No Excuses

Hello once again!

I do not particularly like making excuses, but I promised you a few last week. At least you get to enjoy it with some pictures.

So how could I possibly not have a moment to simply tap away a few words about the latest events in this patch of Earth I currently occupy? Well, it all starts with school. In case you haven’t noticed, unlike many of my fellow classmates I actually enjoy every bit of my academics, which ultimately means that when I have to choose between typing English or scribbling pictographs, I pretty much always choose the latter. Unfortunate for those who are curious about life in Beijing, but certainly paying off in terms of my grades. That’s not to say that my fluency is actually improving as fast as you might think, because according to every Chinese friend that sees my textbooks, many of whom are amazingly talented and intelligent graduate students, our books not only contain excessively difficult texts, but also teach us vocabulary (100-200 or more characters per chapter) that even they do not really know how to use. Hmmmm… I seem to have missed out on the whole BUILDING A FOUNDATION aspect of learning a foreign language! So I can write a decent essay, attend reading, speaking and writing classes all taught in Chinese 18 hours a week, get around town, and have a more or less fluent conversation with a native, but I still cannot read a newspaper without looking up every other word in my handy pink electronic dictionary. To boost my morale, I’ve bought a translation of the French book “The Crowd: A study of the popular mind” and have attempted to plow my way through it, surprisingly finding that I am able to not only read every character, but almost fully understand the author’s meaning too. Wow! Perhaps I am not illiterate after all! My goals have thus been adjusted towards studying independently, while keeping up with the mandatory program of course, so that by the time I leave the country next year, I can read an academic research paper as well as the newspaper.

All this talk of the future misses the excitement I have experienced on campus, so time to back all the way up to choosing classes in September. I am one of a few hundred foreign students (literally from all over the world! In my classes there are: Japanese, Korean, Thai, Malaysian, Russian, Polish, Norwegian, Swedish, Scandinavian, Dutch, French, Spanish, Italian, British, Columbian, Brazilian, Canadian…) at Peking University enrolled in the Chinese language program specifically designed for foreigners,
which requires us to take a placement exam followed by examining the textbooks to determine whether or not the books indeed match the level that our test results suggest. Although we are able to chat with teachers and flip through the texts to determine what seems like a suitable level, this process is realistically a terrible indicator of a class’ difficulty, as the student demographics and speed of teaching can greatly affect how easily one actually absorbs vocabulary and understands text. Thus, I ended up in reading and oral classes that were both unbearably easy for me (the books seemed a lot harder than the classes actually were). Even though the school’s administrators had made it clear several times over that it was impossible to change classes, and my own UC directors were clearly unwillingly to help me switch, I was still absolutely determined to not spend the next four months in two classes that would actually put me to sleep (and you know how much I love school). When I essentially complained to the teachers and administrators, I discovered that there were indeed possibilities for moving up to the next book, but little did I know that the process of changing classes is more complicated than just voicing your complaint and having things changed. That just wouldn’t be, well, China-like. For a whole week I bounced between teachers, administrators and offices until I not only found the right people to talk to, but the allotted time to make my appeal. I felt like I was trapped in a never-ending automated telephone operator network, always waiting for ridiculous amounts of time in lines, never getting a straightforward or correct answer when I finally found an end, and then when I finally got to sit down with the one person who could wave the magic wand to fix everything, I had to modestly explain that my level was simply higher than my current classmates, lest someone become offended by my directness. But alas, one of the classes I needed to join was full! Luckily, a friend who somehow placed into that class unquestionably needed to move a few levels down, opening the precious seat for me. After an exhausting week of dealing with a typical Chinese administration, I was enrolled in suitable classes, and have ever since been happy with the change. All but a single classmate (the arrogant American frat-boy) are pleasant and interesting, assisting in the survival of the monotony of a 19 week-long semester, during which I have become more appreciative of the relatively short quarter system at UCSB.

When I am not buried in my books (I recently learned that this metaphor exists in Chinese too- how useful!), I spend time doing a multitude of fun activities with friends that I’ve met randomly and those from classes. Besides my greatest love, eating the splendid food Beijing has to offer, we shop, dance, go to concerts, sing karaoke, roller skate, play badminton, Frisbee and pool, and are always on the lookout for something new. A staple in the life of anyone residing in Beijing is shopping, for anything from food, books, electronics, DVDs, music, shoes and of course clothing, perhaps not only because things are relatively cheap even as the US dollar loses value, but because the entire experience of shopping is just plain fun, no matter who you are. There are various shopping experience options throughout the city to satisfy everyone’s needs ands styles, whether you are a high-roller looking to browse the boutiques and brand-name branches at Beijing’s fancy malls, or a student ready to search and bargain at the local market (or maybe just at the street corner peddler when something catches your eye). However, no matter where you go it is crowded, hot, stuffy, exhausting, and what you find can literally be found just around the corner, and probably for less. I’m pretty sure that the only unique thing would be something you’ve made yourself, for instance a knit scarf, and even then somebody is probably selling it for far less than what your labor would have cost. This establishes one of the principles of successful bargaining: if you are not willing to pay the vendor’s price, no worries because the same exact article can be found somewhere else and chances are that it will be cheaper. Thus leading to the fabulous “walk-away” strategy. This usually comes towards the end of a transaction, and is best explained through a specific situation, so let’s take the example of when Beijing’s weather became increasingly cold and lead me to the purchase of a heavy parka at the Wudaokou clothing market, my favorite two stories of crowded stalls selling clothing, shoes and bags that change with the seasons.

Usually it is best to go in to these sorts of places with a specific item or style in mind, or you might go crazy trying to find what you figure you want, but I wasn’t quite sure about the kind of jackets available. Once I looped around, however, I realized that it is just as easy going about your search with what you DON’T want in mind, like the racks and racks of short, poofy down jackets in neon colors or with gold chain accents, and the endless baby-doll styled coats that only hip Koreans can pull off. I was sure that I didn’t want anything very shiny on my clothing, though a fur-lined hood was appealing, and after two long rows of pushing my way through the people and clothing, I discovered a thigh-length black parka with a fake brown fur-lined hood and interesting details on the pockets that actually fit my tall frame and long arms, and I was going to get it for no more than 160 kuai (about $22). My Taiwanese-American friend Stephanie and I asked the young Chinese woman managing the stall for her lowest price, a ridiculous 400 kuai. We told her she must be joking, “just because we look foreign does not mean prices should be increased, we know that nowhere in the entire market is there a jacket worth, let alone sold for that price! So please give us your real price, the lowest you are willing to go.” She didn’t budge, just kept telling us that there was a Japanese couple there yesterday that bought the same “good quality” coat for that price. We replied that we are certainly not Japanese and comparing us as such is unreasonable, and in addition the quality of the coat does not look all that great (even though we actually believed it was relatively sturdy), so we refused to pay that much. Even when she lowered to about 350 kuai, we walked away slowly, repeating that we would not pay that much. About two stalls away, she called us back, at which point the vendor usually breaks down and says, okay, I’ll give it to you for a third of what I originally asked. But she was special, she still didn’t decrease her price! It is best not to reveal the price you are willing to pay, at least until the vendor has given you a number, because you have a better chance of being less ripped off if they set the price range. But at this point, it didn’t really matter, so I told her 160 kuai was all I had in my wallet (which as actually true) and I honestly couldn’t pay anymore. She whined and moaned that she couldn’t make a profit if she sold for that, so we walked away again. Once again, she called us back, but of course only whined and still didn’t lower her price. This continued another few times, walking away and being called back until she finally dropped her head and shoved the jacket at me with a frown of defeat. We asked once more to make clear that she was actually selling it at my price, to which she replied, “How could I not? Money is money.” Score! That only took at least twenty minutes! Exhausting, but exhilarating when you walk away with a hard-earned purchase. Not a bad way of practicing your Chinese as well.

Clothing is perhaps the most work as far as bargaining, as prices vary greatly between vendors and products, and it is difficult to get a ballpark idea of pricing without the knowledge of an experienced shopper. On the other hand, electronic product prices can be quickly assessed through a questioning sweep of the stalls, and DVDs are usually 8-20 kuai ($1-3) depending on popularity and whether it’s a new release, resulting in a dangerously easy and cheap addiction. But of course not all my money is spent on movies and clothing. Yet.

I currently live across the street from a 24 hour pool hall, and also nearby a roller skating rink (straight out of the seventies!), which are cheap and convenient ways to pass time with common Chinese citizens, from your high school students in matching sweat suit uniforms to young chain-smoking businessmen. These places have seen increasing business from me as the weather transitioned rather abruptly from the humidity of summer to the literally freezing, gusty, dry coldness of winter, which forced me to stop playing weekly Frisbee games to prevent a feeling of breathing knives as the cold air ripped through my esophagus and lungs. I’ve discovered how grateful I am for living my whole life in fairly temperate California, only experiencing this kind of cold when I seek it for fun in the snow, not having to spend extra time just getting dressed in at least three layers everyday. Good thing I have a nice long down jacket from the Russian clothing market (all products made for Russians- some of the vendors even speak Russian!) and a pair of tall, fuzzy fleece-lined Converse high-tops to keep me warm out there. As for the indoors, I must share my newest friend with you, yet to be named: a giant, fluffy, pink, stuffed mouse slipper. And yes, only one. I stuff both my feet into this ridiculous, cute accessory which keeps my feet warm while I sit at my desk, and no, I do not hop around with it on my feet, I have separate fuzzy slippers for shuffling around the apartment. (You really must stuff you feet in this slipper to appreciate the absurdity of this ingenious product.) The cuteness of this slipper rivals that of my bear look-alike humidifier, another necessity in the dry, Beijing cold. China really seems to have the marketing down; how can one resist buying something when it is not only the cheapest option, but the cutest as well?


Till next time,
a big hug and much love,
Kenzie