YANGZHOU IMPRESSIONS #6

 I had only been in the lobby of the hotel about ten minutes when my
mother, Aunt Theresa and Chip came through the front door. At the
Reception Desk, Chip hovered around my mother, taking charge in his
usual manner, while Aunt Theresa had a cigarette. Despite their travel
wariness, we caught up briefly and then hit the sack as the prospect of
jet lag held a potentially long night ahead for them. The next day we
met up with our local guide and set out to see the sights of Shanghai.
 Chip was amazed at the number of cranes (the national bird of China, as
theyÍve been dubbed) that were dotting the landscape wherever you
turned. A building could come down and the foundation for a new
skyscraper laid in the course of just a few days. We visited the
Shanghai Museum, which was not there when I came to this city only four
years ago. This architecturally appealing edifice with its world class
collection is symbolic of the speed and professionalism with which
Shanghai is racing to overtake Hong Kong as ChinaÍs financial flagship
city. TheyÍve inevitably got an eye pointed northward to learn from
RussiaÍs cautionary tale of cashing in on international loans and
building too fast. From the speed of expansion and the encroaching Asian
financial crisis that directly threatens China, however, one wonders how
long it will be before the other shoe drops.
 I felt complete having my mother, Aunt Theresa and Chip with me in
China. I was able to share with them my experiences and gauze, and
respond to, their reactions to everything they were experiencing. We had
a few meals together and saw the Chinese Acrobatic show that evening. In
the morning, I had to take an early train back to Yangzhou to teach
classes. I promised to meet them in Hangzhou in a few days after my
teaching duties were completed for the weekend. After five hours in
transit, I walked back into my apartment to a ringing phone. It was
Mandy, one of my students, welcoming me back and asking me how my trip
to Shanghai had been. I promised to tell her everything when I saw her
in the classroom in a few hours and set about changing gears and
preparing for my classes.
 Over the next two evenings, I had two very enjoyable dinners. The first
was with Wang Jing, the wife of my counterpart who is teaching at my
high school in the States this year. Wang Jing, or ñJanî is refreshingly
forthright and one always knows where one stands with her. I admire that
quality and donÍt find it in too many Chinese, especially woman. Jan
told me of having grown up in a small town, of being one of the first
people from that town to go to a university, of her family and of life
at Yangzhou Middle School. ñThe school offered me another apartment, but
it was not the one I wanted so I refused. Now I must wait for a longer
time,î she says in her typical candor. She served Peking Duck and River
Crab, my two favorite dishes. ThereÍs nothing like a home-cooked meal as
I was getting tired of boiling dumplings at my own apartment.
 Wang JingÍs nine-year old son alternated between the dining room table
and the television in the other room. As is true each time I see him,
heÍs wearing his red ñYoung Pioneersî bandanna around his neck, an
organization akin to our Boy Scouts. He and I mostly communicate with
facial expressions and I always bring him a little American candy
whenever I visit. At one point, it was just he and I at the table as his
mother was in the kitchen getting the River Crab. He eyed me curiously,
almost suspiciously, and I smiled back. He then very casually reached
over to my Becks Beer and picked it up, eyeing me the whole time, and
then took a big gulp and very casually put it back. I was a bit
flabbergasted but then just started to laugh. It was a priceless
scenario. As you might imagine, the Chinese have a different approach to
the consumption of alcohol by ñminorsî, although I havenÍt quite figured
that out yet
The next evening I had dinner with another nine-year old and both his
parents. I had been asking my neighbors from across the hall to let me
take them to KFC as theyÍve been very kind to me and have invited me for
a meal several times. Finally Lao Zhu, his wife Wang Xiu-Fang, their son
Zhu Peng-Fei and I were zipping through the rush hour streets of
Yangzhou, dodging taxis, pedicabs, pedestrians, and other bicyclists.
Little Peng Fei was singing a song as we rode along which made his
father laugh. ñHe very happy. He love KFC. He been waiting for two or
three night for this dinner.î I chuckle as I see Peng Fei zoom ahead of
the rest of us, his mother calling for him to slow down.
Once in the restaurant, we had trays mounded with chicken burgers,
wings, sodas, cole slaw and potatoes. Peng Fei scarfs his meal down
while his parents and I chat. ñAmerica is a developed country and China
is just a developing countryî, he says, laughing out loud after each of
his sentences, as if amazed to have formulated a sentence phrase thatÍs
understandable to me. HeÍs clearly a very proud patriot and has high
hopes for the future of China. When Peng Fei comes back from playing in
the indoor playground for kids, a woman comes over and gives both him
and me a balloon and gives Lao Zhu and Wang Xiu-Fang a questionnaire
about the quality of the service and food in the restaurant. The
competition with McDonalds in China is rough, but due to the Chinese
preference for chicken over beef, KFC seems to be edging out Mickey DÍs
and plans to stay on top.
 On Friday morning, I had repacked for Hangzhou and got up early to see
the Opening Ceremonies of the Yangzhou Middle School Athletic
Competition, an event that takes place once a semester and lasts for two
days. Everyone in the student body takes part, whether running or
throwing a javelin or doing the high or long jump. Non-athletically
inclined students might play in the band or keep records of winning
times and new school records. Lucy and Ball had asked me to come to see
their class, Class 10, leading the Opening Ceremonies with Morning
Exercises. All classes at Yangzhou Middle School take part in Morning
Exercises each day at 7:15am at. But Lucy and BallÍs class had been
selected for performing the exercises with more enthusiasm and better
form than the other classes and so they were selected for this honor. I
stood by the grandstands with my camcorder, filming as the Chinese flag
was raised over the field and the students all sang the National Anthem.
(No, not ñMy Heart Will Go On.î  :>D  ).
 Then Class 10 performed their exercises with particular gusto, their
pride at having been selected evident from the serious expressions on
their pubescent faces. Afterwards, the Principal gave the students an
official welcome speech and the games began. I wandered the field,
chatting with students and asking them which event they were taking part
in or for which event they were keeping time. I noticed that Senior 3
students, the prospect of the National University Entrance Exam hanging
like a nebulous cloud over their heads, sat and watched the events but
did not take part, their books open on desks which they had brought to
the field with them.
 Chunhong had bought me an express bus ticket to Hangzhou for 2pm that
afternoon. I wasnÍt necessarily looking forward to a six hour bus ride,
but knew that seeing my family and one of the most beautiful cities in
China would make it all worth it in the end. Arriving at the Yangzhou
bus station, I wasnÍt too concerned when the ticket taker told me that
there would be a half-hour delay. I walk from newsstand to kiosk and buy
little knickknacks, including some soda for the trip; my sandwich and
chips are packed in my backpack.
After a 45-minute wait, I asked again and was told that my bus will be
two hours late. I asked them to bring me to a phone and I called my
family in Hangzhou, leaving a message with the hotelÍs Reception that
IÍll be about two hours late. They seated me in the First Class waiting
area which included a private bar and seats sequestered from the main
waiting hall. I was careful not to drink anything, knowing that holding
oneÍs bladder on an express bus can be an excruciating ordeal. I sat and
waited. Four oÍclock passed, then quarter of fiveƒ I finally went back
to the ticket taker, trying not to let my exasperation show too clearly.
ñOoh, ooh, ooh Wu dian. Nide che. Wu dianî (ñFive oÍclock. Your bus.
Five oÍclockî) I knew from past travel experience that thereÍs nothing I
can really do, but at five oÍclock, sure enough, the ticket taker came
to get me and escorted me out to the bus, three hours after my planned
departure.
 I was immediately suspicious as I was led onto the bus. This clearly
was not the express bus I had paid for. The roof of the bus was loaded
with supplies covered by a tarp and the inside was that of a sleeper
bus. I was thankful to be given my own ñsleeping chairî on one side of
the bus as the other side had side by side bunks that strangers had to
share with each other. I was rather amused by my ñsleeping chairî of the
next six hours, a bunk that was shaped like a curved, outstretched palm,
appearing almost as a hideous piece of modernist furniture from the
seventies. I placed my bags on the floor next to me, took off my shoes
and pulled out a book to pass the time.
 As the bus crossed the Yangzhou River by ferry, I read the last pages
of my book as the rapidly approaching dusk would not allow me to read
further. After crossing the river, I noticed how unusual it us for an
express bus to be making so many stops, letting off one passenger and
then, before long, taking on another. On one of these stops, all of the
passengers got off and started hauling things into the busÍs thin aisle
Only me and two other woman on the bus stayed in our seats.  Upon closer
inspection, I saw that what these men were hauling were literally cogs
for a machine. Tied loosely with string and packed together in groups of
fifty or so cogs, they took up most of the available floor space and I
found myself pushing my bags and shoes on top of each other in the
diminishing aisle
 Next, the workmen/passengers went to a small food kiosk next to where
they had hauled the cogs and bought greasy chicken and beer. As the bus
got under way, it as clearly time for dinner. I pulled out my tuna
sandwich, Pringles chips and coke and began eating. The men took their
shoes back off, climbed onto the lower and upper bunks and starting
eating their chicken and beer. Right away I noticed a foul odor from
their feet which I tried to ignore. Then they began opening their beer
bottles using the edges of their seats as openers and taking large bites
from their chicken. Unlike Americans, the Chinese first put the whole of
anything theyÍre eating in their mouth, finally spitting out what wasnÍt
meant for the digestive tract. And as is true of Chinese when they share
a meal, they talked very loudly and even asked me where I was from. In
my limited Chinese, I explained to one man that I was an American
teacher from Yangzhou going to see my family in Hangzhou. ñAh, Hangzhou,
hen piaoliangî (ñAh, Hangzhou, very beautifulî) he said as he spit out a
chicken bone from the top bunk that landed in my shoe. I did nothing at
first. Then, when another man tipped his beer and watched it dribble
into my other shoe, I made a show of cleaning up my shoes and placing
them under my bag. They all chuckled, IÍm not sure exactly why. After
the meal, there was requisite spitting from the top bunk and a few men
blew their nose on the cogs in the aisle by placing an index finger over
one nostril and blowing phlegm all over whatever happened to be beneath.
By then, I had my bags and shoes well clear of any target areas. I sat
back in my sleeping chair after the meal and daydreamed to the tunes
from my Walkman, the harsh stench of foot odor impossible to escape.
As the hours passed, the machine cogs fell loose from the flimsy strings
which bound them and started to roll every which way in the aisle. I
grew more agitated at each stop we made. By 10:30pm, we didnÍt seem to
be anywhere near Hangzhou although the time of departure should have put
us there around 11pm. I started to worry about what my family would be
thinking. By now, however, I had caught on to the laissez-faire attitude
of sleeper-bus travel and whenever I had a call from nature, I just
sprinted off the bus at one of the numerous stops and peed in plain
sight of my fellow passengers. At 11pm, we stopped the bus for a meal
break. I ate nothing at this small canteen, but instead looked for an
available phone, of which there was none, and watched my fellow
passengers bargain with a man in the parking lot at a small souvenir
stand. Once again under way, I stayed awake and scrutinized each mile of
roadway, looking for some sign that a big city was up ahead. Without
fanfare, the bus let me off on a city street in Hangzhou at 1am, 8 hours
after our journey had begun. A taxi was waiting for me right behind the
bus and I piled in with my bags, giving the driver the hotelÍs address.
Chip answered the door to his room with sleep in his eyes. ñWhere were
you? I was worried about you. I stayed awake as long as I could.î  ñJust
go back to bed,î I answered, ñIÍll explain everything in the morning.î
It is said in China that the heavens are up above and down on the Earth,
thereÍs Hangzhou and Suzhou. After breakfast, we all set out for our
tour and it was clearly a gorgeous city, West Lake and its surrounding
park the centerpiece for this busy metropolitan area. After a boat ride
on West Lake, we had lunch and went to a Tea Plantation. While sampling
the various grades of tea, we were shown a picture of Mao and Nixon
together at the Tea Plantation. Hangzhou was one of three places Tricky
Dick visited during his historic trip in 1971. We soon went back to our
hotel where the grounds were lovely and had some wine while reflecting
on the day. Chip is quite impressed that the Prime Minister of Vietnam
is staying at our hotel and is still talking about the Saudian Arabian
Prince whose entourage pulled up to the Friendship Shopping store while
we were there in Shanghai.
The next day, I saw my Mom, Chip, and Aunt Theresa off for their flight
to Beijing. I stayed in the hotel room for another two hours, relishing
every minute of CNN and MTV, wishing I could stay longer. After my bus
ride from hell on Friday, I had been determined to secure a soft seat on
a return train to Zheng Jian, the railway stop closest to Yangzhou. But,
alas, I should have made a special prayer to the saint who oversees
wayward travelers. The best I could get was a hard-seat on my 12pm train
and so I went to the station and hoped for the best.
The train was packed. In retrospect, it was nice to sit among the locals
and experience their world, but at the time, I felt that I already
experienced quite enough. I spent the seven-hour ride writing in my
journal, occasionally glancing up to observe the interactions. A mother
and her small, hyperactive boy sat across the aisle from me, much to the
annoyance of a well-dressed, young Chinese woman who had no qualms about
telling the mother exactly how the young boy should and should not be
behaving. The boy eventually became fascinated with an old man and his
grandson who were sitting in the row of seats diagonally behind me. I
could see the old man playing with both boys, holding up cards that
featured animals on them and then having them guess the name of each
animal. When the manÍs grandson was doing far better in the game than
the other little boy, the man rigged the game a bit so that both boys
would have a chance to win. Bystanders watched on with delight, giggling
and clapping at the antics of this threesome. After this, the two boys
took toy guns with laser sounds up and down the aisle, shooting everyone
and everything in sight. They were clearly having a ball. When the train
stopped in Shanghai, and the old man and his grandson had to disembark,
the other boy screamed and cried, inconsolable. It wasnÍt until the food
cart appeared and the boyÍs mother offered to buy him something that his
crying and carrying on ceased abruptly. The fashionably dressed young
woman sitting across from the boy looked fit to be tied.
Part of the reason that Yangzhou has trouble attracting tourism and
foreign investment is because it canÍt be reached directly by railway
line. By the time the train reached Zheng Jian, my stop, the fashionably
dressed woman had calmed down and was chatting and laughing with the
boyÍs mother. I got off and planned to use the first person who looked
at me cross-eyed to help me secure a taxi back to Yangzhou. Sure enough,
a young Yangzhou University student who wanted to go home that evening
and say that she had spoken with a ñlaowaiî (ñforeignerî) came up and
started asking me basic questions about where I was from and what I was
doing in China. I gave her my pat answers in Chinese and at just the
point that she seemed impressed that I could speak a bit, I asked her to
help me to negotiate a taxi back to Yangzhou. The drivers here are
notorious for trying to overcharge foreigners and all I wanted to do was
get home. She helped me to get the price down to 80 yuan (@$10), which
included transportation over the Yangzhou River by ferry. As the driver
and I approached the ferry dock, he excused himself to get a crossing
ticket and came back to me with the announcement that he had secured
another ride for me back to Yangzhou. Unhappily, I got my suitcase and
knapsack and followed him up to a car that was first in line for the
next ferry. I sat in the front seat with a very attractive young Chinese
woman driver and her brother in the seat behind her. The original driver
then told me to give him 90 yuan. I had at this point had enough of his
shenanigans, didnÍt care what deals he was making on the side, but there
was no way I was giving him anything but 80 yuan. He then claimed that
it cost an extra 10 for the ferry ticket. I simply took my 80 yuan and
threw it at him across the woman in the driverÍs seat. He shook his head
with disgust and that was fortunately the last I saw of him.
This was one of the few times that IÍve been nervous in China. In a
country this size with all sorts of people, you never know who is out to
scam you. I felt more comfortable being in the car with a young woman
driver, but I couldnÍt be sure that she also wasnÍt in on some sort of
scheme. Finally, just before the ferry pulled up, our car took on
another passenger, a middle-aged man, who sat directly behind me in the
back seat. When he discovered that I was a native English speaker, he
was thrilled and immediately offered me a cigarette and wanted to
practice his English. I humored him a bit and wondered in my mind how
many minutes longer until I was safe in my apartment. But he kept
talking to me and offered to help me with my bags. I neither accepted
nor refused, but sure enough, he popped out of the car at Yangzhou
Middle School and helped me carry my bags up to my apartment. I let him
in and we chatted further. He had a kind face and smiled often, acting
as excited as a young boy on Christmas Eve. He sensed my fatigued and
merely asked for us to exchange phone numbers. ñOK, OK, I call you
Tuesday. We practice English. I show you Yangzhou.î I nodded and smiled
as I shut the door behind him, wondering if indeed I had made a new
friend.