Cabs and Snow

Originally uploaded by a little coffee

Saturday, Chris, Robert and myself bundled up in our long undies and down coats to go out for a hot pot lunch. Finally, the streets had been cleared, though huge piles of shoveled snow obscured the sidewalks, and Anyang life was settling back down to normal. Almost.

The restaurant was just far enough where we didn’t feel like walking so we hailed a cab. After a couple feet, Robert (whose sitting in the front) flipped down the meter that sits on the cab’s dashboard. Normally, the cabbies can handles this themselves but today the cabbie started laughing, Doodling at us, and shaking his hand in the Doodle gesture for “no” and flipped the meter up. Ah… this game again.

“How much money?” we asked.

“20,” he said, still laughing. 20 kuai, quadruple what the meter would read and quadruple what it would cost normally to get to the restaurant barring any snow– and there was no snow and ice on the ground.

“Pfffff…” Robert said and flipped the meter down again. Laughing and
gesturing the cab driver flipped it back up.

Screw this, we decided and had him pullover to let us out. We traveled maybe 60 feet. We walked on a bit more and hailed another cab. Inside, we waited a few seconds and Robert flipped the meter down again. The cabbie Doodled at us and flipped it back up. We played the Naive Foreigner Card (vacant looks, pointing directions, responding in English) but he wasn’t buying it, or more likely, just wanted to extort 20 kuai. Again we hopped out, giggling in annoyance and amusement.

Seems, as Robert explained it and he’s probably right judging by all the cabs without flipped meters, that the cabbies in the city have gotten together and all agreed that, instead of using the fair and square meter, they’d just charge a flat rate (20 kuai) which is double what it would take to get to most places in the city. And use the snow, the *plowed* snow, as an excuse.

We walked a little ways and decided to play the in-an-out taxi game a few more times until we got close enough to the restaurant. Again, we hailed a cab, climbed in, pointed straight and, after a few seconds, Robert flipped the meter. The cabbie laughed and Doodled at us like the others but, playing the Naive Foreigner Car, we pointed and said “straight” and… nothing. No fuss, and he let the meter run.

A couple minutes later we arrived at the restaurant, exact change in hand to avoid any other shenanigans, but it ended just like any other, snowless-road cab ride. “Thank you, bye” and on to hot pot!

Oh, no! Where are my feet?

Originally uploaded by a little coffee

Winter smacked Anyang in the face this week. The snow started late Monday night and didn’t let up until this afternoon. And the Doodles just don’t know how to handle it. Part of it, I think, is the sudden smacking. As noted in the last post, the temperature dropped plummeted in just a few days and then a major snowfall over night. Also, I don’t think they’re well equipped to handle more than a dusting of snow. No bags of salt, snow blowers and (maybe) no snowplows. I haven’t seen any yet and Chris said he saw a road crew shoveling the snow. I have, however, seen two cars with snow chains on their wheels.

Remembering last winter when there was, maybe, two inches of snow, and how late I was to class because I couldn’t find a taxi, I left early for campus and was still 15 minutes late. A ten minute drive turned into a 45-minute adventure of me trudging through the slush, snow and ice, weaving around the pedestrians, the cars, and the gobs of people who thought they could ride a bike or an electric scooter in the slush, snow and ice. How I didn’t see any accidents (besides a few people slipping off their bikes) let alone dead bodies is a miracle. You know it was particularly bad because on Dulong Street, a narrow two-lane street, the snow forced traffic to slow and actually stay in the appropriate lane instead of zipping in and out like usual. Har har!

About when I was ready to give up hailing a cab that wasn’t already squished full of people, one finally came by that (luckily) had the front seat still open. And luckily the passengers already in it were heading in the direction of campus. At lunch time, I lucked out on the trip home finding a cab pretty quickly, only the fare had doubled. Whatevs. I was cold wet and had to pee and probably wouldn’t find anyone else for another hour.

This driver was acting like it hadn’t snowed at all, never mind that the snow had changed from insignificant ice flakes to heavy, wet flakes. He honked his horn every other second and weaved in and out of traffic that had, mercifully, slowed (and quieted) down. Vans that look like rectangles on wheels were getting bogged down with spinning wheels, another taxi got stuck in a snow drift. But yet, this guy plowed on. Happily, I was dropped off before he either slid into a snow bank or another car.

Under conditions which, in any sane country, would have resulted in school closings, I said “screw this crap” and cancelled my afternoon class.

Thursday morning, after the snow let up, Chris and I took pictures of around the neighborhood. We guestimate at least 8 inches of snow. Probably more. Now I need to get some snow boots.

Check out the photos at my flickr page. http://www.flickr.com/photos/christinabrandon/

By the time Chris and I got back from the KFC Sunday evening around 6:30, the water had been turned back on. Yippee! After we heard the 1st-floor neighbor’s washing machine buzzing, we jogged up the five flights just to make sure. Only… I had left the shower switched to the "on" position (presumably since Saturday night) so, whenever they turned on the water, our shower had been running and half-spraying out the open window. Woops. Water also covered our bathroom floor. Not because of out-of-control shower spray, no no, but because half the water that drains from the shower ends up seeping out of the base of the tub. Also, the bathtub was coated with red clay-dirt or whatever it is that gets into the water supply. Double Woops.

But that’s all back to normal only… the past few days saw a thirty-degree temperature drop from pleasant 60s (Sunday) to nasty 20s (tomorrow). And our heat isn’t on yet! Why don’t we turn it on ourselves, you ask? Because the Doodle government decides when to turn on the heat. The word on the street is that that won’t happen until the 15th. For the past couple days Chris and I have been hiding in our bedroom where it’s a comfortable temperature, though my nose is constantly cold, instead of the living room and kitchen where you need a down jacket to keep from shaking. Downside– the bedroom smells like fried noodles and farts because even cracking the door for five seconds will allow precious heat to escape.

So now I know why the Doodles wear 15 shirts and a coat to class– because they’ll shiver too hard to be able to write in the drafty, heatless classrooms. Even now, I’m starting to feel like Ralphie from A Christmas Story. You know, when he’s dressed in so much warm clothes (plus a long scarf and a snowsuit) that he can’t put his arms down? That’s me tomorrow morning at 19 degrees. Waddle- running to class.

Last night, sometime before 7:00, I was just going about my business, went to wash my hands and instead of a spray of water, there was this nasty gurgle gurgle, like Frankenstein wheezing, coming from the tap.

Oh, no. Checked the kitchen sink, the shower, the toilet again and all wheezed. No water.

This has happened a couple times before, though during the day time and during the week. I suppose because the repairmen were fixing something in the building and they needed to shut off the water, but on a friggin’ Saturday night?

Since no water meant no noodles or rice for dinner, we made grilled-cheese sandwiches, and added to the mounting stack of dirty dishes waiting in the sink. Surely, surely, the water would be back on in a couple hours? That’s how long it lasted before.

When 10:00 rolled around, the hour that many of the apartments around here darken, we knew it was a lost cause. That didn’t stop me from hoping that when I had to use the bathroom at 5:30 that I’d be able to flush the toilet and wash my hands.

Around 8:00 this morning, we were woken by a terrible banging, metal on metal, that sounded like it was coming from our living room. Maybe that was the repairman working and when the banging stops, maybe that means the problem is fixed and we have water again!

It’s almost noon and still we have no water. Though we did manage to get ahold of the ever-helpful Sir James of Doodleland who said they were working on the "water heater," which we assumed he meant the radiator because the only water heaters are in the individual apartments in the showers (no reason why the whole building’s water supply would be shut off). That would also explain the banging. So, Sir James, when will the water come back on? I don’t know he, said. He would find out and call us back… that was over an hour ago.

Here’s hoping we can take a shower and boil water and wash dishes and flush the toilet today!

Me in my new glasses and haircut! Gorgeous!

Originally uploaded by a little coffee

Ta daaaaaaaa!

I have my new glasses! Picking them up was a breeze compared to the process of trying to choose the frames and get the correct prescription.

First, I had to get through the phone call telling me they were ready for pick up. As I was about to hang up on them thinking they were just another random Doodle that calls us sometimes by accident (we think), it clicked and I managed to stutter out “I go tomorrow. Tomorrow,” in Chinese a couple times before they woman on the other end went, “ah ah ah” in understanding.

So I arrive with Chris in tow and the helpful young woman recognizes me immediately and pulls out the new glasses which, amazingly fit perfectly. That’s never happened to me before. No need for adjusting! Looking at myself in the mirror, I’m surprised that the navy-blue frames are much bigger than what I remembered… then I realized this was the first clear look I had of myself with these glasses (duh).

So on with business: picking out a new glasses case and a mint green lens rag. The helpful young woman demonstrates how to properly clean the glasses with water (no lens solution in spritzer bottles here) with the lens rag, I pay and I’m ready to go.

Something is weird though: my world is now outlined in baby blue! With the the fluorescent lights in the mall, now seemingly uber bright with the new glasses, I’m walking around looking down at the bright blue outline instead of where I’m going but luckily manage to not run into any racks of clothes or trip off the escalator.

After a week in these new glasses, I’ve adjusted to my new, blue-rimmed world.

Today I was finally fed up enough with this lingering wave-curl in my hair to have it all cut off. I printed out a picture of Michelle Williams’ recent cover on Vogue, handed it to my regular hairstylist and she went to town with the scissors. She snipped a bit more in the front than what I (tried) to tell her, and when she kept finicking with the front while largely ignoring the still-longish strands in the back, I was afraid I’d end up with a Doodlified mullet. As you can see, my head is almost naked but (whew) no mullet.

Gorgeous, no?

welcome

Originally uploaded by a little coffee

Chris and I made it pack safe and sound to Anyang from the Shaolin Temple. With a frigid welcome by a Siberian winds, too!

After looking through the few pictures I took, my suspicions were confirmed. I am templed out. (Nearly all the pictures inside the temple Chris took). After you’ve seen a couple temples in China, they all start to blend together. Or at least they do to me, with my un-nuanced understanding of Buddhism. Like the lama temple in Beijing, like the temples in Yunnan, there was the red walled complex with some tall trees inside and some colorful, angry, big sculptures guarding the monastery (and/or the dharma), incense burning before statues of the Buddha or bodhisattva that people bowed their heads to.

What was different about Shaolin was that it was built a good distance outside any city and nestled in the Song mountains. The “complex” I’ll say was also huge, the better to accommodate the crowds of people. Also, the kung-fu.

After Chris and I visited the temple and walked around for a bit (and the chill and drizzle hit us) we checked out the kung-fu show. We waited outside for several minutes as more and more people gathered around us, pressing ever closer, waiting for the doors to open. If Chris hadn’t been holding my hand, I might well have been pushed down and then trampled on by Doodles stampeding to get inside the the show room for a seat. We, being towards the front, survived and got our seats.

It was pretty awesome watching what they young boys and men could do with their bodies. And no, no one kung fued each other. The Lonely Planet sums it up, “Much wushu- athletic Chinese martial arts of the performance variety- is in evidence in nearby schools, but there’s little true gong fu, which requires not just a track suit but years of patience and gruelling physical and mental study.”

Wushu seems to be what we got- a lot of the routines we watched was out right yoga poses or something similar set to bad Chinese pop music (one song, in English, was all about the awesomeness of Shaolin gong fu) and flashing pink, green and white lights. And this woman who continuously, annoyingly had to narrate the whole thing. (We didn’t catch a single word but understood what was happening). But if a man can run up and twirl around a free standing pole or brake a thin metal bar over his head, then I’m impressed.

Photos are posted at my flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/christinabrandon/

Weeee! Chris and I are headed to the Shaolin Temple for the weekend to check out the famous kung-fu monks we’ve been hearing so much about. The temple is also surrounded by mountains, which gives us a much needed break from the flat concrete and smoggy haze of Anyang. Now, if we can manage to navigate Zhengzhou this time, we’re all set!

Happy Weekend!

Swine flu panic has hit Anyang. Actually it hit months ago before there was a case in Hong Kong. It came up repeatedly those last months of the Spring semester, students asking, "you heard of the H 1 N 1? What do you think of this?" To which I replied, nonchalantly, "Eh. You’re all young. You’ll be fine." Then they gasped and laughed at me. Before the National Day holiday a few weeks ago, we were told that the president of the university was "very worried" about the foreign teachers travelling (and possibly picking up the flu and bringing it back and causing all sorts of trouble) and "hoped we would stay in Anyang." Chris and I just managed to stop a lecture about healthy eating habits that would ward of the flu. (Meanwhile, none of the public bathrooms on campus have hand soap).

Last week, the university blocked cabs from entering the school, forcing them to wait by the road while a guard armed with a thermometer would check incoming students’ temperature. No, no, the guard wasn’t asking anyone to lift their tongues or armpits, rather he held the device (similar in shape to toy hand gun but was clearly not a gun) to their foreheads (not touching) and in less than a second a quiet beep signified a temperature had been taken and they could go right in. The first time this happened I bothered to check my temp and it was 30.4 degrees Celsius. Which is almost seven full degrees lower than what it’s supposed to be. So if anyone’s temp registers near 37 on those inept gun-thermometers, they have bigger problems than a case of maybe-flu.

Last Wednesday morning, annoyed at having gone through this rigmarole twice before, I ignored the guards and walked around them, wondering if they’d try to stop me. They didn’t. So I then wondered if they would actually do anything if anyone’s temperature was a little too high. Either they did nothing or some sneaky monkey dodged the thermometers (or their temp was only 31.1) because, yeppers, a student here has been diagnosed with the swine flu last week.

So far, though, life proceeds as normal.

Saw this  ad put out by the National Women’s Law Center today on my weekly reading of Broadsheet.  It’s incredibly important with all the much needed brewhaha about health care reform– especially for women. Take a peek and tell everyone you know to bother congress until they friggin’ do something.

Chris and me having hot pot for lunch

Originally uploaded by Christina Brandon

Mmmmmm… I love me a good hot pot!

Hot pot can be tricky if you don’t have a solid handle on food vocab, which none of us do. Here’s how it all works:

You get a pot (either one big one that the group shares or a small, individual one. It depends on the type of restaurant you go to) filled with a type of soup. We’ve tried spicy, non-spicy and a mushroom soup. (Mushroom is my fave).

The tricky part is ordering what vegetables, meats and noodles you want to go in the hot pot. In a few restaurants we’ve gone too, you’re handed a chart crammed with characters and you’re to tick off what you want. Knowing only how to say (not write) maybe fifteen foods between us, this would just lead to mass confusion probably ending with us accidentally getting cow stomach instead of noodles. So we’ve only had hot pot when we’re out with Chinese friends.

But! A couple students of mine from last semester took me to this particular hot pot restaurant where you’re given not a chart, but a menu– with pictures! My favorite! All you need to do is point.

So we picked ourselves out a feast of mushrooms, root vegetables, greens and noodles. (Robert got himself some pink meatballs.) Delish!

You take the raw food and cook it in your hot pot for a few minutes, pluck it out with the chopsticks onto a small plate that’s slathered with sauce. (Chris and I love sesame sauce with garlic.) Mix it all up and voila! You have yourself a lunch!