Carms in China

I know it's been a while, but I've been busy! This story has been developing for the past several weeks. 

My mom has been living it up in China.  And I couldn't be prouder.

When she first announced a 3 month visit, everyone wondered, "what will she do all day?!".  I knew I'd be taking some vacation when she was here, but I also assumed she'd be lunching with my non-working friends, shopping with the "wives" in the ex-pat malls, and just relaxing.

Not Carms.

   

In the 9 weeks since she arrived, we've amassed over 4 weeks of just traveling outside of Nanjing.  Within China, so far, we have toured Beijing, Nanjing, Shanghai, Suzhou, Dong Yang, Yicheng, Chengdu, Ya'an, Le Shan, and Chongqing. 

We also spent 2 weeks in Thailand touring Ayutthaya, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, and Bangkok. 

Still to come are Yunnan, Xi'An, and Hong Kong.  I'm exhausted, but she keeps on going!

 

She has climbed every monument, Wall, and mountain in her path.  She's boarded boats, planes, elephants, funiculars, and sky trams.  She's bonded with Buddhas, monkeys, tigers, leopards, pandas,  and of course Harley.

So what is she doing the rest of the time???

Well, in the 4-5 weeks that she's been home in Nanjing, she has managed to:

• Find a hair salon and explain how to cut and color her hair.  It only took 3 co-workers, my driver, and 2 people at the salon to get the message across, but she did it!
• Go back for a second haircut and color… no problems!
• Locate a wet market near my apartment and befriend Vendor #20.  Apparently, her eggplant is the best.
• Shop for all of the hard-to-find ingredients to make an Italian dinner for 15.
• Cook said dinner in a table-top oven that is just slightly larger than a toaster oven (2 lasagna pans max!)...while dressed as Julia Child!
• Befriend Pepe, the owner of the local Italian joint, Ciao Italia.  They lunch together regularly now
• Take cooking classes in-home and out. 
• Give cooking classes to Wei Ayi.  I'm eating a lot of eggplant parm!
• Buy an entire local "Chinese" outfit at prices that make a local proud
• Test out the medical facilities in Nanjing – excellent gurneys and fluids (it was a LONG first 2 weeks!)
• Walk around Xinjiekou haggling with street vendors for everything from fruit to scalp massagers
• Meet me for lunch a few times near work – It's so nice to get out during the day (no offense to the guys at work, but sometimes, I need girl time)!

• Find a Catholic Church in Nanjing and somehow request a priest to give her Holy Communion outside of Mass
• Visit a K-TV
• Buy bras – a story unto itself!
• Find her way to a nail salon, and get a manicure and pedicure without problem
• Visit with Pedro!
• Try street food (crabs on a stick!), camel, Chinese lamb, and Chinese cake
• Learn to use chopsticks
• Find her way to a local bakery – another set of new friends – and find her new favourite treats
• Host my Chinese neighbors for coffee… and never have a lapse in conversation!
• Fill my freezer with yummy treats for after she leaves!

She really is remarkable.  She didn't need a babysitter, and she is making her own friends everywhere she goes!!!  Her independence is awesome!  I'm so blessed to have those genes from both she and my dad.

Wei Ayi makes sure there are fresh lilies in Mom's room every week, and never lets her leave the house without a jacket.  She is devastated that "Mama" is leaving so soon and not returning for 9 months... 

Zheng Kai, on the other hand, is relieved that come January, he regains his afternoon naps and his command post pushing the grocery cart...

I wish everyone had the chance to get to know Carms and spend time with her in China.  My mom is such a warm, caring, and genuine person.  Almost everyone who met her found themselves smiling just being around her…

See?! 

 

She is embracing China and all who live here.  In 2 months, Carms became more "local" than any ex-pat I know!  Truly an inspiration.

Thanks for reading!

I leave you with my personal favorite...

Carms, the Exchange Student!!

Zai Jian...

Pedro and his Posse… and a Bunch of Other Thoughts

Many of you have been asking me about "Pedro".  I know haven't written about him in a while, but frankly, I haven't written much at all lately - there's been too much going on!

I promise to do better...

As for Pedro, I have not seen much of the man lately, sadly...but I do have a massage story or two for you…

But first, you have to suffer through the background.  I dislocated my shoulder a few weeks back.  I went to take Harley for his morning constitutional, and I threw on a pair of flip flops for the venture.  I unlocked the door and saw that it was raining.  These particular shoes usually skid a little on the ceramic tiles under the awning, but once I hit brick (about 4 feet away), I'm fine.  So, even though it was raining, I saw no need to turn back.

Unfortunately, someone brilliantly decided that dry ceramic needed to be mopped on a rainy day.  So, I opened the door, took a step, and went down like a cartoon cat on a banana peel.  Gracefulness is not a gift I can claim, so I can only imagine what I looked like.  It was especially nice of Harley to not even look back, but head straight for the trees, pulling my beaten body with him.

I went one way, and my arm went another.  Seering pain shot through me.  I managed to get my arm back in place (Mel Gibson has nothing on me), despite the woman who was grabbing it to try to help me up.  How do you say "Don't touch my arm!" in Chinese?  You don't… you scream and slap at the offender.  After putting my arm in my spare sling (sadly, I keep one around for just such an occasion), I went to work. 

A few days later, it was still a little wobbly, so I went to visit my friend Maryann, the international doctor.  I needed a firmer sling, and I wanted her to double check that I put it back in place properly.  She sent me to the Chinese hospital for x-rays.  I was hoping to avoid a hospital during my stay here.  After my mom's emergency surgery in Egypt during our vacation last year, I'm a little jaded on the medical system in developing nations.

The hospital was so depressing.  There was an entire open-air room near the front dedicated to blood transfusions.  Row after row of chairs and gurneys with drips attached.  There were gurneys full of elderly people lined up down the hallways.

The x-ray section was depressing in a different way.  I bypassed all of the locals who were waiting there, simply because I am a foreigner.  Nice for me, but I felt horrible for them.  I was ushered into a state-of-the-art x-ray room, where I was given a lead waist apron to wear.  I felt so exposed everywhere else, but I don't remember if this is normal in the US as well.  I just felt (mentally) the radiation shooting through my chest.  There is NO WAY this could be good!

Afterward, I was given my new sling from one of the nurses dressed like a Chinese Florence Nightingale.  It consisted of a square of fabric, tied in a knot at the elbow and in another knot around my neck.  I felt like an extra from the set of M*A*S*H.  And I looked it too!  But thank God, all was fine and it just needed to heal.

I was aiming for pathetic with
this picture... how'd I do?

So, I took a few weeks off from visiting Pedro to let myself heal.  I had a hard time managing for the week I was slinging – it's really hard to type when your dominant hand is becoming intimately familiar with it's opposite breast.    Eating with chopsticks is not natural to begin with… I was forced to do it with my wrong hand…  I was flicking peanuts everywhere!

Any who… after babying the arm for a while, I decided to go to Shanghai for a weekend to get my hair cut and colored.  I know, it sounds nuts, but I did not trust a salon in Nanjing (NJ), and I had heard horror stories of blue hair and fried ends…

So off I went to spend the weekend with my buddy, Steve, so that another Steve could make me beautiful.  His exact words were "your color is scrumptious, and the texture is delicious!"  But I digress….. 

While in Shanghai, Steve (friend, not colorist) and I opted to get foot massages from a local place.  Enter the obligatory watermelon and tea.  Enter the half barrel full of warm water.  Enter the 2 men to rub our feet. 

Steve's masseuse (we'll just call him Chatty Chang) would not hush.  Steve and I each had our magazines and we really didn't even want to talk to each other.  But Chatty Chang was all about the dialogue.  Non-stop questions…so not relaxing!  Fortunately, I was able to hide behind my magazine while Steve played 20 questions with Chatty.

Steve wanted a woman masseuse, but I insisted that he have a man do the job – they do better work, in my (self-declared) expert opinion.  Unfortunately, Steve's a wimp, and Chatty was apparently inflicting more pain than he could bear.  When Steve advised Chatty of this pain in his foot, Chang replied – "well I have to do this to get rid of your fat belly."

So many thoughts went through my head at that moment. 

·    First, "where do I spit my tea?"  Steve's face was PRICELESS!

·    Second, "WTF is he talking about?  Pedro's been abusing me for weeks and I haven't lost a flipping pound!"

·    Third, "WTF has Pedro been doing wrong that I haven't lost a pound?"

·    Fourth, "OMG – what must this guy think while he's working on my feet?  Tackling my petroleum belly must be like a mission to conquer Everest!"

·    And finally, "Seriously, where the hell do I spit my tea?!?!!?!"

I thought that just might top my massage humiliation …. But no, it's not even close.

The next week, I went back to visit with Pedro but he wasn't there.  So, one of his coworkers, The Replacement, came to do the job.  It was going fine, but he didn't have Pedro's touch.  What can I say?  I grew accustomed to the man!  So, rub this, knead that, blah blah…

Then he flipped me over.

Have you ever tried to open a Snapple bottle by thrusting the heel of your palm upward at the bottom of the bottle, thereby forcing enough pressure to pop the air seal? 

Well, that Snapple bottle was my body.  And that bottom was MY bottom.  And when the heel of his palm met the tail of my bone, the air seal popped completely – I actually burped. 

Heretofore, The Replacement shall be named Sadie.  Because, much like a 1950's housewife, he burped me like a Tupperware.

Steve's probably going to read this and gloat that his belly fat discussion doesn't really look too bad now. 

 

And if he ever says as much, I might have to stab him with a sharp pencil.  And I think I'd be justified in doing so.

And in case you were wondering…even after THAT move, my belly fat remains intact....

SIGH!

Drunk Diva

I’m prefacing this blog with two comments: a) I’m drunk.  And b) I apologize that I have so many entertaining blogs to write, yet THIS is what I’m choosing to document now.

In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny:  On with the show, this is it….

Well, it finally happened.  I got drunk in front of Mr Zheng.

When you live in an ex-pat environment where you have a driver, at some point you realize that you are in this vehicle you own with a virtual stranger every single time you get in the car.  And you get over it.

When I lived in NY, I commuted on the 6:59 AM LIRR train from Wantagh to Penn Station every morning.  And every morning, I stood in the same spot on the platform, and I got in the same car, and I sat in the same 5 person seat section.

Also every morning, the nice man I named “Nose Hair” (really, there’s no subtlety here), got in the same car at the Bellmore Station and sat across from me, reading the Wall Street Journal.  To this day, I can no longer read a newspaper without folding it as he taught me.  Curiously, I watched this man every single morning, reading his paper, drinking his coffee.  I started my job in January 1998.  It took until May before we acknowledged each other’s presence despite seeing each other every single morning.  And even then, we would smile, nod, and go back to our tasks – he to his newspaper, me to whatever I was reading, crocheting, or paying.

Fast forward 3 years to when I moved to Michigan.  Strangers did not invade my car; I drove the Southfield in virtual anonymity.  I had whatever emotion I chose, in my car, with my music, and at my control.  Quite different from the days of Nose Hair and me (or I?).

Fast forward 10 MORE years to present day Nanjing.  Here, I live a hybrid of my past lives - I am in a space with a virtual stranger every single day.  Only this time, my life is in the hands of said stranger, and he’s in my vehicle.

Poor Zheng-y….he didn’t know what a nutcase he was getting stuck with!!!

The man has witness me happy, sad, confused, angry, pensive, exhausted, ill, relaxed, anxious, busy, and even gimping with my arm in a sling.  But today, he saw me drunk. There are many phases to “Drunk Rita”…he got the adorable one (thank God!). 

Alcohol seems to be a way of life in China.  I NEVER drank this much in my college or immediately thereafter, and yet here..it’s a norm.  Dinners, nights out, etc. all seems to revolve around the drink. I think it’s because of the lack of movie theaters, live performances, and salty popcorn.  Just a theory….

 As a closet stress manager, I needed wine tonight.  I had what I’ve dubbed, “Circular Logic Tuesday”, and I was done.  Beaten down.  Dragging my tail.  So, I called on Matt, another ex-pat who is amazing at listening on my “wow-I-need-wine” days.  We went to a nice German restaurant, Secco, where we enjoyed a quiet dinner and I consumed a lot of alcohol. 

WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME!!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!

As I said, alcohol seems to be prevalent among the ex-pats here.  In my drunken haze, I find this humorous…  I won’t soak in a tub of the water here.  God help me if I don’t sanitize every piece of fruit before I consume it.  And I keep a bottle of water next to my toothbrush so I don’t wash with tainted water.  Mr. Zheng changes his shirt every afternoon so I am not subjected to second-hand smoke, and yet… I am pickling my liver as a sometimes daily means of survival.

Go figure….

I’ll leave that to the sober brainiacs to debate… I’m too tired and too buzzed right now… but at least I led the horses to water, right!?!

Anywho… back to Zheng-y…

That poor man…. I left work tonight and said to him:  “Jin tian bu hao” – my warped form of “today sucked”.  Then I raspberried like Archie Bunker (you youngsters who don’t get the reference – keep it to yourselves and look it up on Wikipedia!) to emphasize the point.  He knew he was in trouble.

At some point after my bottle of Chilean wine, I vaguely recall asking Matt to translate that I wanted to put Zheng-y in a take home container (da bao) and ship him to America (Mei Guo).    For some reason, Matt couldn’t think of the Chinese for “Crap Ass Day”, so I raspberried again to show Mr Zheng how bad it was.

That poor man!

After Matt left, I also think I told Zheng-y that his lao ban (Boss) is crazy and needs a vacation (jia qi).  And that he needs a vacation from me. 

He told me I was in a ‘Mood’ (from his dian hua translator on his phone) and he promptly deposited me in the parking garage at my apartment, so I didn’t have to stumble home above ground, in front of the guards.

This is a virtual stranger who is welcome in my car ANYTIME.

I just hope I can look him in the eye tomorrow morning!!!

Guilty Pleasures...

Last Sunday, I stayed up late rearranging furniture and cleaning corners.  I made sure cabinets were empty, the doorway was clear, and that Wei Ayi was on schedule for 8AM sharp. 

I went through the preparations again and again, painstakingly identifying each line item with a 1, 2, 3, or 4.  I got Harley's bone ready.  I prepped my clothes.  I took a shower.  Finally, at 12:30AM, I was ready.  I had done all I could...it was in God's hands now....

I collapsed into bed exhausted, but sleep was erratic.  I was too excited; too nervous to sleep.  I had the first-day-of-school jitters.

Monday morning, I jumped out of bed at 6 (that NEVER happens!), I paced and looked out the window every 30 seconds.  Wei Ayi did laundry and randomly cleaned things.  She, too, was trying to contain the excitement.  The suspense was killing us!

Finally the phone rang - it was here!  I locked Harley in the office with a bone and some water.  I ran to the window and started snapping pictures. 

Santa Claus had arrived.... a Chinese Santa, driving, not a sleigh (heavens, in this heat?!!?!?),  but a truck.  A truck with a container.  MY CONTAINER.  The one I packed 8 weeks and 8 million miles ago in Michigan!!! 

See, everyone told me it would be like this, but I didn't believe them.  The day the sea container arrived is truly like Christmas!! 

I grabbed my list - 130 boxes to be placed in Yi (guest room and general box drop off), Er (Rita-mart storage room), San (master bedroom and office items), and Si (everything for the upstairs).  I was a machine.  The box number was called out; I shouted the number of the room, and off the mover went.  At one point there were 4 men inside the apartment and 3 more running hand carts up and down the elevator.  For 2 hours this went on - Yi! San! Yi! Si! Er! Si! Er!   It was a work of art...a well orchestrated production...an OCD dream...

After 2 hours of moving the boxes and furniture into the room, the unwrapping began.  Seven workers went room to room, ripping open the paper around things, slicing open the boxes, throwing the now empty boxes back into the hall and down the elevator.  For the next 2 hours, they opened every box, and I looked inside at every treasure.  I laughed at some, cried over others, and was puzzled by a few things (I really packed THAT?!).

The dog food boxes came in, as did the "kitty litter" - Anu's genius idea.  Immediately, they were unpacked and placed in the tubs that awaited them.  Enough soap to survive the apocolypse was put in the empty cabinets under the sinks.  Everything had a place, and Wei Ayi seemed hell-bent on finding it!

The workers assembled the shoe rack (yes, I packed the rack!), and Wei Ayi found a box of shoes and began filling it.  They opened the mirror box, and it was immediately placed on the easel in the living room.  The trunks were unwrapped and stacked, and my bed was assembled.  I found sheets and a dust ruffle and the comforter and immediately put the bed together.  It didn't matter that the room was floor to ceiling in boxes, I wanted to have a made bed (it helped that I was able to eliminate 3 pillow boxes in the process!) to have some sense of stability.

At 12 o'clock, all that remained for the workers was to bring the couch upstairs.  The loveseat had already gone up...only the sofa was left.  They were reluctant, so they added it to my living room instead.  Clearly, this was against the carefully organized plans.  I looked at the one in charge, Arnold, my former trainer, and advised him - "This is a moving company - it's time to get creative and start moving! I don't care if you hoist it up over the railing and bring it in through the deck -- that couch is going upstairs!" 

I was less pleasant the second time when I explained exactly where the couch would go if he chose not to have the workers bring it up the stairs.  He hemmed, he hawwed, he tried to save face.  I was sore, sweaty, and tired of his crap.  I stopped being my rational pleasant self and went a little New York on him. 

Guess who won the battle of the couch? 

(Fiesty b**ch 1; Lazy movers 0)

After the movers left, Wei Ayi and I went to town.  We unloaded 100 boxes the first day.  A worker in the building paid us 45 RMB for the empty boxes.  During the week and the next weekend, we finished the rest.  Another 25RMB was given to me to rid my home of all remaining cardboard memories of the move...Not bad - I didn't have to deal with the boxes, and $11 pays for a massage!

Now that everything is here and I'm settled in, I think back on the 2 months (!) since I moved.  I went 3 nights without a sheet and 2 weeks without a blanket or real pillows.  I lived 2 months without a television in my bedroom.  I did without pots for 2 weeks, and I lasted 8 weeks without needing a converter. 

And really, it wasn't a sacrifice.  And I really didn't miss anything that much. 

So many of the things I thought "essential" to my survival turned out to be luxuries.  I didn't need a collection of DVDs - I still haven't gotten through the ones I bought during my first week here.  I didn't need a full set of pots, dishes, etc.  Most went straight into storage.  And I didn't need to pack 15 boxes (!!!) of clothes.  I packed over 40 pair of black socks and 35 sweaters!  Not to mention the sheets, towels and canned goods I just HAD to bring with me...

I see what I was able to do without and not miss, and I think about what the people here have never even contemplated.  40 pair of socks to a local is not a luxury, it's stupid and wasteful; a squandering of money.  Even Wei Ayi laughed and shook her head at the box-o-briefs she unpacked... 75 pair of underwear for 1 person.  But in the US, I don't have Wei Ayi.  I have a basement floor where laundry accumulates.  And a blatent dislike of doing anything about it.

So, I guess I may have overpacked just a bit - I don't really need wine glasses for 20.  Or 30 pieces of tupperware. Or 11 boxes of ziplocs.

But, despite my excess in other areas, I somehow managed to pack EXACTLY the right number of shoes....
At least I got something right!



The dual function room - Rita-Mart and Imelda's Closet

Hey, a girl needs some luxuries in her life!

An even happier ending?

So, last week I vowed to return to the scene of the overly-enthusiastic massage. I figured that now that I'm used to it, I might enjoy it more this time.  Logical, right?

I went into the room, declined the PJs, laid down and began reading my latest book (Sidebar: I love China...I have so much freedom since I don't drive, cook, or clean, that I've finished 11 books since I've been here!).  The masseuse (different from last time), started talking to me in Chinese as he began to work.

Apparently, my blank stare has lost it's edge... so I advised him, "I'm sorry, I've got nothing."  To which he replied with more Mandarin.  I then gave him my shrugged shoulders, raised eyebrow, neck twist to symbolize, "Really, dude, I don't have a flipping clue what you're saying, and I just want to pay you to rub my feet."  Sidebar: I know I sound  like a queen B*TCH right there, but fighting the language barrier is exhausting...and sometimes, you just want silence.

He then started "writing" in his hand with his finger.  I started to pay attention, thinking perhaps it was foot related.  Ah... a little more focus was all it took.  He was upselling me!  For an extra 10 RMB (~$1.60), I could have so much more done.

So, I took one for you, dear readers, I agreed to the extra 10 RMB.  I hope you're happy with what happened next.

The work was going along as usual - wash, rub, wrap.  When the calf/thigh work began, I was prepared for the kneading, and this time I likened it to the scarecrow's re-stuffing upon entry into Oz.  I didn't even flinch when he came too close to the hoo-hah... I was doing great so far.

Once he finished the kneading, it was stretching time.  I guess this is what I paid 10 RMB extra for!  So, my legs were bent in every which way -- like a horizontal Irish jig (inside, outside, outside, inside, kick, kick!).  It felt great -- like having a chiropractor or physical therapist working on me. 

Then it was apparently time to see if I've ever danced on a pole.  While lying on my back, he took one of my legs (mind you, I'm wearing capris, not PJs), and stretched it over my head.  I literally lost sight of my foot, but I felt a breeze next to my ear as my toes went by.  The cramp in the back of my thigh undid all of his handiwork, but I stayed there holding the stretch... mainly because there was a 160 lb Chinese man holding my legs apart like a wishbone....

When he finished with both legs, it was time for the flip.  I could ride a horse without repercussions now, but ok... at least I can go back to napping. 

Well...not quite.  He began my rear, not with 4 loud whacks, but rather, with 4 fingers inserted into my butt-crack.  My butt snapped shut like a venus flytrap.  I'm surprised he didn't lose a fingertip in the process.  So much for napping!  So, I asked: "Uh... whatcha doin' down there, Pedro?"  His response was to push my head down into the table and go back to work.  Apparently, this, too, was part of the add-on package. 

He finished his anal-exploration, and moved down to the back of the legs...I unclenched my ass, and began to breathe normally. 

Aah.... rest.  Then the lower back... mmmmm...relaxation.  Visions of beaches and palm trees filled my brain.....sigh.  This is heaven.  Until.....

Uh, Pedro, you're supposed to stay outside the clothing.  Ummm.... Pedro?  Yoo hoo?  Whatcha doin with my bra? 

Yo! China-dude! Why is my bra no longer securely snug on my body!?!?!?!?!?!?

I lift up, again, to see what's happening, and he pushes my head back down.  He put my shirt back down and started his above-the clothing work again.  Ok... back to relaxing.  The bra was just in his way.  Whew.

Palm trees, coconuts, warm breezes.... I'm back in the groove.

Uh, Pedro?  Why are you I pulling my shirt over my head?  Uh, no...I'm really good with the straps ON my shoulders.  Pedro? Pedro?  My shirt is wrapped around my head and you left the room?  PEDRO!?!?!? 

About 5 minutes later, the masseuse returns.  I hear the door open, then close.  Then I feel a bag of what feels like warm peas being rubbed all over my now fully-exposed back and shoulders.  After the pea-party, he re-hooked my bra (I've never had a man do THAT before...and I'm pretty sure, he's never fought a 5 hook boulder-holder before either...educational and entertaining for all, I guess!).  All this for the value price of 10 RMB!

He finished with the warm knee mud soak, and I was on my way.

I guess I should trust a little more... But if he's going to get that personal again, I probably should learn his name...

Happy Endings?

One of the many perks of living in China is the inexpensive massage.  For about $15, you can have all of the kinks worked out on a weekly basis. There are so many kinds, it's an adventure to choose which one each week.  Today, I let Mr. Zheng decide where I went.

Prior to today's massage, I've ventured to a few different places.  In all places I've been, your clothes remain on, and no oil is used.  And watermelon and hot tea is complimentary.  Usually there is a television in the room, tuned to a Chinese nature channel...because watching eels and insects while having a massage is apparently soothing and relaxing.

In one place, a blind masseuse rubbed me down (or up, I guess) from foot to head, using his sense of touch to guide him along the way.  In another I've gone to, he did what Angie calls the "thumb massage".  He poked and pressed me repeatedly with his thumbs until I bruised.  In another foot massage place, they use long black (highly suspect!) vibrating tools on your calves after they knead them like dough.  In that same place, the masseuse shoved her knee into my back and spread my arms like Leo DeCaprio in that scene from Titanic.  Ironically, after all of the pain and torture, you feel great.  And you forget the torture and are ready to go back a week later.

So, today, Mr Zheng selected the place I went.  For 78 RMB (~$12), I was supposed to have a foot massage.   I was taken to a room where I was sat on a bed, not a chair...odd for a foot massage, but, ok, why not?...and was served my obligatory tea and watermelon.  Today's TV featured eels, so I turned to my e-reader for company.

The man began by scrubbing my feet with his hands for about 10 minutes.  When he finished, he advised me to lie back, and began oiling my feet.  Once they were oiled, he began the pressing.  He pressed each toe between his vice-like grip until I wanted to cry.  Then he did the thumbing on my soles.  Agony, but for a good cause!

The foot massage went on for another 60 minutes.  After one and a quarter hours, he finished with the feet.  So I thought.  As I sat up to get my shoes on, he came back with another bucket of water - presumably to wash off the oils. 

He then handed me a pair of hospital-like pajamas.  Shorts and a tee.  If I haven't mentioned yet, Chinese clothes don't really fit my body-type, and well, I wasn't really there for anything but a foot massage, so why was I getting undressed now that it was over?????

He left me pondering this for what he thought was an appropriate amount of time.  He came back, and I was still in my capris and top...holding his scrubs. When he realized I would not wear the PJs, he agreed to give me a massage while I wore my own clothes.  I had no idea this was part of the drill, but it must be a 2 for 1 sale! 

He had me lay on my back, and this is where it got a little funky.  He kneaded my outer thighs, my inner thighs and got a smidge too close to the hoo-hah for my expectations.  To quote Chandler Bing, there was definite... cupping.  I was on guard with my proverbial "no entry" sign and my (now very pliable and clean) foot at the ready.  At some point, this was supposed to be relaxing, right?!

After finishing with my front, he then flipped me over onto my stomach.  If I didn't have enough humiliation already, he began the treatment on my back by taking a hand to each butt cheek and smacking them 3 times.  HARD.  First the cupping, now he thinks he's Sir Mix-A-Lot!

It was too hard to control myself -  I was so mortified that I started to laugh until I snorted.  He responded by playing chiropractor, pressing me into the bed until my spine cracked.  He finished the rubdown on my back and told me to flip over again. 

Thinking my humiliation was over, I gladly obliged.  I had no dignity left, but at least I could leave without further eye-contact.  Oh no.  He wasn't through.  He then rolled my capris up until there was thigh skin pinched into each fold of the pants.  Again, I'm staring at the ceiling wondering what was next.  He left again, and came back with a bucket of mud.  He slathered my knees (KNEES!) with mud and covered them with a hot compress.  He then laid his body weight on top of them.  Five highly uncomfortable minutes later (after all, this man was inadvertently hitting every zone in reverse order!!), he got up and peeled the knee-mask off. 

He then unrolled my thighs and pronounced me done.  After only 2 hours and heaping amounts of humiliation.  He left to take his mud bucket away, and I got the hell out of there as fast as I could, with my hands protecting my behind the whole way.

Sadly, as this is the most action I've had in a while, I'll be back next week.

Divine Inspiration

Today, I had nothing critical to do, and I wanted to enjoy a leisurely day before going to Mass at 4:30.  There is one Church in town that serves Mass in English on a Sunday, and this was the first Sunday I've been available to go.

So, I went for a massage (more on that later), did my grocery shopping, and headed out to Mass.  I handed Mr Zheng the card with the info, and off we went.  He pulled up in front of a beautiful blue brick Church that looked like it stepped from a Snow Village scene.  I was impressed so far.  I went inside and I was a little take back by how sparse it was.  It did not look Catholic to me, but then again, This Is China, so I wasn't too upset.

I was the only "English speaker" in the Church.  Actually, I was one of only 5 people in the Church at all.  There was a woman on her cell in the corner,  a man setting up fans, and 2 women weeping at the altar.   As I was 10 minutes early, I assumed this was the pre-Mass events.  As I prayed, the women at the altar wept louder.  I know that cry.  I've cried that cry.  It's awful and heartwrenching and makes you wish you could just die to end the pain.

So, naturally,  I cried too.  Mr Zheng walked into the Church and witnessed this.  I said nothing, just blotted my eyes and stared ahead.

At about 4:40, nothing was happening to signal a Mass, so I went outside.  I called Mr Zheng and he came to the car with an ice cream pop for me.  Such a universal dad thing - ice cream makes everything better!  I explained that I thought we were in the wrong place, and off we went.

This time he pulled up in front of the right Church.  It was set back aways, with 3 beautiful doorways.  I finished my ice cream (it really does make everything better!), and went inside.  The Mass was NOT being said in English as I had been told.  It was being said in Chinese.  To a congregation of Chinese people.  I arrived as they were finishing the Our Father.  I took a place at a pew and prepared for the sign of peace.  In America, people hug, shake hands, nod.  In Nanjing, they bow.  Every person turns in a circle and bows at everyone in their line of sight.  Very different, but hey, I can do this... so I bowed in a circle. 

Then it was time for Communion.  In every other Church I've been all over this world, the Communion line begins in the first pew and moves backwards.  In Nanjing, Communion is like everything else...the queue begins with he-who-gets-there-first.  People were going out of order, crossing in front of each other, even RUNNING... it was an OCD nightmare!

But nevertheless, I got to the front where the Priest, in crystal clear English said the Body of Christ to me.  Perhaps that's what was meant by English Mass?????  Ironically, I noticed 1 other Mei Guo Ren (American) when I was walking back from the line.... I guess he read the same guidebook I did!

Happy that I got to witness Mass in Chinese, which I would not have otherwise done, I went back to my place.  I participated in the closing rites, and I listened as the Cantor identified the next song: Si Si Si (444).  I waited to see how people departed the Church, not wanting to be deemed the heathen American.  the organist began to play the opening chords to Amazing Grace.

And then I lost it.

I lost it because while the song usually makes me teary, in light of the earlier trip down heartbreak lane, it was agony.  I lost it because back home, they are praying for the Church in China...that people will be allowed to assemble and worship freely.  I lost it because these people were singing about the Amazing Grace of God...which is sometimes hard to see when I look outside of my expat bubble.  I lost it because I am living amongst people whom I will likely never know on a true level.  And I lost it because on the eve of my nation's birthday, I realize how lucky I am to have the freedoms that I do and to be able to return any time I want to that beautiful land. 

...'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far and Grace will lead me home....

A Diva Goes Shopping...

I've been living in Nanjing for about 6 weeks now, and I have not bought a pair of shoes yet.  For those who know me, this is a feat of epic proportion.  It is time to go shopping!

Don't get me wrong, I have browsed through plenty of furniture stores, and I can grocery shop with the rest of the locals, but I haven't gone shopping!  Macy's has sent me 3 "We miss you" e-coupons already, and all I can do is sniffle and say "I miss you, too, my mothership!"  TJ Maxx, Lord and Taylor, Nordstroms... I miss you, too, my friends, I really do.

A few weeks ago, Matt and I had wandered through a "flea market" type shopping complex.  There were stalls everywhere selling everything from bathroom hooks to batteries, from tea sets to tea.  But despite a few minor purchases, it didn't satisfy the craving for a shopping trip.

Yesterday one of my old coworkers and very dear friend, Doris, invited me to lunch and a shopping trip.  We ventured to Aqua City - one of the newer malls in the center of town.  Allow me to preface what I am about to say, I'm going to generalize... A LOT. Forgive me.

Happy Ever Day!

Doris and I had a leisurely lunch and then wandered aimlessly in and out of stores.  The styles were so delicate and lacy...almost child-like in many cases.  Aside from some jeans, there was very little that I saw that was "me".  Many shirts had drawings on them - cute pictures of cartoon women, pigs, cows and the like.  Many have English words randomly splayed on them.  Some have meaning, but others... well, they appear to have been translated, so they probably mean more in Chinese than they do in English.  I snapped a photo of my favorite one. 

And, Chinese women must weigh on average 72 pounds.  They are small and slender and delicate.  And gorgeous.  And well, the clothes match the woman.  Ooof...I hope Arnold, the trainer, has an in with Miracle Max!

So, I started talking to myself:  Ok, let's be rational... you have a sea-shipment full of clothes arriving on Friday.  You'll be home in 6 months, where you can show Macy's how much it means to you.  Internet shopping is feasible.  Arnold's working with you 3 days/week.  All will be fine.  This is not a crisis.  And besides, you really don't even LIKE most of these things!!! 

But I still want to learn how to say "where did you buy that?" in Mandarin, so I can walk up to the chunkiest Chinese woman I see (I'm still waiting for that encounter!) to find out where SHE can shop!  Perhaps there's a Chinese version of Lane Bryant for all those over a US size 6?

Ok, breathe, Ri.  There is a plan in place, so come down from the bitterness ledge.  Time to focus on SHOES. 

Doris and I wandered into Nine West - my preferred footwear of choice.  Please allow me this digression:  I remember the day we met.  It was a Saturday in October 1994.  I was shopping in Filenes with a college friend.  This gorgeous pair of black lace up, mid-calf boots with a 4" stacked-heel called out to me.  They were $99.00, but otherwise perfect.  We needed each other.  I called my dad at home to ask him if I could use the credit card to buy them.  He laughed at me, then indulged me.  I was his little girl, and really, he never did deny me anything if it was within his power to deliver.  I went home with my new loves, and the rest is history.

The Nine West store at Aqua City was just like the one at Somerset Mall...or any other mall, really: Well lit, with the beige walls and black trim that scream no-nonsense elegance.  The styles were straight off of 5th Avenue, the colors and fabrics perfect for the summer season.  I was breathing normal now - I was in my comfort zone, among the shoes I love.  I saw a few pair of Rocha - a full somewhat rounded toe shoe with a 4.5" heel that fits my feet well and oozes comfort.  I buy them every season in the new colors.  This season's China collection was DIVINE, and I already had an outfit picked out to wear with them on Monday morning.  Ok, they're a little more expensive than in the US, but I've never let cost stand between me and my footwear before!  Maybe this China shopping thing won't be so horrible after all...I mean, really, who needs new clothes?  It's all about the shoe; everyone knows that!

So, you can understand the shoe-shock I was in just 5 minutes later.  I wear a solid size 9 in the US, 255 in China (yes, I figured that out before I moved).  Earlier at H&M, I saw a hideous pair of shoes, but they were available in a 255...I tested them and we had lift-off...my size calculator was on the money!

Unfortunately, even though H&M had a pair of shoes in a 255, Nine West, did not.  Nor did the 4 other local stores we walked into after that.  Apparently, most Chinese women do not wear anything above a 245 (size 8), so alas, they just stop there. 

I was crestfallen!  What is this injustice?!  I'm a size 9, not a 19!  I'm not sporting some Sasquatch or Amazon foot...I'm normal!  Even in the US I pity the plight of women who wear size 11 because not every shoe is available in their size... but here, at my beloved Nine West, not even 1 shoe was available.  Unbelievable.

I got back in the car after 4 hours of shopping without a single purchase.  Not a once did I swipe my credit card, nothing.  I'm so unaccustomed to this - is this some sort of cruel joke? But, no, it wasn't a joke.  It's real.  This Is China.

But God and my dad were smiling on me... as I sat there pondering this new reality, my i-phone beeped signaling that I had new mail.  I clicked to my inbox, and Happy Day!  Nine West online is having a July 4th sale...including free shipping.  Take THAT, Chinese shopping malls!

The Diva is back in business. 
 

An Adjustment

I've been asked quite a bit lately to describe what makes China different.  I reply, simply, "How much time do you have?"

Moving to China is like moving anywhere else - an adjustment. 

When I moved to MI 11 years ago, I didn't know anyone, I had to learn the subtleties of the language (there are a lot of differences!), and I had to navigate my way around town with a map and a prayer...  But, eventually, I settled in.  I met people who softened my NY exterior, but who still confuse me on many cultural levels.  I learned what restaurants I liked, the location of the best parks to walk Harley, and I even found a public beach.  Even in my last weeks, I was still learning new and wonderful surprises about Michigan.  But, I still have no clue what a pasty is!

Nanjing has been the same type of adjustment, but on a different plane.  I am not trying to navigate around with a map and prayer - that's Mr Zheng's job.  And my expat coworkers and their families, the Nanjing Normals, have welcomed me warmly, sharing their time and experiences to help ease the transition, so that loneliness is reduced.

The Nanjing Normal coworkers: Pete, Matthew, Gordon, Ky, Me, Golon

I've adjusted, rather nicely, I must say, to having Wei Ayi clean, cook, and take care of Harley for me.  It's definitely one of the differences in China that I love (what Long Island Princess wouldn't!?!?)!  I adore having Mr. Zheng deal with the traffic and the commute, while I sleep or read or take phone calls in the back seat.   But, it is a challenge to not easily have a conversation with the person sitting in the car with you and to spend most of the time in awkward silence.  We speak in broken "Chinglish" - my handful of Chinese words, his handful of English ones.  And it is somewhat embarrassing asking a coworker to speak with Wei Ayi every time I have to adjust the schedule or she wants me to buy something for the apartment.



Jack - just a little Normal



And there are subtleties that are adjustments unto themselves.  The disparity in costs from the US, for instance.  I may never adjust to the fact that an hour-long massage and a box of cereal can cost the same $10.  Or that 8 people (and Harley!) can eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant for $7 each, but it costs $45 in tolls to drive 3 hours to Shanghai.

But the big adjustments, the ones that scream "THIS IS CHINA!!!"  are a whole lot smaller when you get out of the "golden expat bubble" and think in terms of the culture.  We have to take a step back and realize that for every different nuance that is a nuisance (tiny paper towels!), there is something equally as different but magical and wonderful (paper slicing artwork).  I'm fortunate, as the Normals are all open to getting out of the bubble, and we have each other to share the frustrations and the magical moments.  Every Saturday night, the 8 of us go out to dinner and discuss the nuances.  We shake our heads, we laugh, and we get a little soberer.  For me, it's a chance to get a pulse on whether I'm being a primadonna or if I'm assimilating. 

Carol and Angie - The Normal Moms



So, what are some of the big differences?  Aside from language, hygiene stands out.  In my packing, I managed to get a 5 month supply of toilet paper into my air shipment, but somehow, I neglected to pack a spare deodorant to get me through until the sea shipment arrives.  Deodorant is almost impossible to find in a store, and what you do find is half the size of that in the US, costs 5 times the price, and works 1/5th as well.  Needless to say, I'm not hugging anyone these days! 

The spitting is something I will never adjust to, and there have been books written about it, so I won't go there.  It's too easy.  Same with the toilets (although, I can proudly report that I FINALLY used one correctly!!!). 

I have always been buggered by the sound of slurping (yes, Anu, I went there!) but slurping is a norm here.  Eating is a loud experience, so the people don't even notice...and perhaps it's a sign of savoring the meal.  I don't know.  It's been an adjustment to tune out the noise, but every so often, I still get a bit creeped out!

Adjusting to the stares has been hard.  I try to spin it positively - having the curly hair, being an American, buying a large product, being seen with a Chinese person (or if none are available, Ky stands in).  But, it does wear on my self-esteem.  A lot!

But, overall, it's the people that I find most fascinating and where I am most humbled and deviating from my original uninformed, naive beliefs.  A coworker who never spoke a word to me came to my desk yesterday to drop off some rice treats that she brought in for the team.  An old coworker from my past life invited me to go shopping and to a movie because I have now passed the 1 month introduction period. 

The culture is a gentle one when you get to the heart of it.  And there is a quiet, almost fearful, curiosity about Americans.  My power went out last week unexpectedly.  I immediately opened the front door to let the hall light in.  While I was standing holding the light of my laptop up to the fuse box, my neighbor came home.  She saw my door ajar and all of the darkness.  I've never met her before, but she woke her husband to come reset my fuses.  We spoke a few words of Chinglish and they left.  But, I was sobered a little by the help of a stranger whom I cannot repay.  I can't knock on her door and invite her for coffee.  I can't express an interest in her.  Aside from asking her name, a conversation will be difficult.

Matthew and I went shopping last weekend.  We stopped at a store where a man made sliced paper art.  He invited us to look at his work, and then, he told me to stand still.  Clearly, there was a bug somewhere on me, right!?  No - he wanted to do a cutout of my profile!  Ten minutes later, I had a memory - complete with his signature, stamp and the date.  He would not take a dime for it - just wanted me to have it.  A little Chinese magical moment!



At work, I am angrily fascinated by how the Western cultures take advantage of the quiet accepting nature of the people.  And I, ever the champion of the underdog, want to stop the misperception that these are unintelligent, incapable people.  Being here and watching the interactions, I want to shield them from the western world; I want to fight the fight for them.  What I have witnessed (and I am a culprit) is that western cultures are direct, concise, demanding, and unrelenting in our pursuit of wanting what we want, when we want it, and how we want it.  The Chinese culture appears more subtle, more yielding.  However, they are no less intelligent, no less desiring.  But, it appears they do not want to cause problems, they do not want to upset anyone or lose face. 

Somehow, without damaging the cultural norm, the Normals have to provide guidance to the Westerners and to the locals to bridge the gaps and allow the local culture to shine... I'm starting by opening my eyes to see that different is not a bad thing; it's something to be explored, understood, and savored...

Zai Jian...

Until Next Time...