Duck in the coop

Right now I’m sitting in a hammock on the roof of my apartment building.  The air has gradually grown thick over the past four days, air, pollution, and humidity vying for the same space.  Now it’s raining, thick, heavy, lazy drops, pinging on the tin roof-top covering the area where we hang our clothes to dry.  Clothes, cloth, cloths – I’ve explained the difference between those words five times in the last two days to about 135 students.  My hammock isn’t the driest place, but as long as my computer is safe, I’m not going to miss out on the quietest outdoors experience I’ve had in weeks.  I love listening to the rain here – the air feels different, but the sound is familiar.

The last couple of weeks have been a little interesting.  I thought culture shock would be a sad feeling, or an intolerant perspective, or a nagging whininess because a person expects everything to be the same as home is.  It’s more like being the only duck in a coop full of chickens.  Everyone has feathers and wings just like you, but somehow you keep expecting to find a pond somewhere.  Culture shock isn’t the longing for the pond – it’s the expectation of finding one.

Sometimes the contrast of cultures is little; you sneeze, I say, “Bless you.”  WHY?  Old world superstition.  What an awkward thing to explain to a student.  Sometimes the contrast is blatant.  Babies don’t wear diapers, so their pants are split open until they’re two or three.  You learn to avoid all puddles.

The hardest thing for me is the noise – constant, blaring, haranguing noise.  The Chinese express everything with BIG sound.  Happiness, anger, grief, motivation = noise!  They also mark every notable event with firecrackers: relationships, births, deaths, building dedications, street performances, weddings, or maybe just because it’s Tuesday!  I’m learning to enjoy these outbursts of sound at remarkable decibels because it is a joyous expression.  It’s been years since anyone has called me ‘quiet,’ but even with my training in projection, some of my student still can’t hear me.  I really think their hearing is already damaged!  Add to the list of necessary China gear: earplugs.

At the same time, the clash of worlds is kind of wonderful.  I missed dinner last night (for choir practice, obviously) so I trekked out to the food district across the street from the university.  Food carts were pulled out along the side of the road, with meat kabobs or fried bread or giant biscuit sandwiches, long tables filled with a million different noodles, marinating snails, sliced lotus, or boiled dumplings.  Everything is vivid, or it would be if it weren’t covered in a fine layer of dust.  Red chipped paint on the carts, yellow and green advertisements high on both sides of the brightly lit alleyway.  People lounge at long tables on each side of the streets, kind of like a community food court outside.  I walked through last night, pretty hungry, but wanting something new.  Between my white face, broken Chinese, and awesome pantomime, I bought cold marinated noodles with just the right amount of spice while locals pretended like they weren’t taking pictures of me with their smart phones.  It was a good night to be out there, the night sky and tantalizing smells – then I laughed as I realized I was trudging around an alley in some of my best clothes! 

That’s culture shock phase #2 – growing accustomed to something, then realizing how absurd it would seem in a different context.  It’s high-sensory living, amazingly enjoyable and energy consuming.  I find I need a lot more sleep.

The air is still dense, but cooler now.  I feel like fall is one step closer.  I wish I had cinnamon – it would complete my perfect bowl of oatmeal!  But as I sit in my hammock on the other side of the laundry, dreaming of perfect fall oatmeal, I’m also taking in the view; a pagoda and the replica of a Russian castle, both illuminated with brightly colored Christmas lights.  Quack!