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...







The Word of the Week is: Jiaozi!!!

My love affair with jiaozi (j-ow!-ts-uh) began many moons ago in a basement restaurant at 11 Mott Street in Chinatown.  I can remember going there as a child with my family to meet my Uncle Paul and Aunt Jan for impromptu dinners on the weekend.  My uncle has a Chinese friend, John Ho, who would introduce him to all sorts of Chinese food treasures, and then UP would share them with us.  My dad was not an adventurous eater, but he loved Chinese food.  So, we learned that fried rice and wonton soup were best if they were of the Young Chow variety.  And Lobster Cantonese, while sticky and gooey, has one of the most delicious flavors your mouth could want.

And it was there, at 11 Mott, that I was introduced to jiaozi for the first time.  They were like pan fried meat ravioli.  The taste and texture were divine.  I was hooked.

Several years later, when I was a teenager, John, through my uncle, introduced us to Dim Sum.  We moved from 11 Mott to a restaurant nearby, and instead of dinner, we were clamoring for seats before noon.  Dim Sum involved jiaozi of all shapes and sizes, from savory to sweet, seafood to vegetable.  Chinese women would push carts ladened with steam boxes and tins to the tableside, and we would pick from the assortment.

My uncle gradually began to learn the Cantonese words for our favorites - Shuimai (pork dumplings), Har Gao (shrimp dumplings), and my personal favorite - Gao Choi Bao (a dumpling of Chinese greens and chopped shrimp).  Dim Sum restaurants opened on Long Island and New Jersey, and soon we were visiting Sunny's Palace or the Fortune Wheel instead of Chinatown.  After a few tries, my dad was confident to go it alone, so we would head out for Dim Sum after Mass on Sunday.  When I moved to college, I would go to Chinatown in Boston for a fix,  and when I moved to MI, it was a necessity for every trip home.  I never knew such havens of yumminess existed in MI until I learned I was moving to China.  Only then was I introduced to Shangri-La and Great Lakes Seafood (eternally grateful to Eva Cole for the information!)

So, how thrilling, I was moving to the land of jiaozi!  Except... they speak Mandarin here, not Cantonese.  Quickly Eva converted my favorites into Mandarin so I could survive on more than just a point and a nod.  But until this week, I've only been able to see the jiaozi from afar.  Mainly bought at street vendors or frozen at the grocer, they were never on the menu when we went out.  Not having any pots yet made making frozen ones difficult, and I was warned to stay away from the street food for a few weeks.

Then on Saturday, I noticed that there was a Cantonese restaurant in town.  Surely, if any place would sell Dim Sum, it would be there!  The expat family graciously humored my desire to get Cantonese food, and Angie somehow knew what I was craving, because the first thing she ordered were jiaozi... more specifically, jiu cai bao.  My beloved gao choi bao!  And the har gao that I missed so!  Ah.... THIS is why I moved to China!

Yesterday, I missed lunch and it rained all day.  I had no plans and just wanted to come home, put on sweats, and watch TV.  To any warm blooded American, that combination screams one thing: COMFORT FOOD!  After years of having Dim Sum only on those trips home, jiaozi IS my comfort food.  It is the emobodiement of family time, and when I close my eyes, I can still see my dad's face peering into the carts and waving hello to the manager at the restaurant we frequented. 

So I asked Mr Zheng to take me to find jiu cai bao.  I played my game of describing a jiaozi made of vegetables, and green, and pan fried.  I was throwing all sorts of words at the poor man just trying to spark some sort of recognition in his head.  We went from vendor to vendor trying to find something I would eat.  He was frantically calling people to find a place that sells this thing the crazy American boss lady wants. 

He didn't understand what I was saying (my tones are a mess; I probably insulted his child), and he was so frustrated at the game of charades.  He finally pulled into a cafeteria style restaurant, and we went inside.  The layout was phenomenal, and the abicus at the register let me know I was NOT in a tourist trap!  They did not have jiu cai bao, but they did have the most intriguing giant dumplings.  I ordered 2 of one kind and 3 of another.  We moved to the next station and ordered stir fried noodles with beef and vegetables.  Mr Zheng put some la jiao you (hot pepper oil) in a plastic bag, I paid the 19.5 RMB that I owed and I was on my way home.

The first thing I did was skype my mom so she could see the feast! 


seriously, food for 3 meals cost $3

 After I shook my chopsticks at Harley with a "don't mess with my meal" warning, I cut into them.... See the yumminess for yourself:





this was a fried rice and meat dumpling





My belly was full, Harley's belly was full, and we had dinner ready for the next day.  All was good!

Today, Ayi started, so I was working from home.  After working on the constant internet debacle for a few hours, my doorbell rang.  Odd, because for what seemed like the first time in a month, I was not having any workers over.  I looked at the monitor, and there was Mr Zheng, downstairs holding a bag of.... jiaozi!

He was so upset that he couldn't find my jiu cai bao, he had his wife make them for me this morning.  She sent over nearly 3 dozen home made jiaozi of a few different varieties.  Ayi found my wok among the boxes, and next thing I knew, I was presented with this plate of goodness.  Seriously, I'm so spoiled! 

So, I raise my jiaozi in a toast to you Mr Zheng and to Ayi... and to Arnold, the trainer who will kick my butt into gear starting Monday!

Chinese Charades

Scribblish, Cranium, Pictionary... they've got nothing on the intense game of Chinese Charades that I play every day.  Years of monthly game nights with the gang have taught me how to draw with my eyes closed and how to gesture without saying a word.  And I still contend that if we had 3 more minutes, I could have twisted Juliette into enough of pretzel to get Jen to say "quicksand".

But I never assumed my gaming addiction would help me to survive.  Universal clues are easy - a point to the wrist means clock or time.  A thumb and pinky telephone clearly means I'll call you.  But when the phrase "I will pick up the poop" failed to calm the man who was screaming at me from his window at 6AM last Thursday, I was desperate!  I gestured my intentions, the man calmed down, nodded, and allowed Harley to finish his business in peace. 

I realized then that my Italian heritage of talking with my hands and my gaming history will be invaluable here.  It's gotten to the point where I notice I'm not even speaking - I just clamp my mouth closed and let my hands guide me.  My picture dictionaries help as well (Even Bob Barker would allow me that cheat!), and I've managed to order meals, shop, and get my driver from Point A to Point B with little chaos.

But yesterday, I got stumped - How do you explain small disposable room dehumidifier?  Jen, Matt, Leah, Brian - I'm tasking you to come up with the right mime!  I took the frustrated foreigner's way out.  I called a friend to send me a photo of the device to show Mr Zheng. 

I'm nothing if not resourceful!

As an aside, I'm happy to demonstrate my air scoop technique if anyone is interested...you never know when or where you might need it!

Driving Miss Diva...Mr Zhen's Story

One of the allotments for the assignment in China is a car and a driver.  Depending on your view this could be a perk or a penalty.  No longer do I have the freedom to dart in and out of traffic with my radio blaring and the sunroof open as I scream along to whatever song fits my mood.  But, no longer am I responsible for battling traffic, worrying about speeding tickets, or pumping gas in the rain.
That's all Mr. Zhen's job now. 

Mr Zhen is the local Nanjinger assigned to be my driver. We're currently cruising around town in a bright red Focus hatchback.  He takes his job incredibly seriously, and despite his questionable attachment to his horn, he does a great job.

When I came on my pre-assignment trip, I met a woman who explained that the driver just drives your car.  He's not your chauffer; he is not your errand boy.  He drives you where you need to go, then waits, and drives you back home.

Not Mr. Zhen.  He opens my car door for me everytime I get in.  He makes sure the car sparkles and shines.  And he makes sure I am never late to work, despite my repeated efforts to convince him that it's fine for me to come in after 8:30AM.  On those mornings when I am truly behind schedule, his horn gets an extreme workout.

Mr Zhen is willing to do almost anything for me,  and each day, he baffles me more.  Mr. Zhen has done more to make me happy than my last 5 boyfriends combined.  It's his job.  He quit smoking for me - at least while he's on duty.  I advised him that he would lose his job if he kept smoking.  Now, he keeps a bag of seeds or nuts with him in the car, and he chews a lot of gum.  I've not seen or smelled a cigarette in almost a week.

Unlike most drivers, Mr. Zhen insists on coming grocery shopping with me.  At first, I found it invasive to have someone following me pushing the cart, but he keeps me honest - my closeted eating habits do not allow me to buy chocolate when someone else is pushing the cart!  For him, it has been explained, it is a source of pride - he is with an American woman and he is buying expensive items.  On my first day, we went to Walmart, where I bought cleaning products, an iron, a hair dryer, and a phone.  I was left to carry the cleaning products while he carried the tower of appliances that was tied with a bright red ribbon at the store. 

Mr Zhen and I did not speak for the first 3 days.  Anytime I wanted to go somewhere, he would call the realtor who would translate for us.  Slowly, we devised a system to communicate, and it has been working.  I write down the times I want to see him next, and how many hours I expect to be gone.  He texts me from his phone which translates his words into English for me.  We use my picture dictionary to find the hard things (plastic bags, a fan), and we use the guidebooks/maps to get me close to the bars and restaurants on my list.  It's working.

In addition to pushing my cart, Mr. Zhen has my back at the grocery store.  He handles the produce purchase process (so different from the US), and he makes sure the price is right.  He always makes sure there are bags in the car, and he carries them up to my apartment.  He takes me to out of the way restaurants for the things I want (wonton, dim sum), and he'll even go to the store without me for certain things, like my Starbucks frappucino addiction. 

I adore Mr. Zhen. 

Yesterday, when he picked me up, I showed him my broken shoe.  He said "ok, ok" and I got in the car, and off we went to a store called Auchen.  It's like Meijer or Target, Chinese style.  We got out, and he took my two shoes in his hand, and started off.  We went to the shoe repair section where the woman fixed my buckle for 3 RMB  - the equivalent of $0.40.  When we finished, Mr. Zhen carried my shoes out to the car.  I was not allowed to carry them - it was his job to put his fingers in my heels.  I can't be sure, but I don't think my mother even does that when she's cleaning up the shoe-littered floor! 

Today, though, Mr. Zhen made me teary-eyed twice.  First, he dropped me off at 6:10PM, and he left with a note to pick me up at 18:50 to go to dinner.  At 6:55 he showed up, apologizing for his tardiness (ironic, since I kept him waiting 40 minutes today at work).  He was late because he had gone to buy an English/Chinese dictionary.  He was practicing, "eighteen fifty".  We practiced in English and in Chinese (shi ba;  wu shi).  I was so touched that he would try so hard to make my life easier.  In his country!

When I got into the car after dinner, he handed me a skewer of 3 chicken hearts or livers or something.  I know it was chicken because of the arm flapping he was doing (he so OWNS the Funky Chicken dance!).  I just wasn't sure which internal organ I was about to consume.  I couldn't insult him and not eat, so I pulled, bit and swallowed before my nose and mouth realized what happened. 

I was so touched by his gesture.... I just hope we're not married now...

Harley's Story - a Pit bull moves to China

Lots of people warned me about bringing a dog to China.  I had heard all of the jokes about his being invited to dinner, and I'd been warned of the general fear of big dogs.  But I still wasn't prepared for it. 

Harley is my 9 year old pitty.  Lumps, as I call him, is about as viscious as the sofa that bears his butt print.  He thinks he's a person and expects to be treated as such.  I think he thinks he is European.  He greets everyone with a kiss on the mouth and a groping.

Last day in his yard in MI

Last Friday, I got on a plane to China.  Harley stayed behind with Uncle Brian until his flight the following Tuesday.  I was a basket case.  Not because of Brian - he's amazing - but because of the flight.  Harley has more frequent flyer miles than most people, but they were short trips - NY to MI.  This was 14 hours, then quarantine!

On Wednesday night, I got the call that he had arrived in Shanghai safely (accomplishments 1-100 -- a FANTASTIC day!) and was in quarantine.  Quarantine here is strange; it is dictated by the city in which the dog arrives.  Shanghai's quarantine is 1 week; Beijing's is a month.  However, Shanghai's can be reduced to 1 day if the dog's owner is already in the country and about $500 in cash is exchanged.

The company forked over the cash, and my baby was delivered safely on Thursday night.  He was, to put it kindly, bijiggity.  He was in a crate for the better part of 3 days.  He was tired, scared, and confused.  He jumped out of the crate, slobbered on me, knocked me over, and raced to a bush. 

The men who delivered him were terrified as he ran past them.  The security guard rode off about 100 yards on his bike.

I understood right then that I was doomed to be the crazy American.

In the few days since, I've had women scoop up their toddlers as Harley and I walk by, and one man even got out of the elevator when he saw we were going to join him.  People stop, stare, and point. 

But then there are those who are fascinated by him, and by me, the crazy person on the other end of the leash.  I'm determined to show them how lovable and friendly and happy Harley is.  I want them to see he doesn't need to be feared because of his size or breed.

I brought him to the gatehouse on Friday to meet Mr Zheng, our driver.  If he is not comfortable with Harley, he may have to be replaced.  What ensued was bordering on Oscar-worthy, as cultures merged and everyone learned a little something.  Harley and I walked out of the gate where Mr Zheng and the security guard were talking.  I said "ta jiao Harley" - he is called Harley.  They both repeated Hah-lee.  Progress.  I then told Harley to sit.  They made sounds that I took to mean "impressive, she can make the beast sit on command".  Harley stood up again to sniff these new people, and Mr Zheng said, "Hah-lee sit".  And Harley sat.  Laughter ensued - they too had control over the beast.  Both men then started to pet him tentatively.  He did not move, except to give them better access to his chin.  They then crouched down to pet him better and to examine him closer.

That's when Harley assumed they were ready to be kissed.  The security guard was first.  Harley lunged  forward to kiss him, and the man jumped 12 feet in the air.  Mr Zheng, watching this, jumped back 5 feet to the safety of the car. 

I sat there and laughed.  Once they saw that I was laughing, they laughed.  And when they saw Harley lean in to kiss me instead, they understood he was not looking for a Chinese lunch.

Harley's first night in his new Chinese home

Baby steps...little cultural baby steps to bridge the gap.  The security guard smiles and waves at us now when we go for a walk, and he tells others about Harley when we walk by.  And my neighbor, well, he allowed Harley and I to join him in the elevator this morning.  And when Harley sat, he smiled at me and said something that I took to mean, "hmmm, big dog is not so bad after all".