Author Archives: Michelle Ross

The Eruption of Mount Daniel

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To begin with, I’d like to dedicate this blog post to the woman sitting in row 09, seat C on the KLM flight from Athens to Amsterdam last week. Without her sharing her lovely germs with me, I’d be at work doing my CLO thing, rather than curled up in my pajamas, under a blanket, on my couch, coughing up a lung. I’d suggest raising a toast to her, but considering this is the same woman who waited all of five minutes after takeoff before opening her purse and hauling out multiple travel-size shampoo bottles filled with alcohol and lined them up on her lap tray, I’d say less drinking in her name would be for the best.

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I like Argentinians. My brother spent two years in Argentina, and for the most part, they treated him well. When we went to visit, we enjoyed dinner with a lovely Argentinian family in their humble abode and felt welcomed by all of his friends. (I’m serious when I say humble. This home was made of construction site quality plastic wrap. As we sat on benches eating our meal with the family, a litter of adorable puppies crawled in and out of the house, between the plastic and the dirt ground.) I hadn’t yet met an Argentinian I didn’t like…until Daniel.

From the time I was in middle school, I’ve loved tales of Pompeii and have always been fascinated by what it must have been like to see Mount Vesuvius erupt, so needless to say, I was especially excited for our daytrip out of Rome to see the mountain and visit the ruins. Nothing could dampen my giddiness at walking through history that morning. Or so I thought. Then, I met the chaos that is Daniel from Argentina.

Thad and I were part of a three-person tour group. Daniel was our third. Daniel spoke very little English, but it was no problem, as our tour guide spoke both English and Spanish, but I should have known it was going to be a long day when the van hadn’t even pulled away from the hotel before Daniel was complaining. His first (of many!) complaints for the day was about the headrest of the seat in front of him. Apparently, it was too high and he couldn’t see out the front window well, but then when Roberta, our tour guide, tried to take it off, he hollered at her to stop because she was going to break it.

But whatever…it was early. I figured this odd duck of a companion was just not an early bird.

Things did not get better. Throughout the morning, whenever Roberta would turn to give us some information about an area we were passing or just to make a passing comment, Daniel would immediately demand that she translate everything she just said into Spanish. Which, to her credit, she was doing with the cultural and historical facts, but if I asked about a restroom, that hardly needed translated for everyone! Daniel was terrified of missing out on something, even something as mundane as asking about a road sign we passed.

Once we reached Pompeii, Roberta handed us off to Hector at the site of the ruins. Hector was this amazing older man who spoke a handful of languages and had served as a guide to Pompeii for twenty years. We quickly bought our tickets and headed up the steep stone path to the entrance of the ancient city. Before we had even made it to the top, Daniel stopped Hector to complain about the language issue. We had not been at the site for more than ten minute and Daniel was yelling (not an exaggeration!) at Hector, saying he had paid for this tour and expected it to be in Spanish. He went off about how Hector was talking to us for four minutes in English and him for only two in Spanish, so he thought he was being ripped off. I felt a bit like we were watching the eruption of the volcano that lurked just a few miles from where we stood.  It got awkward!

Finally, Thad had me tell Hector to just do the tour in Spanish and then I translated the gist for Thad. (I must admit, I learned some great new Spanish vocabulary about volcanoes and Pompeii!) Hector would still jump back and forth between languages, but with me helping to translate, it took a lot of pressure of him because Daniel was just a jerk.

The, as Hector was doing his best to make Daniel happy, Daniel spent the bulk of his morning hitting on our main guide, Roberta. He kept regaling her with stories of other places he had been and forcing her to scan through hundreds of pictures on his iPad- all while we wandered the remains of Pompeii! Several times, Hector had to holler at Daniel to get his attention, like a parent would do to a misbehaving child. Again, awkward!

The day didn’t end there though. Daniel continued to be a first rate ass the entire day. A few of his other shining moments include:

*Forcing the driver to stop multiple times along the narrow road that runs along the Amalfi Coast. Daniel insisted on getting the perfect iPad photo, regardless of the safety of the driver, guide or himself. Several astoundingly beautiful photo-ops were declared “ugly” and we would have to wind up the mountain a few more curves and try again. Ridiculous.

*Constantly hitting on Roberta, our guide, who was a good twenty years younger than him. The woman was as graceful as possible in the situation, but Daniel was just not getting a clue. At one point, he expressed interest in not returning to Rome for the night, but rather staying in Pompeii to hike Mount Vesuvius the following day. Roberta and I jumped on board with that one right away, telling him what a great idea it would be. I was doing it to get a quiet ride home. She was doing it to avoid another date proposal.

*Wanting to have a long conversation with Thad about Syria and chemical weapons, but only knowing about eight words of English, which made me the translator of this very awkward discussion, as he wanted to know why America didn’t just take care of the problem, why Britain didn’t like America anymore and what were WE going to do about it? (It was at this point in the trip that I was really wishing I had some FSI Spanish! While FSI may leave you totally unprepared to order lunch from a street vendor or ask for directions to a dry cleaner, it prepares you well for discussions on 8-party trade talks and nuclear disarmament options. Armas quimicas would definitely have come up in a xiao baogao, I’m sure!)

*And my favorite of the day: Daniel announcing that the worst part of Argentina is the Argentinians. At this point, I thought I must have totally misunderstood our conversation earlier about where we each were from, because he went off on how Dominicans are so much better than Argentinians. I finally leaned over and asked, “But, aren’t you from Argentina?” And yup, sure enough, he’s from Buenos Aires.

Our day with Daniel was more than a little annoying, as he really was a terrible human being, but it looked up when he finally decided he *would* stay in Pompeii to hike the mountain the next day. With no efforts to change his mind, Roberta quickly found him a hotel for the night and we dropped him off before he could questions the decision, making our three hour trip back to Rome much more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.

So no, Daniel, Argentinians are not the worst part of Argentina. You are. Go back there. Stay there. Your behavior is an embarrassment to your beautiful country.

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*Photo credit: Most photos are courtesy of Thad Ross

Accidentally Leaning Towards Judgement

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Over the years, I’ve learned it is best not to be too judgmental of the decisions others make, as life takes us all in unexpected directions and it is hard to anticipate one’s reaction to a given situation until the waves of change are crashing. There was a time when I would have put money on the fact that I would never have a tattoo. I now have three, and can’t promise a fourth isn’t waiting in the wings. At one point in my life, I would have rambled on about how a bad haircut isn’t that big of a deal; it’s just hair after all. It grows out. Then, I joined Peace Corps, moved to western China and had a hairstylist who swore he had worked on blonde hair before bleach my head a glowing white. I wasn’t nearly as stoic about bad hair decisions as I had thought I would be.

But, over dinner at an outdoor café in Florence, Thad and I pinky swore that on our trip to Pisa the next day, there would be absolutely no “holding the tower up” shots. It’s overdone. It’s not unique. It’s a bit ridiculous.

Apparently, we were the *only* ones who felt this way.

From the time we stepped foot on the piazza that holds the Church of Miracles and the Leaning Tower, we were surrounding by tourists, posing in the infamous “holding the tower up” shot. They lined the walkway leading to the tower. They surrounded the tower, some holding it up and other pushing it over. They even clamored over the chains, bypassing the signs that said “stay off the grass” to get their coveted shot.  And while we weren’t after the in-demand camera angle that was so desired, Thad did have a great time documenting the tourists-turned-architectural bulwarks.

And then came the moment that I swore would never come. I did the shot.

Now, before you chuckle and think me a hypocrite for giggling at everyone else, I must say that my circumstances were very different, not in the least because I am holding the tower up from the *inside.* You see, I have this terrible fear of heights, which only seems to worsen with age. (Is it the knowledge of my own mortality that pushes me farther into the world of acrophobia or merely my own wimpiness gaining ground?)  The Leaning Tower of Pisa is tall (although not as tall as the Duomo in Florence, which I mostly scaled the day before) and once inside, the lean is felt much more prominently than I expected. As we curled up and around the inside walls of the tower, gaining height with each tilting step, my heart raced faster and faster. I quickly skittered by the cell-like windows that occasionally popped up along the wall, not needing a confirmation of my ever-growing distance from the ground below. Finally, we popped out on a platform, where I was happy to know I’d at least reached the pinnacle of my ascent, only to be told to keep moving by the guard, on what is apparently just an external landing, with the top of the tower still being several more flights of steps above.  This last stretch of stairway was tighter than before and now that I had glimpsed the outside world, I was ready to be done. But, with just a few more stairs to go, I couldn’t turn away and head back down, even though the voice in my head was screaming at me to do just that. While I wasn’t quite ready to bail on the whole operation, I was definitely feeling the fear building, so when Thad, who was behind me and yielding the camera, told me to stop and turn for a photo, there was no way I could do that without something to hold on to, but with no handrails in sight, that meant using the wall to steady myself.

Which, as it turns out, looks exactly like I am doing the “hold up the tower” pose!

I’m not! I may have a few tattoos and care about my hair more than I had previously thought, but I did not, I repeat, DID NOT do the “holding up the tower” pose!

So, once again, it appears my jump to judgment betrays me yet another time. I didn’t intend to do it. I swore I wouldn’t do it. In the end, I kinda’ did it.

*Photo credit: Most photos are courtesy of Thad Ross

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Wise Words…

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“Sky Seasoning”

by Shel Silverstein

A piece of sky
Broke off and fell
Through the crack in the ceiling
Right into my soup,
KERPLOP!
I really must state
That I usually hate
Lentil soup, but I ate
Every drop!
Delicious delicious
(A bit like plaster),
But so delicious, goodness sake–
I could have eaten a lentil-soup lake.
It’s amazing the difference
A bit of sky can make.

With the wise words of this blog’s muse in mind, I’ll be on a writing hiatus for the next two weeks. Chengdu has been gray for days (and weeks!) on end now, so it is time to escape to a bit of sunshine and Old World beauty. This blogger is off to explore the sidewalks of Italy and Greece, but will return in October with a heart (and head!) full of tales to tell.

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Seeking the Bamboo Sea

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Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a numbers girl. Give me a book report to write any day over a math worksheet and I’ll be a happy camper. But, my deficient  numerical neuron firing doesn’t mean I lack a sense of judgment when it comes to the passage of time. And yet, somehow this weekend, a three and a half hour drive turned into nearly eight hours, with me and ten others from the consulate crammed, knees to chin, on a bus, headed to the great yonder of Sichuan. I’m not entirely sure what reverse magic happened to double the travel time from Chengdu to Bamboo Sea, but I do know several factors, including a bus with a regulator that capped out at 100 kilometers per hour (and believe me, I heard the GPS-voiced woman telling the driver to slow down every time we inched up on that mark) and a nightmare of road construction that narrowed five lanes of traffic to two at a toll booth didn’t help matters. But, whatever the cause of the extended road trip, the hours on the bus were well worth the aching back and crunched knees.

Bamboo Sea was a sight to behold!

After checking into our traditional Chinese-style hotel, complete with hard beds and the requisite toothbrush kits, it was time to go explore the park. (This hotel did come with a couple of bonuses as well, including Wi-Fi, heated pads on the bed and one lonely bathroom cockroach. That was definitely 200RMB well spent!) With several paths winding through the west corner of Bamboo Sea, Thad and I followed the stream, heading up it to where we could hear waterfalls, seemingly around each bend. But, there was no quitting until we reached the much lauded (a sign at every path split!) Polyester Dust waterfall. What a glorious, rustic, natural world-provoking name cascading water- Polyester Dust. Just hearing the name made me felt like I should scurry back to the consulate to grab an N-95 pollution mask, buy extra cancer coverage on my insurance and eat a couple leafy green vegetables with my dinner. (That sentence originally contained the word “extra” before “leafy,” but then I realized that since I don’t really love the leafy stuff to begin with, rather than extra, any at all would be beneficial.)

But, no outdoor trip would be complete without my lack of coordination displaying itself, this time in the form of, what else? A trip! Walking down the stairs (it’s China- stairs everywhere!)  from the peak of Polyester Dust, I got much too animated with my story about a man who dropped his trash on the trail in front of us, and with arms flapping, entirely missed the single step down along the pathway, making quite a spectacle of myself as my ankle turned under and I squawked , altering all in the vicinity that the foreigner bit the (not polyester, but more common natural-form)  dust.  At this point in my spastic life, there is little pride to be lost in such convulsive moments, so after a quick check to make sure my lower limbs were still functional, Thad hauled me back to my feet and I finished out my story about the redemption seeking Chinese litter bug.

Not content to let the rest of the weekend slide idly by with just a single moment of embarrassment,  I met Sunday morning with another great episode of Ways Michelle Is A Wimp.  You see, I’ve got a couple of phobias, but none rank higher on the freak-out list than heights. As a child, they didn’t bother me. I’d happily climb to the top of our weeping willow tree, creeping through the branches to the outer edges where the boughs made a perfect slide to the ground; I’d walk the balance beam of fence posts that surround our llama field; I’d jump from the peak of our playhouse, perfecting a nice tuck and roll as I hit the ground. None of these things were an issue. And yet, somewhere along the line, I decided I’d had enough of being off the ground. On Sunday, that (granted, involuntary) decision made my life a little rougher for about twenty minutes. Bamboo Sea is made up of rolling mountains (bigger than rolling hills, but smaller than anything we would call a mountain in the Northwest), none of which I wanted to hike. (In case it hasn’t become clear yet- I’m not an outdoorsy person. I don’t hike. I don’t camp. I get sunburnt when I even think about sunlight. The mosquito bites turned massive welts on my legs right now can attest to the fact that I should never again set foot outside a building. I’m a book girl. I read. I write. I like temperature controlled spaces. Inside is for me. Not outside. But I digress…) So, since hiking for days was out of the question, the best way to get to the top of the mountain was the cable car. For a mere 30RMB ($5!) I was able to risk my life, dangling from a metal cable in a metal tin can, begging Thad to stop turning his head or even breathing for a short while, as each of those actions rocked the car enough that my life was flashing before my eyes.  This isn’t my first pony ride on the cable car extravaganza, and every time I just pray for the end to come into sight. The problem on Sunday was that every time we inched closed to the top of a ridge and I just knew I was going to be placed back on safe ground, we’d come over the peak to see another expanse of cable pulled taut in front of us. Twenty minutes of dangling above endless acres of bamboo is pretty close to an eternity.

Eventually, after going up a ridge, down a ridge and back up another one, we reached to unloading hut, where I bailed from the cable car, possible faster than I’ve ever moved in my life. (Wait. Stop. I admit to the literary employment of hyperbole there. I’m sure I’ve actually moved faster at a fabulous shoe sale or to put a bit of distance between myself and any creepy crawly little critter. But, you get the idea.)

Before loading back up in the van to head back to Chengdu (which turned out to be a mere six hour drive!), we had one last stop on our itinerary- the setting of the famous Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon lake fight scene. (I saw famous, because apparently *everyone* has seen this movie. I am not *everyone.* As a matter of fact, I had to Google the name of the movie, as I can never get the words in the right order. I know there is a tiger and a dragon, which is awesome, and I know one crouches and one hides, which seems less awesome, but which critter is in which stance is entirely beyond me. Thank you to the primary colored search engine for its quick and efficient fact-checking prowess.)  While this connection to the popular kung-fu movie was a draw for many, I was hooked when the guides said we could rent a bamboo raft and row around the lake on it. Now, remember, I’m not outdoorsy and definitely not athletic. When someone tells me I can rent a raft and float on a lake, I kind of assumed that meant I was also renting the dude to row the boat. Nope! Apparently, I was the dude to row the boat, gently down the stream. (Well, my faithful boat buddies and I!) After a bit of a fiasco, as we didn’t know which end of our boat was the front, we got some synchronized rowing going, making a loop around the lake. As our fellow boaters sang Communist-era songs,  we just tried to keep our oars from tangling up with one another and keep our boat pointed in the right direction.

As we headed back into the city, I quickly realized what a great weekend it was to get out of town. Not only is any trip a good thing, just in general, but as it turns out, this last weekend was particularly bad on the air quality front, with the levels spiking into the 300s, which is pretty high for anytime outside of winter.  By my calculations, taking a group of consulate folks out of the terrible air this last weekend should help realign my karma. I may have lead a different group into the epicenter of an earthquake a few months ago (you can read that adventure here!), but this last weekend I saved their lungs a bit of heartache, so I’d like to balance out the CLO-karma ledger for this year! I still retain enough of my middle school math knowledge to calculate a minus one and a plus one create a nice even balance on the ethereal number line.

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Turn! Turn! Turn!

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As much as I’m not ready to admit the truth, at this point there is little getting around it: fall has arrived in Chengdu. For two weeks now, I’ve been trying to turn a blind eye to the sure signs popping up all around me, but as the days go on, there is no denying it. There is a season- turn, turn, turn…

Other than the sudden turn in weather, why am I convinced that summer is officially over? One of the surest signs of impending cold is the sudden appearance of tailor-made coat shops all around town. Where one day a boutique shoe store or random fruit stall existed, the following day it is outfitted with all manner of coat material, batting and creepy mannequins displaying this year’s quilted winter coat options. These little stores pop up overnight, acting as fall’s counterpart to Punxsutawney Phil.

And of course, in China, there is no better sign of fall than the ubiquitous moon cakes that sprout up around every turn. No hotel, bakery, coffee shop or department store can slide by this time of year without offering an array of hockey puck-like treats to celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival. These uber-dense cakes filled with everything from chopped nuts to red bean paste to egg are a must-give gift for the annual holiday. They can be purchased for as cheap as a couple of kuai each to as much as thousands of kuai for fancy, silk-lined boxes used to gain favor with bosses. (Less than a candy bar or more than my car payment in the US, price on these things doesn’t matter. They are not good. Not good at all.)

Even the uptick in meetings and conference calls about air pollution are a heavy reminder that cold weather (and coal burning!) is just around the corner.

All of this I could ignore though, just blaming the appearance of coats on the turn of the calendar page to September and the requisite moon cakes on the national holiday, but yesterday I saw a sight that popped by mental it’s-not-fall-yet bubble: an old man roasting chestnuts in the alley. There’s no getting around the fact fall has arrived when the old men from the countryside load up their metal cauldrons onto handcarts and haul them into the city to sell chestnuts. In the US, the smell of pumpkin and apple pie and the musty scent of leave piles are what signal to my nose that the holidays are quickly approaching, but in China, nothing frames my mind for the upcoming festivities more than the smell of street-side roasted chestnuts. And they are here.  One roaster has taken up residence in Noodle Alley, a favorite lunch spot for all of us at the consulate and last night I noticed another one on the corner near my apartment complex.  While I can ignore the other tell-tale signs of impending cold, chestnuts roasting on an open fire in Chengdu says all there is to say.

Goodbye summer. Hello autumn.

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Mother Nature Takes Labor Day Much Too Seriously

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And just like that, summer is over.

I know that Labor Day is hailed as the unofficial end of summer, but Chengdu’s Mother Nature took that idea much too seriously. (Not to mention the fact that Labor Day is an American holiday that shouldn’t mean diddly-squat to Chinese Mother Nature!) A week ago, it was 90 degrees and humid, basically making us all feel like toasted cheesers. To escape the heat, we headed to QingCheng Shan to float the river and try to cool off in the mountains (click here for the tale of that crazy adventure!), thinking we had at least a month of hot weather to endure before fall arrived in western China.

How wrong we were!

Labor Day weekend rolled around, and like many of our friends and family back home, a BBQ was on the docket. The only problem is, it rained all weekend long, and with the rain came much cooler temperatures.  Starting Saturday afternoon and continuing through Sunday and into Monday morning, there was near constant moisture coming from the sky. Granted, at times it was a mere drizzle, but the rain was steady enough to keep everything moist, including my picnic tables and grill.

With an RSVP list sixty names long, this was no time for weather woes! Yes, moving inside is always an option, but not a great one, as the consulate doesn’t have a large enough indoor space to accommodate that size of informal gathering. Considering the number of kids in our community, the only good indoors area would have been crawling with little ones, like a toddler invasion sprung from the woodwork. Luckily, by Monday afternoon, the rain had stopped. (The sky had not cleared, but at least there was no water falling. We haven’t actually seen the sun in a week.) With hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill and a potluck spread of everything from spring rolls and macaroni salad to chocolate frosted brownies and fruit-covered cake, the evening ended up being a success, although I did keep an eye on the sky all night long.

Now, we’ve had rain off and on all summer long, but this last weekend’s rain definitely screams, “Fall!” rather than the hot rainy days of July and August that are all summer. Within a week, we dropped from daily highs in the mid-90s to peaking in the mid-60s. After a summer season of skirts and dresses, I think tomorrow morning it may be time for me to dig to the back of my closet and find the long pants that have been collecting dust and wrinkles.  I haven’t worn pants to work since May, but the lovely streak of brightly colored skirts and short sleeve blouses it quickly coming to an end. (Luckily, next year when we move to Kuala Lumpur, it will be summer year-round!)

Maybe Chinese seasons are just more regimented than the willy-nilly season changes in the US. Much like the Chinese government (at least in Gansu) decrees that winter cold starts on November 15, thus turning on radiator heat to schools and apartments, Labor Day arrived towing fall weather along with it.

Goodbye summer heat and humidity. Hello fall precipitation and puddles.

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Twerp by Mark Goldblatt

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Twerp by Mark Goldblatt

twerp

Another young adult novel! I’m on a roll over the long, rainy Labor Day weekend here in Chengdu.

Twerp by Mark Goldblatt is the perfect companion novel to yesterday’s Sure Signs of Crazy  by Karen Harrington. Although they are not the same story, there are some great comparison points, and each reach towards a different middle school audience, while not being exclusive in their readability.

Goldblatt’s book focuses on Julian, a sixth grade boy who is writing as a requirement for his English teacher after being suspended from school for a week because of his involvement in a bullying incident. The book starts in a rather rambling sense, as Julian is just doing the assignment because he feels forced to do it, but as the novel progresses, Julian comes into his own as a writer, seeing it as a way to explore ideas and feelings that he’s not ready to share with the world.

One reason that Julian begins to love the assigned writing project is that his teachers lets him off the hook for a report on Julius Caesar and since Julian hates Shakespeare, he is happy to continue to write his own narrative. But, as literary tradition would have it, he soon discovers parallels between his life and that of Caesar, which draws him back into the very assignment he hoped to escape.

There were a couple of interesting plot points that stood out to me as I read Twerp. First of all, I found the whole thing reminiscent of The Outsiders. The story takes place in the 60s, is a writing assignment for a young man who has been in trouble and draws on literary references in a way that makes them accessible to middle school readers. Also, I liked that the protagonist was just a regular kid from a “regular” family. There were no horrible, dark secrets in his past that made him make the bad decision that lead to the writing of his story, but rather just a poor choice made on the spur of the moment with friends. I like the conversations that this could lead to in a classroom- about how each choice we make has consequences, even if we don’t intend them to. And, of course, the English teacher in me isn’t going to complain about the Shakespeare quotes and references sprinkled throughout the novel.

Mark Goldblatt’s Twerp is a great read for middle school boys. (Not that girls wouldn’t also enjoy it, but the protagonist deals with some very middle school-boy issues that are probably more relatable by the male population than the female.) It has action, it has friendship, it has competition and even a bit of love thrown in, making it a well-rounded, great read for the start of a new school year, earning it:

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Sure Signs of Crazy by Karen Harrington

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Sure Signs of Crazy by Karen Harrington

sure signs of crazy

Words are a whole lot more than just a series of letters thrown together. Words can cause joy or pain. Words can bolster courage or crush dreams. To have a young protagonist who loves words and sees their potential for both good and bad is the perfect set-up for a novel of middle school self-exploration.

There are many things for the teacher in to me to love about this book:

1)      The use of great vocabulary, followed by a direct and easy to understand definition. (Think: A Series of Unfortunate Events) I adore the way Harrington fills the book with amazing words, but then doesn’t leave the middle school reader wondering what they mean. Having a protagonist that loves the dictionary and the words in it allows the author to give simple definitions right in the text of the story. I also love that each word is Sarah’s new “favorite” word, as I too am easily swayed by fun, new words!

2)      To Kill a Mockingbird. What more can I say? The entire book is based around Sarah’s letters to Atticus Finch, one of the strongest characters in American literature. I can only cross my fingers and hope that after reading Sure Signs of Crazy, a student would be curious enough to go search out a copy of Lee’s amazing book. (I’d have these two books displayed side-by-side in my classroom!!)

3)      Important issues are dealt with, but not in world-crushing kind of way. A novel whose protagonist is the survivor of attempted infanticide by her mother and now lives with her alcoholic father could very easily flow into darkness, but Harrington does a super job of seeing the world through the eyes of a twelve year old- jumping between the seriousness of her history, but also the daily concerns of a growing young lady, like her first kiss and the overwhelming options on the feminine hygiene aisle.

 

While the basis of the story is a disturbing one, the reader is able to walk away from the book with hope for the future. We are not a simple math problem of parent + parent = child, but rather have the choice to follow our own dreams and discover what we want out of life. Sarah is not destined to be either crazy or an alcoholic, just because that is what she comes from, but rather has an entire world of words and books ahead of her to help determine her pathway.

Karen Harrington’s latest novel is a must-have for middle school libraries and classrooms and easily earns a solid:

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American expat Living in China, Interview with Michelle

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The following is an interview I did with ExPats Blog. You can see the full thing by clicking here. This is a great site to find blogs about places you want to go or are going. (I’ve already signed up to follow several Malaysia blogs!)
American expat Living in China, Interview with Michelle
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Michelle is an ex-pat blogger living in western China. She spends her weekends exploring the cities/sites around Chengdu and trying to avoid the mouth-numbing Sichuan peppercorns that seem to end up sprinkled in every dish she orders. A middle school English teacher by trade, she blogs about life abroad, travel and books. Michelle’s expat blog is called In Search of the End of the Sidewalk.

Here’s the interview with Michelle…

Where are you originally from?
Idaho

In which country and city are you living now?
Chengdu, China

How long have you lived here and how long are you planning to stay?
I’ve been here one year and will be here one more, for a two year total. (I previously lived in Gansu province as a Peace Corps Volunteer, so my total China-time will be at four years when I move on next summer.)

Why did you move and what do you do?
My husband works for the US State Department at the consulate in Chengdu. I am a teacher by training, but unable to work in the schools at this time, but was lucky enough to find a job with the consulate as well. I am the Community Liasion Office Coordinator. My job consists of helping new officers/families get acquainted with the city, assisting with international schooling issues, making connections with the local community, as well as helping the spouses of officers find employment and a lot of event planning. It is a job that keeps me on my toes!

Did you bring family with you?
I am here with my husband. We do not have children.

How did you find the transition to living in a foreign country?
China is very different from the US, so there is definitely an element of culture shock when one first arrives. In Chengdu, there are few people who speak English, so having a working knowledge of Mandarin is extremely helpful. Chengdu is a growing city and one that is striving to gain a more metropolian status, so while there are currently not a huge number of western-style restaurants/supermarkets, they are expanding.

Was it easy making friends and meeting people; do you mainly socialize with other expats?
While I would say that I mainly socialize with ex-pats, I have had the opportunity to meet and work with some really great local folks. Because my job entails a lot of community interaction and event planning, I do tend to have a pretty tight group of friends within the American community, but would say I’ve definitely enjoyed getting to know the citizens of the city.

What are the best things to do in the area; anything to recommend to future expats?
Pandas! That is by far the number one reason tourists come to Chengdu. We’ve got a great research base on the edge of town where you can spend a lovely morning visiting giant pandas and red pandas. For a mere $300USD you can even hold a panda!

Outside of pandas, the area has some beautiful sightseeing opportunities. A visit to the Giant Buddha at LeShan is a must-see, as is a weekend trip to JiuZhaiGou- China’s answer to Yellowstone.

What do you enjoy most about living here?
There area lot of great things about Chengdu, including the spicy food, but I would say the best part about the city is the countryside surrounding it. Just an hour outside of the city you will find beautiful fields, majestic mountains and clear skies.

How does the cost of living compare to home?
People coming to China often expect that everything is very cheap here, but that’s not the reality of living in the country on an extended basis. Anything “western” is very expensive, including name brand clothing. It may be made in China, but it is then shipped to the US, and then returned with a huge import tax added on to the original price.

Food can be found for very inexpensive, but it is important to be careful about knowing where the food comes from, as quality can be an issue. If it seems like too good of a price to be true, there is probably a reason.

What negatives, if any, are there to living here?
The biggest drawback to living in Chengdu is the pollution. Year-round, the city has high levels of air pollution, that spike over the winter months.

If you could pick one piece of advice to anyone moving here, what would it be?
I’d remind them to come with an open mind. Chengdu is not an American city and if that is what you want, you should stay home. There are quirks about the city and people that can be frustrating at times, but when I hear people complain, saying, “That’s not how we do it in the US,” I want to remind them they aren’t in the US. Why should the locals do things our way when it is their country? Learn to let the little things go and enjoy the quirks!

What has been the hardest aspect to your expat experience so far?
Living in Chengdu has been an easy transition and I’ve not run into any really big problems. Getting ahold of American food for the holidays can be tough, but otherwise, the last year has been a very good one.

What are your top 5 expat tips for anyone following in your footsteps?

  1. Be ready for spicy! Chengdu is known for its Sichuan peppercorn, which makes its way into all sorts of dishes. This huajiao will numb your tongue and lips, making dinner an interesting experience.
  2. Western sizes can be difficult to find. If you have bigger feet, be sure to bring spare shoes with you. The same goes for clothing, especially if you are tall.
  3. Travel! Chengdu is an okay city, but the best places lie outside the city boundaries. Visit the monkeys at Emei Mountain. Raft the river at QingCheng Mountain. See the ancient irrigation system in DuJiangYan. Don’t spend every weekend in the city or you’ll go crazy. Get out, get some fresh air, see the sun and visit the great places China has to offer.
  4. Don’t let the cultural differences get to you. This is not America. You will see people spitting on the street and children using the sidewalk as a toilet. You will get shoved over by an old lady as you try to get on the subway and you will have your photo taken as you wait in line to buy groceries. Think of every day as a new adventure!
  5. If you are moving to Chengdu long-term, invest in an air purifier (or two!) for your apartment. Your lungs will thank you.

 

Tell us a bit about your own expat blog.
In Search of Where the Sidewalk Ends is my attempt to record both the extraordinary and mundane events of life as the spouse of a Foreign Service officer.

Before becoming an “EFM” (Foreign Service code for spouse/children), I worked as an 8th grade English and reading teacher. I took a two-year leave of absence from 2006-2008 so that Thad and I could join the Peace Corps. We served as PCVs in Gansu, China during that time, after which I returned to the States for a few years before heading out on the road again.

The most common question that I have been asked as we prepared for the move from Idaho to China is “What are you going to do?” Thad’s career is pretty laid out, but mine is in a much more unknown state at this point. With each move, I will have to search for a new job, but wherever I go, I will continue to blog about life in another country, travel and books- just a few of my favorite things.

River Rafting with Chinese Characteristics

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Filed under Travel Musings

Doing something with “Chinese characteristics” is one of my favorite ways to describe most daily occurrences here in the Middle Kingdom. Shopping, even at western stores like IKEA, comes with a uniquely Chinese feel. It is absolutely appropriate to curl up with your entire family and take a little afternoon xiuxi in the air conditioned store; those beds are fully made up, after all. Heck, I even saw a guy using the model kitchen to prepare his lunch! And a night out at a restaurant has a distinctly Sichuanese flavor that isn’t just attributed to the mouth numbing huajiao seeds that garnish nearly every dish. A traditional Chinese restaurant is loud and hot and meals are meant to last for hours. This definitely isn’t the culture for someone who prefers to eat and run.

With three years and change under my Chinese belt, I’m not sure why I expected anything less when I headed out for a weekend trip to QingCheng Shan. Having heard rumor of river rafting, my Idaho genes went on high alert. Floating on water is what we do, whether it be in a twelve-man raft doing down the world-famous Salmon River white water or a more leisurely trip in a tube through the middle of the capital city on the Boise River; when the mercury spikes, Idahoans take to the rivers! It has been a hot, humid summer in Chengdu, so a trip to the mountains and a river sounded like a perfect August weekend adventure.

And what an adventure it turned out to be!

Along with a dozen other members of the consulate community, I headed up to the mountain on Saturday morning. While I didn’t do a headcount, I’m pretty sure our little baker’s dozen was joined by nearly everyone else in the Chengdu basin that day! Who can resist the pull of a cool mountain stream when triple digits are the daily norm?

After stopping at the first rental shack to get pay our rafting fee, we headed down a flight of stairs to where we’d pick up our life jackets and oars. It took over half an hour to gather these river necessities, as the returning line was sparse and the borrowing “line” grew by the minute. (“Necessities” is a bit of an overstatement. Since the river was rarely more than five feet deep, and usually about two feet deep, there was little chance of drowning. The oar, on the other hand, when not being used to dislodge our raft from rocks, came in handy as a defensive weapon, so it turns out the wait was crucial.)

Finally, fully outfitted in bright orange life jackets (because the group of foreigners didn’t stand out enough to begin with!) we headed down the final flight of stairs, to await a raft that seemingly fell from the heavens. (Okay, it really came flying down a chute from the road above, but the crashing and violence of the arrival made it seem much more supernatural.)  With two to three people in each raft, off the foreign crew headed, six boats strong. (Columbus’ conquering fleet had nothing on us!)

We weren’t ten yards down the river before we realized this would be no normal afternoon of rafting. You see, because the river was so shallow, it was really easy for a group to pull their raft over to the side of the water and then set up camp, or more appropriately, set up an ambush! Chinese (we were the only non-Chinese in sight) people lined the sides of the river with water guns and buckets, just awaiting each raft to enter their claimed territory. Upon arrival, the rafts and rowers were drenched in water from all directions. Our leisurely day on the river turned into a three-mile water fight.

And it was awesome!

Who knew river rafting could be so interactive?

Not to be outdone, we decided to set up Foreigner Camp at a bend in the river, pulling our rafts onto a sandbar and spacing ourselves to take on the next set of rafters headed down the river. Again, it was awesome! Everyone on/near the river was fair game. I had old women drench me with buckets, only to watch them get the same treatment from one of our crew.

The long awaited oars spent much less time paddling than they did serving as water scoops, defending us from our river-borne enemies. Thad even had a little girl nemesis the entire length of the trip; her raft would periodically pull alongside our and she would hose him off with her water gun.

The day may not have turned out to be the lackadaisical float down a quiet mountain river that I had imagined, but was still a fantastic way to spend a hot Sichuan afternoon. Rafting, along with most things about this country, takes on a unique hue, best described by the phrase “with Chinese characteristics.”

(If you’re in the Chengdu area and looking for a tour company, check out Windhorse Tours!)

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