A mother’s daughter

I often credit my mother for my wandering spirit, my longing to travel, see the world, learn of new places and experience new things.  She moved a lot growing up and she first introduced me to the foreign world and to traveling.  When I was in second and third grade my mom was getting her master’s degree in teaching English as a second language.  With my sister and I, she discussed where we could go as a family for her to teach.  We spoke of the great unknowns places as far apart and distinct as China and Cyprus. We finally landed in Hungary where we spent a year as a family shortly after the fall of the iron curtain.  An experience unlike any other for a nine year old American school girl and only the beginning of my world travels.

I saw Europe with my family at a young age.  I remember meeting my mother’s penpal from (former) East Germany – who she met for the first after over 20 years of snail mail correspondence. I tasted the culture again as an exchange student and tourist between high school and college.  My mom always supported me along the way.  I remember sitting outside Starbucks with her back in 1997 discussing how I wanted to go to Europe as an exchange student.  I remember waiting in the San Fransisco airport for 9 hours after over 30 hours of traveling having not seen my family or friends for an entire year. I called my mother as she was drinking margaritas in Arizona on vacation and told her I was moving from Oregon to Florida on a whim.

I grew up looking up to my mom’s students from all over the world, how they traveled to a foreign land from Asia, the Middle East, South America and Europe to study and learn English in a new culture; yet, provided for us a taste of their own culture.

I remember sitting planning a girls trip with my mom and sister, discussing where to go, where to explore.  I remember zip-lines, rainforests, beaches and white water rafting with my mom and sister through Costa Rico.

I remember the questions, the mothering, the worrying that came when I said I wanted to move to China. But all along, my mom supported me.  I remember her telling me she would come visit me in China, that her and her husband, Matt, were planning on it.  I remember the overwhelmed look of surprise and excitement that came over her face when my sister and I agreed to help fund her trip to China for Christmas this past year.

I went and visited one of my mom’s classes when I was home in July and met some of her Chinese students – now all significantly younger than me  – who all knew because of my mom’s stories that I am her daughter living in China.

My mom supported me along the way and I’m always happy to see her.  When she came to visit me in Corvallis, Oregon for mom’s weekend at OSU, when she would come and see my house in Portland, when I flew home after months or a year of being away, when we took separate flights and met in an airport miles from home to take a trip together, when we explored new countries together, I was always happy to see my mom.  However, never in my life have I been as excited to see my mom as today.

I’ve been talking about it for weeks, months in fact.  I’ve been counting down the days.  I couldn’t sleep last night.  I told my students about it today.  I jumped for joy and spun in circles cheering with excitement in the middle of my office!  I honestly could not contain myself.  Because today, I showed my mom the world.  My mom had been to Corvallis, to Portland, to Beaverton, my mom knows what to expect in the US or in Europe, my mom has traveled and seen the world and our eyes have seen things together for the first time.  But today, my mom came to my world.

My mom and Matt have never been to China, though both have wanted to over the years.  My mom told me the other day, “In thinking about all the places in the world I want to go and where I might actually realistically go sometime in my life, China was never on the list.” China was always a dream, but never a reality – because of me, China is a reality.

My mom gets to see where I have been living for the past (almost) 8 months. She gets to walk the streets I walk every day, eat the food I eat, see the faces I see.  She can experience the packed subways, the traffic, the dirty streets, the view from my bedroom, the smells of Shanghai.  She gets to step inside the photographs, the stories, the blogs and take part in my life – a life so different than anything or any place she has known.  She gets to feel, to experience what I feel and experience every day.  What a million words, stories or a thousand pictures could never convey.

My mom is here.  Her and Matt arrived by plane at 2:35pm, I was still at work when they called at 3:05pm to say they made it through security and customs and were off the find the Maglev (the high speed train) to the city.  They had detailed instructions on how to take the train and the subway to get to my subway stations, where I was waiting, hardly containing myself, to greet them – and welcome them to my world.

Welcome home, Mom!  This is my life – this is Shanghai, China.

Turning Chinese…

You know you’ve been in China awhile when (or not in Portland at least):

Someone asks where you live and you point in a certain direction and respond, “About a 27 kuai cab ride that way.”  You then take a cab home and it is exactly 27 kuai.

It is over 70 degrees outside (Fahrenheit) and you think about grabbing a jacket before you leave home.

A cool, cloudy day with temps in the low 70′s is a refreshing change from the heat.

You don’t really care when you walk out of the subway station, across town from home, without an umbrella and realize it is pouring rain because you know you can buy one right there for less than $2.

Even though it is hot and humid out you drink hot or warm water out of habit.

You live in a city of 25 million and think it’s a small town when you run into people you know out and about.

You feel like you need to get out of Shanghai to get away from all the Westerners.

You sometimes do a double take when you see someone with blond hair.  Even though you are blond yourself.

You visit a small town of 3 million to “get away from the city”.

You bump into people in the subway station and the thought of apologizing or saying excuse me doesn’t even cross your mind.

Five Chinese, a Brit and an American go to a Chinese restaurant for dinner, the Brit and the American do all the ordering and the Chinese don’t even look at the menu.

You start asking people if they have eaten when you see them.

You get frustrated eating pasta with a fork and grab a pair of chopsticks instead.

You drink room temperature milk out of a cardboard packet (?) (I don’t know a good word for the container…)

You make buying decisions based on whether or not they will knock the price down another 5-10rmb ($0.75-$1.50)

You don’t use the packaged wet towel/napkin provided for you at the restaurant because you know they will charge you 1-2rmb for it.  Instead you take a pack of tissues out of your purse and use one as a napkin.

There is toilet paper in the restroom by the sink and you grab some before you go in a stall – then are shocked that there is actually toilet paper IN the stall.

You have friends that don’t know what Facebook is.

You have an account with a Chinese social network.

Your English sentence structure starts to resemble Chinese sentence structure, and you start to add “ma” and “ba” to the end of sentences.

Beer – America’s milk

Shanghai does have good beer – and this is my new favorite.  It is being featured as the “brewer’s choice” at Boxing Cat Brewery right now and over the past 5 days I have made it there twice because I wanted to try it!!  It’s a Belgium tripel brewed with ginger and sichuan peppercorn.  It was love at first sip… and it only got better when I learned (on my second trip to the pub specifically for this beer) that it has over 7% alcohol content.  A tasty AND strong beer!

Yummy beer ala Shanghai

So I had been craving this tasty beer since I heard about it online (thank you wonderful world of facebook).

The brew master for Boxing Cat happens to be from a lovely little place known as Portland, Oregon – heard of it??  He used to brew for a little company called Widmer, know them??  Oohh… a Widmer Hefeweizen, a slice of lemon and sunshine does sound like a lovely spring afternoon treat!

Anyways, I heard of this beer (Belgium Tripel) a week ago kept trying make my way over to Boxing Cat after work one day to try it out.

Saturday night, I finally got some of my coworkers to join me for a little slice of America at Boxing Cat Brewery.  My Chinese coworkers.  I have to say, it was quite the sight.  The sweet, innocent, young, English teaching, Chinese girls I work with who (some of them at least) never go out, never drink, never had tried beer and probably thought the prices at Boxing Cat were beyond outrageous were convinced to go with me.

As we first walked in, a waiter went by with a couple beers and one of my co-workers (who had told me before she has never drank beer and would never like beer) said, “That beer looks good!!”  She was intrigued because the beer had – wait for it – color!  It is true folks, not all beer is the color of Budweiser and Tsingdao.

Eight of us (me being the only “westerner”) crowded around a table in the bar, as the restaurant was packed with expats on a typical Saturday evening.  The girls didn’t want to pay the prices and the portions at Boxing Cat are HUGE (I normally roll myself out after dinner…) so we decided to share.  I told them that it wasn’t going to be like traditional Chinese-family style dining, it is a bit harder to share a hamburger with the entire table than a plate of noodles or stir-fry.  I suggested ever two people just decide what they want and they could share.

I ordered my beer (Belgium Tripel) as soon as we sat down, and told the girls they could try it and then decide if they wanted that or something else.  They all had a sip, declared it ok – but weren’t wanting to invest in a pint.  At my suggestion and after much deliberation, it was decided they would order one pint of a traditional, light, German style helles for them all to try.  It went over okay, but it was more similar to “regular” beer they decided.  As Boxing Cat selects four (of their own – see them here) brews to have on tap at any given time, and two were no-goes, they decided to search the cocktail menu and were delighted at the sweet & fruity cosmopolitan & appletinis they ordered to share.

Cocktails for my coworkers

I wanted to get another pint of the delicious new beer I discovered. So I was disappointed to hear they had tapped out and had something else pouring.  Instead, I opted for the Sucker Punch pale ale which I had tried in the past and enjoyed.  I hadn’t recommended this one to the Chinese girls because I knew it had a stronger hops flavor than some of the others.  Based on my own experience (and admittedly limited knowledge of beer) I thought a beer that wasn’t as hoppy (if that isn’t a word, it is now) would be a good place to start non-beer drinkers.  Much to my surprise, when my Sucker Punch pale ale was passed around the table for sips, it was declared the favorite by the girls.

Sucker Punch Pale Ale

Between my drink orders, the food came – absolutely delicious as always, the eight of us shared a dinner size steak salad with blue cheese crumbles, some of the most juicy hamburgers ever, spicy BBQ pulled pork sandwiches and a Cajun chicken club sandwich all served with thick cut steak fries.  As I ate my half a hamburger, I watched in amazement as the girls cut up their hamburger into 6 pieces to make sure everyone was able to try it.  A look of absolute astonishment crossed the face of one coworker as she exclaimed she would be SO fat if she lived in America – she had tried hamburgers before but this was NOTHING like KFC or McDonalds!  Yes, this is what REAL Americans eat and drink.  The good stuff.

The girls took pictures of themselves holding beers to prove to their boyfriends they could drink, we laughed and talked and were probably a sight to be seen. It was a memorable and fantastic experience in Shanghai; taking Chinese girls into a completely foreign environment and letting them experience a little of my culture in the city some of them grew up in.

Boxing Cats bar - Yongfu location

Oh, and if anyone at Boxing Cat wants to thank me for this free endorsement – I’ll take a pint of whatever you have on tap. 

Qipu Monday III

Part III: Cupping?

Part one & two about my Monday afternoon & evening can be found here: Inside the Qipu Shops & Street Shopping

I had been to this particular massage parlor once before with May, but this time it was a different experience.  It was wonderful both times, don’t get me wrong, but it was a more blog worthy event the second time.  Five of us, two Taiwanese, one Chinese and two Americans, hopped on a bus and went to the massage parlor.  It was around 8:30pm when we got there – these places are generally open late.  The Chinese speakers told the receptionists what we wanted and went back and forth for a bit in dialogue that I could not understand, before they asked us to take a seat and wait.  It would be just a minute.

Literally, a minute later, they were ready!  In China, it isn’t an issue to walk into a massage parlor and request a room and masseuses for five people ready.   Yes, one room for five people.  Massages in China are a social event.  Forget a private spa-like room with candles, soft classical music and hushed voices in the hallway.  This is China!  We go into a room with 6 big Lazy-boy type chairs and ottomans. There is a flat screen TV on the wall, small tables between the chairs for your tea (which is provided for free) and an ashtray (in case you want to light up a cigarette while they rub your feet).

We are asked if we want to change our clothes and we opt for doing so.  Chinese body massages do not typically involve oil or bare skin contact.  Oil costs extra (sometimes it is outrageously more expensive – depending on where you go) and the massage is frequently done with some sort of clothes on and through a sheet that is laid over you.  Five sets of cotton pajama type outfits are brought in for us, shirts and bottoms individually packaged in cellophane – (I take this as a sign of cleanliness – the smell of laundry detergent also puts my mind at ease).

My change of clothes

Sportin the massage outfits

When we are dressed, the TV is on and our tea orders have arrived, we settle into the big soft chairs and are brought buckets of hot water to soak our feet in.  We chose the 130 minute massage which includes a 60 minute foot massage and a 70 minute body massage for their special rate of 99rmb (about $15). They start by soaking your feet and this time we had some type of ginger wrap wrapped around our knees held on with saran wrap.  It got really warm – like icy-hot – and felt wonderful after walking all day.  As your feet soak they massage your legs, then dry your feet and massage them.

Ginger stuff

Of course during this time everyone is chit-chatting, the TV is on, and the masseuses are talking with each other and with us.  The girls had requested male masseuses because they “give better massages”.  I never had felt this to be true, but after being to this location twice – I do feel the guy I had the second time was better than the girl I had the first time.  Unfortunately, there were only 4 males on staff and one was already busy.  We got their other three males for the foot part of the massage and then the one who was busy joined us later for our body massages.

Normally, after the foot massage the armrests of the big chairs are taken off and the chairs lay completely flat (with a hole that was hidden by a cushion for your face); however, I don’t think there was enough room for them to maneuver around us in that room so they moved us into two other rooms that were adjoined by a sliding frosted glass door.  In this room, they laid out the chairs and had us lay down for our massages.

Yumi and I were in one room and hadn’t turned on the TV because I don’t think we really need to watch TV while getting a massage and also because it is hard to watch when you are laying on your stomach anyways.  I did notice, however, that a few minutes into our massage one of the guys turned on our TV.  Apparently, it is entertainment for the workers as well as the clients.  So there we lay, enjoying our deep tissue massages while listening to the chatter of the Chinese girls in the other room, the noise from what sounded like a Chinese soap opera from the TV in the adjacent room and Chinese music from our TV.  But really, it is very relaxing!

On our way to the massages from Qipu, Osteen told us she was having a cupping treatment again tonight and asked if we had ever tried it.  Cupping therapy is a method of traditional Chinese medicine which involves using little cups with hot air in them to create a vacuum on the skin; this supposedly gets rid of toxins in the body, improves blood flow and improves the flow of qi.  It also is said to have many other health benefits.  Yumi and I looked at each other and did a “if you do it, I’ll do it” exchange and figured for 30rmb – why not try!

Well, now that time had come.  It was cupping time and I was nervous.  I had seen the marks it leaves on people once in the states (the only time I had heard of this practice before China) and also on Osteen as she had done it before. But I didn’t know what to expect.  I was told it might hurt or cause a bit of discomfort my first time, they advised Amanda that it would hurt her more because she is so thin.

We lay down on our stomachs, this time without our borrowed cotton pajama tops and waited. The guys brought in trays of small glass cups, what looked like some rubbing alcohol and stick with a type of wick on the end to light on fire.  They started on Yumi, first, so I was able to turn my head and see what was going on.  Fire was used to heat up the jar and the air inside the jar before it was placed on the bare skin on her back.  I asked her if it hurt and she said it didn’t…. okay, my turn!!

As they put the cups on my back it doesn’t hurt, you feel suction for sure but it was fine.  Then they leave them on your back and cover them with a towel for several minutes.  After a minute or two of laying there with 11 cups suctioned to my skin, I ask Yumi, “Is yours starting to hurt?”  “No… I feel fine.”  Hmmm… okay, well mine were causing some discomfort.  Not necessarily pain, but I didn’t feel comfortable at all and was more than ready to have them taken off.

A work in progress...

Luckily, in another couple minutes they came off and it feels amazing when they do.  Such a release! Osteen takes pictures of our backs and shows us.  I look at Yumi’s and barely see light pink rounds where the cups were.  My back has huge red circles on it.  What does this mean?  According to my friend the worldwide web – I have more toxins in my body than Yumi.  Great!

Not as toxic as me!

Immediately after removing cups

The marks from cupping can be anywhere from light pink that disappears quickly, to a dark deep red that can last for a couple weeks.  They look like bruises but shouldn’t be considered as such, there is no impact to cause a bruise and they are not painful or discomforting to touch.  They aren’t the prettiest things and definitely not something I would want to have on my back in the middle of summer.

My back - four days later

By 11:30pm, I was more than ready to get home!  I hadn’t been home since I left for school at 8:15am.  Studying Chinese, shopping Shanghai’s crazy Qipu market, watching out for pick-pocketers, a long massage and having the toxins sucked from my back all were exhausting activities.  But all made for a lovely, exciting and adventurous day in Shanghai with girl friends!

Qipu Monday II

Part II of III: Street Shopping

(Read Part I here: Qipu Monday: Part I)

Not being one to sit still, I quickly became anxious at KFC – let’s go!  I want to do more shopping!  We had only explored one building, I had purchased two shirts – Yumi had yet to find anything to buy and there was more to see!  Forget the cramps in the arches of my feet, let’s do more shopping!  I asked what time the shops closed and my Chinese friends told me they closed around 6pm – but don’t worry, we have time.  Um… it is 5:49pm, how do we have time??  May said, “Even if the stores close there were be plenty for sale out on the street…”  But, I thought, I don’t want the little stores on the street – I want another massive building of shops!  My impatience got us out of KFC at around 5:59pm, we walked down the street to the building adjacent to the one we had explore all afternoon.  We got to the door and there were security officers not letting anyone in.  Well, bugger…

Inside one of the many Qipu buildings

Wait… we are outside, and suddenly racks of clothing are appearing all around us. The shops have literally moved to the streets.  As we start to look at the one or two racks directly in front of the entryway, more and more vendors are appearing, laying down blankets to display fifty different styles of shoes, carrying racks full of clothing on their shoulders to set up on the sidewalk, hooking up light bulbs on wires to their electric scooters to light up their jewelry display as the sun is setting and it will soon be dark.  I hear from one of the Chinese girls that the clothes are the same as inside – but the prices are lower.  It’s true, when the starting price is 30rmb (around $4-$5) there is no need to bargain (and in fact, I learned, it doesn’t get you very far.)

Setting up shop on the street!

This lady set up lighting for her products - using power from her electric bike

The search continues, through racks of clothing, some such low quality they are falling apart at the seams, others with price tags attached – stating their prices in Yen, US dollars or RMB.  The vendors shout out their prices – 30 rmb, 25 rmb, 15 rmb – 2 for 20rmb!! (Yumi finally found some shirts and at a price of 2 for about $3 she didn’t complain!)  Crowds emerge, the street is packed, you can barely walk through some areas and the pick pocketers are out in full force.

Yumi's bargain rack - 2 for 20rmb!

When everything on the rack is 15rmb (less than 3 dollars), why bargain?!?

Purses clutched close to our sides, we work our way through the crowds.  Yumi approaches me and tells me she felt someone grab on to her bag.  Less than a minute later, I see an older woman with her hand in a girl’s purse.  This time I’m standing right there.  I walk up, tap the girl on the shoulder – point to the other woman and say she had her hand in your purse, using motions to illustrate my point expecting a language barrier.  The girl looked astonished and quickly zipped up her purse – the culprit glared at me and walked away.  I remembered her face and her shirt though, and saw her lurking around several more times as I walked and shopped.  Overly alert again, we clutched onto our bags as we moved through crowds of shoppers, yelling vendors, helpless beggars and thieves.

The vendors who carry in large boxes full of shoes on bicycles, mopeds and scooters rarely have a size larger than a 39 I learned, and I wear about a size 40 in China.  However, I managed to find two pairs I could squeeze my giant western feet (only big by Asian standards) into – and got both pairs for a total of less than $10.

With hands full of bags with shoe boxes and clothes, we were tired.  The streets were coming alive – but we had been on our feet for quite some time.  It was time to move on to our evening plans.  We followed a woman pushing a cart full of ladies underwear down the street, past the Styrofoam containers of live fish waiting to be bought and cooked for dinner, through the stinky tofu and fruit kebab vendors to the main road with a bus stop.   Then we grabbed a bus to the massage parlor, all that walking caused our feet to need some attention!

Ayi (阿姨)

I was talking to my lovely sister online Monday morning and mentioned that because of the Chinese national Tomb Sweeping holiday that I had the day off of school.  She asked if I would be sweeping any tombs, and I responded, “No, but I did take the sheets of my bed so my maid can wash them.”  As I was saying (typing) this, I realized that she might not realize that I have an Ayi (I hate the word maid).  It so common in Shanghai, especially among other foreigners, to mention your ayi, I completely forgot that in the states it might seem a bit, well, hoity-toity.

Ayi or 阿姨 translates to maternal aunt / step-mother / childcare worker / nursemaid / woman of similar age to one’s parents according to my online Chinese-English dictionary.  Yet it is one of the first Chinese words many expats/foreigners moving to China will learn.  An ayi will clean for you, cook for you, take care of your children, buy your groceries, do your laundry, clean up after your pets, or anything else you want her to do.

My ayi doesn’t do all of these things, I sometimes wish I had an ayi to cook, but mine simply cleans and does laundry.  She is supposed to come by twice a week, but I am certain there are weeks that she comes by four times.  She does my laundry every time she comes by, which is sort of odd – I have never felt the need to do laundry when there are so few things to be washed.  She empties all the trash bins in the apartment, which is great because they are all quite small (and we don’t throw toilet paper in the toilet in China – so I am happy I don’t need to empty THAT trash can).  She will do dishes too.  As a somewhat OCD person, I have always hated having dirty dishes in the sink. However, without a (electronic) dishwasher there is nowhere to stash them and I seldom eat at home.  Therefore, I have gotten used to the sight of a couple dishes in the sink, as I know my ayi will be here any day now and clean them up.

Am I spoiled? Perhaps.  I haven’t washed my own clothes in over 2 months.  I am not fond of all my clothes being hung dry – I would prefer a drier at times, but I’m not the one to hang them up, I don’t take them down, I don’t fold them.  I also know many of my clothes are hand washed when I would have just thrown them in the washer with everything else.  If I leave my jacket on the bed it is nicely hung on the back of a chair in my room for me.  The blanket I use to keep warm in my favorite window seat is always folded neatly.  Last month, while my roommate was out of town she even paid the electricity bill for us.

I’m certain if you could hire someone to do all this for you – for the steep monthly price of $30, you would indulge as well.  Yes, I pay $30 (200rmb) for such luxurious treatment.  In fact, my ayi is paid 400rmb/month as my roommate and I split the cost.  In cash, on the first of the month.

Oh but she gets benefits too, for instance, occasionally this crazy foreigner buys some food she doesn’t like or decides something has been in the fridge a bit too long and tosses it.  My ayi will have nothing to do with that.  I have on a couple occasions noticed food I threw in the trash sitting in the basket of her bicycle in the hallway for her to take home.  Once she did leave me a note, in English, telling me not to waste food.  It wasn’t my fault my friends sent me home from a nice restaurant with leftover seafood that I won’t eat!!

I’m not sure exactly how she wrote that note, or who actually wrote it.  I know she doesn’t speak a lick of English.  She does go off in Chinese (Chinese that I do not understand a WORD of) to me all the time, but never says more than “bye-bye” in English.   Someone else must have written it.

Perhaps it was one of her friends who come along for cleaning and gossip from time to time.  I heard a commotion in my apartment once, I went out to find my ayi cleaning with two friends – both older Chinese woman, standing around watching and chattering non-stop.  They all LOVED me, of course, wanted to touch my hair and tell me, “hen piaoliang!” (Very pretty!)  They were so excited when after chatting away to me I looked at them and said, “ting bu dong.” (I don’t understand.)  The pretty blond speaks Chinese!!

I am pretty easy to clean up after, considering my previously mentioned OCD tendencies and the fact that I was raised by my mother.  The guy who lived here before me was apparently a complete slob.  So I leave a couple dishes and some clothes to be washed but it isn’t much.  I think my ayi likes me.  And I like her – well for 200 rmb a month, what’s not to like?