It has been a year and a half since my return from China. There are not many days that pass that I do not think of my experiences there. It is incredible to me just how long it has taken me to process what I saw. It is an ongoing thing. Every year I recollect something different or connect things that I did not realize I should have connected all along. The understanding and insight I gained in my travels not only to China, but to Kazakhstan, Japan, Mexico and Europe help me to understand contemporary actions and issues I see in the news. I teach in an area that affords me the delight and opportunity to teach students from all over the world. Experiences I had as a traveling teacher help me to be considerate and mindful of their needs and perspectives. These are all gifts I have received.
I came across something that I wrote mostly while riding on buses throughout China in the summer of 2014. It started merely as a list of adjectives, sights, sounds and feelings I was experiencing. I added to it when I returned but put it aside while my busy life of being a mother, teaching, volunteering, and public speaking swallowed me whole again.
This is a bit about some of the things I heard, saw, and felt.
China
Wow. Crowded.
People are touching me constantly.
Putrid garbage stench assaults my senses.
Incense sweetens it.
Truck exhaust and air pollution form gray skies.
Humidity is excruciating. My armpits sweat and fear dissipates as the reality sets in.
Everything is sticky and wet.
Hot feet swollen in pinching shoes.
What is this film on my skin?
Green plush vegetation between mountain peaks that cleave the sky in two.
China has two faces.
One for what is shown and other for reality and beauty underneath.
Cold senior stares into my soul.
I feel they don’t like me much.
Their eyes are devoid of understanding of my kind.
I see kind smile lines turned up on round weathered faces as they look at their grandchildren.
Bouncing children, loud, laughing, everywhere.
I get shy stares as they push into their parents' side. They think I can’t see them.
Averting gazes and all out mouth dropping stares greet me as I run down the street.
Motionless stares too.
Half smiles are given and I hear shrieks of what seems like laughter at us.
I am experiencing the self consciousness of being in foreign lands.
Community is strong.
The aroma of spices and dried foods and the sounds of chicken or pork sizzling are everywhere.
Steam rises from stands with hot dumplings filled with greens.
Urine-stenched sidewalks and tunnels to subway. I think of New York City instantly.
Why are you screaming friends? What can be seen can never be unseen. Hutong lavatories.
The hum of the bus engine makes my eyes heavy.
I am laughing with Ida, again.
Sounds of tin cans on the marble floor are met with the sight of a person asking for donations or help.
Limbless men are sleeping or calling out to people passing on a lit bridge on a dark, hot, humid night in Beijing.
Sensory overload upon sighting hundreds in one spot. The world is larger than I ever imagined in my wildest dreams.
People bustling, playing exercise, looking for relief from the never ending heat. It is 10 pm, babies are up.
Basketballs thumping and yells on soccer field. Dull thud of fists flying and yelling men over plays gone awry.
The feel of cold droplets on top of my skull is followed by creeping fear rising up from my heart. What the heck was that from above?
Shiny beautifully cleaned floors of restaurants with round tables and the largest Lazy Susan I have ever seen.
Half bellies hanging out everywhere. Natural air conditioning I am told.
Do not drink cold water. I wish I could have ice. Just one cube please. Just one!!
Cold water throws off balance.
I wonder how many years I took off of my life running in Beijing. Mask. Note to self.
I recoil with disgust as I watch him spit right there inside. Clash of cultural appropriateness.
I guess we will point to that table. She can’t understand what we are saying. That looks good over there.
The rolls of the waitresses eyes and the sound of her exasperation follows as we fumble some more. A pencil will not help matters here.
Guy on a couch indoors smoking a butt. I think of the teachers room in my elementary school in the 1980s.
My eyes dart past the young child squatting on the park sidewalk. No diapers pile landfills here.
Social women thick as thieves hanging every night. This is a collective culture.
Arms sway slowly, fans open thoughtfully at the very same moment . No individual interpretation except the awkward fumbling Americans in the back row.
Thumbs up for trying. The Chinese are welcoming and encouraging thankfully.
Men crowded around low tables throwing dice on a street corner.
Full families on scooters.
Constant horns blaring. Cars dart quickly. Bikes, bikes, bikes.
The soup is hot but the noodles are hotter.
The smooth hum and motion of the bus and the jarring of the breaks 100 times in a city block.
Pain in my neck and shoulders waking groggy from a much needed nap. Where are we??
Ankles swelling and legs aching for movement. Stop talking.
I wish they would tell us more. Harold explains everything so well.
I hear Clara. Asking questions. God love her. She has the best questions.
Makes sense. Nothing changes. It has always been this way here. Cultural consistency lost, trying to figure a new way.
Stuff, watches , shoes , fans, Buddhas, trinkets, bracelets, nutty snacks, Maos hollow empty stare from plates, posters, car chimes, t shirts, magnets and pins.
Special price. Just for you.
Materialism unleashed, unchecked and out of control. Not homesick for this.
Walmart on steroids.
Dirty brown and yellow river, sound of rushing water moving fast. Would I survive? It would pin me for sure. I would drown.
For the love of God, please may this bridge hold. Will I see my boy again?
Neon lights and cool breeze on the hot deck of an evening boat.
Vertical towers holding thousands times a million. Endless as the eye can see. They differ In color and clutter. Nothing more.
Lights so bright I fear a seizure. Jenny would know what to do. I miss laughing with her terribly.
Chatter of Mandarin. Indecipherable at all times. Confusion and hand miming to figure it out. The eternal game of charades is perfected.
Reds, yellows, green and blues. The boldest and brightest I have ever seen. Gold leaf jumps off and glistens in light. Looks like thick paint.
Naps on motorcycles, couches and chairs along the roads. Sometimes concrete.
Lines of parked mopeds, dusty, new, paint chipped, rusty, colorful, foam peeking through a ripped seat.
The motorbikes. Sometimes full of families, best friends, suitcases, construction materials or shopping bags. You can actually fit quite a bit. No warning flags fly on long items though. People here use common sense.
Not a helmet insight but face masks, plastic visors, arm coverings or blankets and sheets wrapped around legs and laps.
Umbrellas abound. Every color imaginable. Shimmery green glistening in the unrelenting sun with flower borders in black lace was a favorite. The sun is brutal.
Clean shiny glass fronts of a westernized Shanghai shopping district reminds me of going home. Disappointment to see it surprising. Not disappointment to go home - I can taste the anticipation of Maine climate and ocean water- but disappointment in names , brands, materials that rob tradition, memory and culture.
Frustration that arises with the little things your peers are doing after spending every day with them for a month. And the disappearance of it moments later replaced by admiration for the people they are and what they do. I love this crew. Truly.
Roll with it girl.
The chatter of my peers, of home, of schools, administrators, great programs, shitty professional development that doesn't make sense, history, architecture, evaluations of speakers, hotels, internet connectivity, blogging, stomachs, sites to see, pedagogy, ideas, ideals, politics, art, and family.
Jose’s poster is the best.
What are you doing later? Follow Amy to explore. She goes everywhere and fast.
Cranes, cranes, cranes jetting out far from the tops of endless numbers of new apartment high rises. Who will live here?
Crowded occupancy, windows open, air conditioning units outside of windows dripping water 20 stories below. Laundry strung across outdoor porches trying to dry in less than 2 days.
Red flag. Bright yellow stars, each one for groups in Chinese society. One star for all. Centralization is paramount.
Hot breezes on face skin is radiating steam, it is always wet. Eyebrows are heavy with sweat droplets that stream into eyes and sting.
My skin looks amazing.
Limbs are heavy running around a hot track. The winded dizzy feeling comes fast when as you sweat into air already thick with humidity.
That old man just lapped me. I will get him next time.
Never did.
If you don’t like China, or studying about China, why are you here? I couldn't believe my ears.
Just when you think you have heard it all, you haven’t.
Nervous anxiousness digging for subject matters to discuss with a family we just met. Smiling to myself as we find common ground in many things. Student personality characteristics are global. Your doppleganger exists, living and breathing and being you somewhere else in the world. Oh yes. They are.
The roll of eyes upwards searching for correctly translated words. Their brains must be exhausted at the end of the day because mine is too. Communication is exhausting.
Straining and focusing to hear soft whisper of a female's voice. My cultural instinct is to tell her to speak up. I mistake volume for confidence. The confidence is in her walk and look of her eyes.
Red, white, and blue accordion like model housing. The migrants are building this city in royal and baby blue clothing.
“You are going to Chongqing?” is always followed by a deep belly laugh. “The furnace city” always follows. I feel my stomach flip. I am hot already.
Reds are sharp. They are everywhere in deep crimson.
I like my roomie Yolanda. I hope the next is as full of perspective and interesting conversation as she is. Rotating roommates is part of the travel gig.
I am nervous as my back hits the turf. Does fake grass have pesticides? Why am I constantly scared of chemicals being from the US, a country who poisons me everyday via food?
Clothes of every form and color hang drying in the breeze from lines and poles. Collectively that building could clothe a small village there are so many.
I watch Sherry's eloquent hands, signing for the camera and her students and think of watching my deaf mother and her friends converse when I was a child.
Hot spicy sneezing ensues. Welcome to Chongqing, furnace of China. More hot pot?
What is that meat? Or is it seafood? What is that??!!
The bleeping of video games on the crowded subway. I stare over his shoulder as he plays the speed piano game that Gavin does. I ache to see my boy. Homesickness pangs are frequent as I daily question if I am a good mother being here without him.
The answer, I conclude, is in the center where all things should and often do exist.
You are charged for dirty towels in a hotel with a kid peeing on the floor of the dining room. No one says much about the kid. They want 5 RMB for the towel though.
Sun rays bounce off the thick blue large plastic water cooler containers stacked 15 high on a moped.
If I hear one more taxi horn I will go postal. Beeping the horn doesn't make this traffic jam move anywhere.
Alleyways teeming with life in their own corner of the earth nestled between high rise buildings, cramped by urban explosion.
There are a million worlds in China. And they all have their own street and underground life.
Leah joins us working out on the blue and yellow machines of the exercise park. I admire her passionate discourse about music education.
Weathered pink Communist Party stars adorn the peaks of apartment buildings another sign of an era disappearing. Guys selling plastic shoes in a myriad of colors and Imitation Coach bags are below.
I am lost, now just look for Lindsey’s colorful attire. I spot it, with a flood of relief.
The best apartments are in the middle. Penthouses are for the unlucky in the furnace.
My heart pounds as the machine sucks in my card. I am frightened I shall never see it again. I feel the flood of relief as it ever so slowly creeps it's way back to me. Seems like an eternity.
Calligraphy. I don't get it. Two, three and four combine to make one. This character means land that I used to live on but was taken in the fall or maybe spring. Say what?
Margot was right. About everything.
7000 is the population of your school you say? That is bigger than the town I live in.
There isn't a word big enough to describe how big China is.
Riding up this escalator that is steep and feeling like screaming. Trying not to look down.
That rickety chair lift you say? God help us Margy.
Calves are burning. I hear complaining. You are on the Great Wall. Suck it up.
Hazy sky. Will this trip shorten my life by years after breathing this in for a month?
Yelling in a market. Smells of fish and dirt surround everything.
The salt is bitter and my lips pucker. I did not want to eat the shell.
The man is yelling at me. Whatever for? My mind scrambles to identify my mistake.
Tinted windows on middle class status symbols.
Developments of apartment buildings. Red roofs of a monopoly game rush to mind.
People crossing a highway. Is this legal?
Families lounging on the only grass in the city close to them. The highway serves as recreation space. Double bonus.
Tangled black wires look like licorice strings. Electricity buzzes through them.
Large planted green fields. Narrow roads meander through. People in blue, biking looking mini from afar.
News from home rocks my secure world. An old friend has lost her son. So close to home. Our boys are the same age. My heart is shattered into a million pieces for her. How will I get through this dinner without bawling. Keep swallowing the lump. Leave now. I want to go home. I want to go home.
My refugee students do too. I think of them in this moment.
Dirt, rocks, bamboo and metal scaffolding. Blue machinery, talk red and yellow cranes by the thousands. Blue roofs and dirty white walls of temporary housing for workers. Sounds of jackhammers. People digging by hand. Build the new China and hope they will come.
Empty high rises of luxury.
Evergreen China Post trucks bold white calligraphy contrast.
Protection hangs from every rear view mirror. Charms, reds and imperial yellows.
Hot bodies pushing to catch glimpses of history in dirt.
Straightforward watch of the Terracotta Warrior. Who was he? The farmer is grouchy, sick of the swarm of tourists I imagine.
Deliciousness of coffee, ice cold, light cream and sugar. There is a god. This is the only coffee I have seen.
Constant activity in the brain, listening, connecting and planning how to use it. Never ending newsfeed.
White, western women and men in Armani, Gucci and Prada adorn billboards and storefront signs enticing Asian buyers.
Welcome to Shanghai.
Stylish buildings. The spread of the architect model is incredible.
Two-tone cabs, line green, mint green, blue, and black . The common denominator is gray.
The pace of that cargo ship is unnerving. What happens if he needs to stop? He is going too fast.
Pink, silver, and blue marks the modern skyline. Teacher cameras go crazy.
The wait is grueling. It is time to go.
My feet, I. . . .
Everything will be ok.
Goodbye my friends.
And then we are half. Empty feeling of the bus. My friends are gone.
Canceled flights, waiting to get out. We are at the mercy of government and military exercises.
I swear if one more person touches me. Every fiber of my being wants to run through the space Maine provides for me. Open. I close my eyes and think of the silence of the lake I always swim through. The flight will be long.
Plane flights over 6 hours send me into a time warp. I really haven’t been flying that long have I?
Anxiety ridden running for my connection.
Hello USA. A lady guard welcomes me with sarcasm and yelling about lines. Anger wells up in me. She is a disgraceful welcome home. Do not fly into New Jersey from abroad. Or domestic. Or ever.
My world will never be the same thanks to China.
