Fruits

Two weeks into my summer vacation I read the following job offer on my former associate Godson’s WeChat account: “I have a job in a small city named luochuan where is about 2 hours from Xian by bus.its from 15th to 25th in July.we pay 500 per day with free transportation and free apartment. There are about 4 classes per day.conatct me on my wechat asap if you can.” [sic!]

Rora and I had been making various plans for the vacation by then, but they were all overthrown as we couldn’t find available train tickets, and another plan of teaching for three weeks did not work out as the organizers were unable to get sufficient students. Note to self: plan well ahead when intending to take a train all over China, and buy the tickets in advance.

As I was becoming bored of sitting around in Hanzhong with nothing to do (not true, we went hiking and bike riding, which was lots of fun), I told Rora about the job offer, we agreed to accept it, packed our bags, and left the next morning. It was all a bit spontaneous, you see: Thursday night I read about the offer, Friday morning we got on a bus to Xi’an, and Friday afternoon we sat in Godson’s office to discuss the details. Instead of continuing to Luochan the same day, we were treated to a night in a hotel in Xi’an, and invited to attend the opening ceremony of a music school, Beethoven Music and Arts School (or some such name), the next morning.

This school needed some foreigners for publicity purposes, so Rora and I, as well as A. from France and L. from Sweden, watched the performances. Well, the other three only needed to watch – I was asked on stage to greet the audience (and I was the only one who was paid for this white monkey job). It wasn’t bad, though; the performances were only half an hour long, there was some singing and dancing, of course a lot of promotional pictures were taken with all of us, and afterwards we were taken out for a nice lunch.

After lunch, a private car was ready to take us to Luochuan, Shaanxi, a small town some two and a half hours north of Xi’an. The first thing we saw on entering the town was a big apple – we had previously been told that Luochuan is famous for its apples, and there wouldn’t be much else besides. It really is a small place, and there isn’t much to see or do, so for anyone who is looking for a nice place to travel to: go elsewhere; it’s quite unspectacular.

My job there was to teach two groups of students in a small training center for ten days. Group one consisted of 18 primary school students, aged 9-13, and group two of eight kindergarten kids, aged 3-5. I usually prefer teaching the older students, as I have so little experience with the very young ones, but these ten days have taught me a lot about how I can improve my teaching skills, and I’m more optimistic and confident about teaching kindergarten kids now.

Cherry, the owner of the school, assisted me in teaching every day, and often took us out for dinner. If there is one thing in Luochuan it’s restaurants! Between lesson planning, teaching, and finding food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I did not really have time to do much else, and Rora kept himself busy with his computer – when the internet was working (which it often didn’t). The only interesting place we found was a small folk museum, which reminded us a lot of the Agriculture Museum in Cairo, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Spending two weeks in this small town reminded me of why many foreigners experience a culture shock when they come to China. As we were the only foreigners in this town, we were stared at pretty much all the time. People often approached us to take pictures with them, and it’s all right if they ask first, but many just pull out their phones and film us or take pictures of us without asking for permission. The weirdest experience in this regard was one day when we were ready to order lunch in a small Muslim restaurant, a woman came in, stood right in front of us, took pictures of us without saying anything, and left the restaurant. Even the owner noticed our annoyance at this incident. Another day we had just sat down to eat dinner in a hotpot restaurant, when an older woman and two teenaged children came and sat down at our table and stared at us, with the woman telling the kids to speak English with us (which they didn’t). The waitress noticed our irritation, so I told her we just wanted to eat, and not chat with anyone. We were left alone after that, fortunately.

On the bright side: we sometimes went to a fast food chain called Dicos to get some coffee, where the women at the register called a kitchen worker for help, as he was the only one who spoke some English. We weren’t always lucky with coffee, though. One day we bought two cups at another place, and when Rora took his first sip, he ended up with a dead cockroach in his mouth. Naturally we demanded our money back, and ran as fast as we could.

All in all we had a good time, even if it was stressful for me, and often boring for Rora. Nonetheless we were happy when the two weeks were over, and we could head South once again.

Stay tuned for next week’s post, in which I will tell you about an unexpected encounter on top of a tower, and an overdue reunion in a small countryside village.

Ramadan: Celebrations

Not all of Ramadan was a good time for us this year, because Rora has gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), which often causes him sleepless nights and physical pain throughout the day, and for me, because I caught a cold, and even had to vomit one day, probably because I ate something wrong. To be honest, we were somewhat relieved when Ramadan was finally over and we could go back to a normal sleeping and eating schedule.

Ramadan, however, is not complete without Eid el-Fitr, one of the most important Islamic holidays, which takes place at the end of the holy month. Everybody goes to the mosque for Eid prayer, and many people celebrate all day long. I always look forward to Eid, but in past years I was prevented from attending the prayer sometimes – last year we arrived a bit too late at the mosque and had to pray outside, the year before, when I was at home in Germany, there wasn’t any space for women at the mosque, etc…

This year, for the most part of Ramadan, I thought Eid would take place on a Sunday, so I did not arrange to have a day off from work. We found out on the Friday before Eid that the prayer would not take place on Sunday, but Monday morning. I accepted my fate of not attending it once again, as I was under the impression that I had to teach my kindergarten students on Monday morning, and there wouldn’t have been any chance of going to the mosque first and reaching work on time.

Somewhat saddened, but not in a bad mood, I went to the kindergarten to start my classes. On entering the classroom the teaching assistants were looking at me like a being from outer space, surprised to see me. They brought another assistant, who speaks a bit of English, only to tell me that I would not have class that day, as the kids had a preparation for primary school. That’s when I lost it and was close to tears. All that was needed was a simple text message a day or two before, informing me that I didn’t have classes that day. I mean, everyone else seems to have been informed about the schedule change, but is it too much to ask to also inform the teacher whose classes have been cancelled? Naturally, by this time it was too late for me to ride to the mosque to attend prayer – it’s a 30 minute ride by bike, and prayer had begun at 8 am.

After reaching my apartment, and closing the doors behind me, a flood of tears broke loose, and didn’t subside for some time.

Rora, on the other hand, had a chance to attend the prayer. There were many people at the mosque, he spoke to a few of them, was greeted by the imam, who speaks Arabic, attended the prayer, took a few videos with his phone, and rode home.

The rest of the day was uneventful, until we attended the high school graduation ceremony in the evening. There were several performances on stage, and a splendid, half-hour long fireworks display after sunset. Rora and I watched the lights in the sky while holding hands, sitting close to each other, and with a smile on our faces.

Ramadan: Beginnings

This year Ramadan, the Islamic holy month during which we abstain from eating, drinking, sexual relations, as well as negative habits from dawn until sunset, was from late May to late June. It was our first Ramadan in China, and the first Ramadan I, Cairene, was working. The last few years Ramadan either fell in my school vacation, or the students were already off, while we teachers sat around at school waiting for time to pass. Actually, I found it was not very difficult to fast all day and teach at the same time – instead it made it easier to get through the day!

The first week of Ramadan I was on my own, as Rora was still in Cairo. On the first day of Ramadan I spontaneously decided to visit the local mosque for iftar – the breaking of the fast – and evening prayer. Having left the house rather late, I rode my bike as fast as I could to get to the mosque on time. When I arrived, quite out of breath, I asked in my broken Chinese where to go to pray, and what time the prayer would start. A kind lady told me to follow her, and took me to the mosque’s dining hall, where on one side of a screen sat all the men, and on the other all the women. Many eyes were on me, as nobody expected to see a foreigner join them for dinner and prayers. The imam welcomed everyone in Chinese and gave a short speech which was followed by supplication in Arabic. We broke our fast that night with a local dish of of rice noodles, as well as some porridge. When it was time for prayer I followed the women to the prayer room.

While the men pray in the mosque proper, the women’s prayer room is in an adjoining building above the dining hall, rather small, and the imam’s recitation of the prayer is played through a speaker. The whole building is very new, and there is no air condition or fan in the women’s prayer room yet, which made the whole experience a bit uncomfortable, to be honest. I am not a fan of this separation of the sexes at all, and it is a global problem: many mosques around the world have no space for women to pray in, or if they do, they are often small and uncomfortable. During the time of the Prophet Mohamed men and women would pray in the same space – men on one side, women on the other…

In Egypt I’ve experienced that women line up for prayer as closely together as possible, which can often be inconvenient, when they try to take up each other’s space – elbows, ouch! In addition to that, many women recite the prayer in a rather loud whisper, which easily distracts one from one’s own prayer. In Hanzhong, on the other hand, the women spread out evenly through the room, and said their prayers in silent whispers.

There are different types of prayers, some of them are called fard, or obligatory, and others sunnah, voluntary. Whenever I went to the mosque in Egypt everyone prayed the obligatory prayer, of course, but only some people stayed for the voluntary prayer afterwards. That first night of Ramadan I was about to get up after the obligatory prayer, and take my things to leave the hot and stuffy room. I was, however, surrounded by women who performed the voluntary prayer – every single woman in the room performed it!

Through observation I learned that many of the voluntary acts of worship are performed like clockwork by the Chinese Muslims. They even have a signal, a bell for example, to begin and end supplication. Everyone stops in their tracks, lifts their hands, says a quiet supplication until the signal sounds again, and then continues with whatever they were doing.

After all the prayers were completed we returned to the dining hall for a proper dinner – that night we ate beef noodles, and whatever we had left from the rice noodles and porridge. One big difference that I noticed between China and other countries that night was that the leftovers, instead of being discarded, were all taken home by the attendees. People in many countries famously overindulge in Ramadan and serve too much food, celebrate excess rather than self-denial, and waste instead of save resources. The Chinese usually do this as well, which made it all the more surprising to me when I saw my fellow diners take out food containers or bags to put the leftovers in.

Before this post gets to long, I’ve decided to split our Ramadan in China into several posts, most likely three, that will focus on different aspects and adventures we had during this holy month. Instead of posting the next update in one week, I shall try to post the remaining parts in the next few days. Tomorrow is my last day of teaching before the summer vacation, which means I will finally have a lot of free time to write, read, and ride my bike.

Ice Cream and Zombies

Do you remember the first time that you ate ice-cream as a child? Or the first time you jumped into the sea?

First time experiences are very nice, but also become rarer and rarer as we grow up.This is why traveling is loved by so many people: All these new first times!

First time to fly to China, first time to eat something new, first time to do, see, hear or breathe all these new things!

Oh, and the first ever flight delay in China!

Imagine this: you have been traveling for countless hours and as a result you are pretty much a zombie, you have reached an airport that you visit for the first time, only to discover that your mobile line – which was supposed to work internationally and had previously worked internationally – is not working, the free wifi of the airport needs – of course – a working mobile line to give you an access code to the wifi network, you have tried to make a call from an airport land line and failed miserably, and your connecting flight to Xi’an is delayed over and over again.

I need to contact Cairene to let her know about the delay. You see: I will reach Xi’an airport late, buses might not be available anymore, so Cairene arranged a driver to wait for me. But since I got delayed so many times, I have no idea if the driver will be waiting or not, no idea of anything else, really, because – basically – I am off grid.

So, I wait, and wait, and wait, take videos, make funny faces at some Chinese toddler, take a video of myself and the situation – just in case they found it later with my belongings and my skeleton in abandoned corner in the airport many years from now – and then wait some more, until eventually – right before my feet get stuck forever to the floor of the airport – the line starts to move, and I find myself sitting in another airplane full of Chinese people flying to Xi’an.

2 hours and 2 coffees later, I find myself in Xi’an airport, with Carine at the exit door with a big smile on her face.(I secretly cried tears of happiness on the inside. Shhh, no one tell her that! I will not become a broke, homeless foreigner, living in front of the exit door of Xi’an airport! Yay!)

And this is how I reached Xi’an city, where Carine and I were to spend the next few days walking around the city, fighting the endless rain and finishing the health check papers.

written by Rora


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Photography: Xi’an

Pictures taken in and around Xi’an’s Muslim Quarter

 


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Surprise

Walking towards the exit, I saw a big sign with my name on it, and the Chinese woman who held the sign, Rita, was smiling and waving at me. Approaching, I noticed that there was an older foreign lady standing next to Rita, doing the same thing. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I noticed who the lady was! J. from Australia, who has been living in China with her husband A. since 2012. We used to be living close to each other in Yangshuo, Guilin, Guangxi for several months when I was still in China, and often met each other. We had stayed in contact for some years, but as I am somewhat lazy when it comes to responding to e-mails, I hadn’t heard from them in some time, and wasn’t sure whether they were still in China, had moved elsewhere, or gone back home to retire. They moved to Shaanxi province some eight months ago, and by chance J. had heard on Friday afternoon that Rita was picking up some German teacher from the airport the next day.

After check-in, I spent the afternoon at See Tang Hostel near the Southern Gate, getting to know some Buckland employees, and catching up with J. and A. over some tea and Muslim noodle soup. On leaving the small Muslim restaurant, I noticed that I had been in that street before – six years prior, on my first trip to China, I had visited a tea shop there.

Later that day, after the two Aussies had left, I was joined by university student Heather, who has been a friend since my teaching days in Yongzhou, Hunan, and one of her classmates, Ava. In the evening we went to one of my favorite places in all of China: Xi’an’s Hui Muslim Snack Street! We shared many delicious, local specialties, such as 羊肉泡馍 (yang rou pao mo), a mutton stew with pieces of bread, also known as my favorite dish in China, 肉夹馍 (rou jia mo), aka. Chinese hamburger, 菠萝 (bo luo), aka. half a pineapple on a stick, some rice cake, and some other snacks. While talking to some friends in Egypt later that night, I commented that I had eaten a bigger variety of flavors in one night in China than I had in four years in Cairo!

On Sunday morning I had some sheep intestine soup for breakfast – it tasted much better that it sounds!

J., A., and Heather were not the only friends from bygone days I met so soon after my return to China. Sunday noon I met my Hawaiian friend B., who has been living in Shaanxi for five years, and he introduced me to R. from the US and J. from Scotland. Our plan was to have biang biang noodles (aka. belt noodles) for lunch, and I’m pretty sure we told the waitress the correct thing in Chinese, but we were served some bowls of 羊肉泡馍 instead. We then headed to one of the countless shopping malls, ate donuts, and the others bought some imported goods they can’t live without. B. and J. soon headed back to Weinan, while R. and I explored some more shopping malls and haggling markets. After a short stopover at a cake shop we decided a foot massage would be the thing to do.

Oh, what a pleasure!

In Egypt massage parlors are hard to find and treatments only for the wealthy. Not so in China: most neighborhoods have at least one massage parlor, and they are often very affordable – but some can charge a fortune, too. R. and I opted for a foot massage, which cost 30 RMB (a bit over 4 US$) each, and lasted about one hour. The perfect thing to do after flying halfway around the globe!

R. proved to be a good resource for information about my new school and home in Hanzhong, Shaanxi, as she previously lived and taught there for two years. As there are not many foreign residents or travelers in Hanzhong, online information about the city in English is rather scarce – a circumstance that will change with this blog. I had many questions that R. was able to answer, and I became more and more excited about finally reaching my new home.

Sunday evening I went to the Hui Muslim Snack Street for another round of food, and on Monday morning I packed my bags once more. Before departing to Hanzhong, however, it was time for the mandatory health check. Five years prior I had to take the health check in a grubby, cold hospital in Guilin, Guangxi, where people were smoking inside the doctors’ offices. Not so in the hospital in Xi’an: clean, organized, people waiting in lines, nobody was smoking, the rooms were heated, and the doctors spoke English!

After that was out of the way I had lunch with Rita and Joanna from Buckland, and then was on my way to the bus that would take me to Hanzhong.

Departure: 40 minutes delay.

The bus ride was quite comfortable, and I was very much surprised that the bus not only had seatbelts, but that use of them was mandatory!

Four hours, fifty two tunnels, and some stunning mountain vistas later I was home: Hanzhong, Shaanxi, People’s Republic of China.


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