way of doing things.

The bike trip was a lot fun and I hope to take my camera back into that area again to do a photograph tour of the area.

IV.

The next day Ashley, Lynn, and I all agree to join Brando and Lena to their weekly, Sunday Tai-Chi class.

We watched as the master demonstrated the techniques of Tai-chi, his flowing gold uniform whispered through the light breeze. His moves were calm and deliberate, like a flowing river running smoothly over rocks and round branches. It was a beautiful and astonishing sight, and many people stopped to watch.

The park where the training was held was found in the middle of the city and one would never believe it was there if they just walked around downtown Xuzhou. Everywhere one looked there were people playing games such as Mahjong and Chinese Checkers on tables surrounded by others intently watching the game unfold. Across the water a man with his violin played as men surrounding him bellowed out loud, patriotic songs. Their voices rang into the evening and I was sure the whole city could hear their bellows.

I did my best to follow our masters movements and techniques, melding my hand motions with weight shifts and breathing exercises. Multi-tasking has never been my strong suit. After nearly three hours of exercises, stretches, and basic training I was feeling limber and cleansed, and I told our teacher that I would see him next Sunday.

V.

The weekend culminated in grand style.

Ashley was over watching a documentary on China when she paused it and said she needed to use the restroom. I figured this would be a good time to run and get some water and as Ashley went into the bathroom I went into my kitchen, which shares a wall with the bathroom. I was just opening the fridge when I heard her shriek come throught wall.

“Oh my gooooshh!” I heard some quick rustling and the bathroom door being ripped open as I came out of the kitchen to see the disturbance. Ashley came sprinting out of the bathroom and scross my small dining room, toilet paper streaming off her pants.

“Oh my gosh! There’s a creature in there!” she exclaimed.

“Why do you have toilet paper hanging from your pants?” I asked, for this seemed much more mysterious and important.

“What? Oh… I wanted to make sure you had some so I tore some off and I had it in my hand when I was pulling my pants back up…. It doesn’t matter! There’s a huge lizard in your bathroom!”

“What? Seriously?” I asked

“Yes! There is a creature skittering across your ceiling.”

“Oh man.”

Geez China. Keep your critters and creatures outside. I went to my little outside porch and grabbed a broom. Ashley and I armed ourselves with wastebaskets that we planned to throw over the little feller if he ever fell to the ground. Though, I didn’t really know what I would do once I had caught him.

“You need to go in there,” Ashley explained. “Do you want me to close the door behind you when you get in?”

“Close the door? You want to trap me in there with that creature?”

“Well I don’t want it to get out!”

“It could be a Komodo Dragon!” I said. “He could jump on my head or something!”

“Well, go in there and check it out.”

I worked up my courage. I moved into the bathroom, moving over to the far wall into the shower, head down low, and looked back up behind me across the ceiling. Nothing. Not a trace of any sort of creature, and since I had just cleaned the entire bathroom earlier that day, no trace of dust either! However, this was a small victory and not really one that appeased my fears of the critter crawling somewhere across my ceiling.

“I think he’s behind the water heater,” I said motioning to the large, white water heater that took up half of the head room in the restroom. I grabbed my broom and started sticking it behind the water heater, with my wastebasket at the ready in case I needed to catch a slightly terrified and jumping lizard.

“There he is!” Ashley shrieked and I looked up as a small lizard that resembled a salamander skittered out from behind the water heater and across the ceiling. I ducked low in surprise and darted towards the door, more surprised and terrified by Ashley’s scream than by the creature himself. Ashley turned and skittered herself away from the door as I came throttling through.

“Is it on me? Is it on me?” She asked.

“No.” I replied. “It was on the ceiling.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and we began to think about what we could do with the little salamander crawling around my apartment ceilings, something that I did not entirely condone, but wasn’t really opposed to either. Live and let live, I say.

Upon returning to the door of the bathroom, crouched low, I looked back up towards the ceiling. The lizard had gone. He was nowhere to be found.

“He must have crawled back behind the water heater,” Ashley said. “Why don’t you use the shower head to spray him out?”

The funny thing about my bathroom is that there is no real place where the restroom ends and the shower area begins. No lip on the floor, no door, not really much of anything. Just a short shower curtain you pull across to keep the water from splashing all over your toilet and sink. Otherwise, it was just a few drains sporadically placed around the floor. Also, my shower head had a long hose on it so you could sort of pull it around the bathroom in case you wanted to, I don’t know, spray down your toilet after each use.

“Yes,” I said upon realizing another advantage my shower had: scalding hot water, “I will spray the water behind the hot water heater and burn him out!” PETA is going to be all over me when they read this.

I grabbed the shower head and pulled it towards the door. It was just long enough for me to angle it up towards the ceiling and behind the large, hot water heater, where we assumed the suspect was hiding. Ironic, I thought, your hiding place is also the same thing that is creating this scalding weapon that I will use to flush you out of your little fortress! Literally fighting fire with fire (if by ‘fire’ you mean ‘heat’ – I do).

I turned on the water and began spraying above and behind the water heater to the best of my ability. Water splashed across its side and ricocheted back into the bathroom, soaking the floor, toilet, sink, and my face. The hot water ran down my arm and into my armpit. I gave a quick jerk of surprise and water splashed on the door and onto the mirror. Puddles were beginning to form at my feet and the drains on the other side of the bathroom seemed to not be doing their job very well.

“Where are you, you little bugger! Where are you?”

No response. He was a good hider.

Finally, after my whole right side was quite damp and the floor had an inch of standing water I turned off the shower and hung my head in defeat.

“Why don’t you check to see if he’s up there?” Ashley suggested.

I realized that I probably should have done this before I blasted hot water all over the bathroom, but sometimes the syntax of thought is all screwed up. I came back outside and grabbed my cycling shades and put them on.

“What are those for?” Ashley asked.

“Well, once I put my head up there, I will be at eye level with the beast. So I need to wear these in case he decides to leap at me and rip out my eyeballs.”

I went and stood on the toilet. I slowly straightened my legs as my head came closer to the ceiling, nearly level with the top of the hot water heater. I held my little wastebasket in front of my face like a shield, hoping that somehow the creature would believe it to be a haven for his ostensibly soaked and burning self and just jump right in. My legs were nearly locked out now, and I waited for the imminent encounter between man and beast; the most storied and harrowing of confrontations. My eyes could now see over the hot water heater and I squinted to focus into the dark corners. Nothing. Emptiness. The beast was not up there.

“He’s gone,” I whispered carefully. “Oh man – he could be anywhere!”

“What do we do?” Ashley asked as I came down from the toilet, stepped over the puddles on my floor and came back into the dining room.

I didn’t know what to do... So, in the end we named the creature Sally the Salamander and kept her as a pet. Maybe one day, while I’m innocently showering or brushing my teeth, having forgotten about our little encounter, Sally will return from wherever she went, drop down on my head without even a notice and say hello.

I look forward to such a day.