Nothing that special, but we’d been seeing the frogs in the restaurants for so long we figured it was about time we tried some.

Around the table were two German couples (doctors, a nurse, and a computer guy), one American family, six kids, and us.

[Edited to add] I forgot to mention the “squirrel fish” (that’s what it’s called). Kinda cool, tastes good:

As I was watching from the window I realized that this was the limit of what I would be able to say: “You’re a man, right?” “Then why did you hit her?” “Real men don’t hit women.” and “Come to our apartment for a break, you and my wife can drink tea and chat.” Even in your home culture and language it’s not always easy to sort out exactly how to get involved (or not) in these situations. You can imagine how much more complicated it is when you can’t understand what’s being said, don’t know the cultural norms for handling such situations, and your presence as a foreigner would likely cause things to escalate. But still, in certain situations a person should be willing act regardless.

They told us in orientation that one unfortunate side-effect of living in small apartments with thin walls is that when there’s a domestic conflict, all the neighbours know because everyone can hear what’s being said. I almost got involved in the one about an hour or so ago.

Obviously, clueless foreigners getting involved in anything like that is to be avoided as much as possible. Even if we understand what’s being said, we don’t understand the situation and all the various dynamics at play. Where I draw the line is witnessing physical abuse. That might one day get us into trouble. Fine.

It’s still raining outside in the “back yard.” I went and looked out the window around lunch time because I heard a male yelling and screaming and sounding potentially out of control. There were two couples about our age on the bike bunker where the old ladies exercise in the mornings; the whole neighbourhood had front row seats. The two young women were sitting in the rain on the wet pavement, just beside the dry pavement under an undercover area, their faces buried in their arms, which were wrapped around their knees. One man was just standing in the dry space, doing nothing. Another was irate, yelling and gesturing at both women from the dry space. The women didn’t move, or look up, or say anything. Jessica was in the other room, so I opened the window and the screen wide, leaned out, and started describing the scene to her (in English) so the guy would see and hear me watching.

He would yell for a bit, take a break for a minute or two, have a smoke, and then start yelling again. He gave one girl a little shove, yelled some more, and then grabbed them both by the arm and made them stand up (they were totally passive about it, not resisting much, but limp). Then he yelled and gestured some more. I have no clue what he was saying, or how these things work. Why did the women just sit there in the rain? Why not leave? Why was the other guy totally passive? Eventually the angry “man” grabbed the arm of the girl who was bearing the brunt of his tirade and pulled her down the stairs off the bike bunker into the trees where I couldn’t see. The others followed. The yelling increased, the women started yelling back, and eventually the fight turned the corner out of the trees into the lane that passes our gate.

My view was partially blocked by the yellow heating pipes, but when I saw him shove her down onto the street and kick her I ran down our six flights of stairs. When I got to the bottom, other neighbours had also come out. She was still laying curled up on the wet road in the rain, but some older people were there and one older man with a cane was herding the angry guy off. I was standing a little further away next to the guy who works in the bike bunker. I tried to ask him what was going on and told him real men don’t hit women (in Chinese, he agreed). We watched for a bit, but the others had it under control. The girls went one direction and the angry guy was herded off in another. It was over. I headed back up the stairs out of the rain, just in time to receive a Skype call from home (we’re arranging for some of our Taiwan students to stay with my parents in Canada this summer).

From some of our current reading:

It has seemed to me that the final test of any civilization is, what types of husbands and wives and fathers and mothers does it turn out. Besides the austere simplicity of such a question, every other achievement of civilization — art, philosophy, literature and material living — pales into insignificance.

- 林语堂 (Lín Yǔtáng), 1895-1976.

I can only imagine what these guys must think sometimes.

We’ve been getting eaten alive by mosquitoes the last couple nights. Yesterday I noticed in the neighbourhood by the JHF office, which is also close to the canal, that everyone has big strings of garlic hanging in their windows. I wondered if it was to keep the mosquitoes away. Since I was heading home, I could ask the bike repairing–xiàng qí playing–bái jiǔ drinking–oral homework answering–lǎo wài mocking old men on the corner about it.

On the way in I stopped, said hi. There were about 8 of them sitting around watching one of them work, but not too hard. A toddler was playing with the xiàng qí pieces; I thought maybe I’d found an opponent that was in my own league. I asked them a question, which properly translated to English would sound something like this, not that I was aware at the time:

“Excuse me, can I ask a question? I see some people in their window have lots of curry. Why they have curry in the window?”

8 of them look up with various degrees of amusement and confusion on their faces. The 9th one, the real bike repair man, didn’t stop working; I think he’s given up trying to communicate until I finish the next text book.

“They have really long things of curry in the window. Really long. Many curry. In the window. Because have mosquitoes?”

At this point some of them nudge my xiàng qí opponent – who is also one of the oldest and most patient of the group – and he comes up to find out what I want as their elected emissary. We “talk,” and he figures out that I’m asking how to get rid of the mosquitoes and gives me the name of some sort of cheap electrical device you can put in your bedroom.

“So, this electric thing is better than curry?”

He assures me that this is way better than curry; I don’t need curry.

I say thanks and pedal off to the bike bunker. There’s a nagging ping in the black hole of my mind, as if I should be having doubts about something. Inside the bike bunker where they give you your ticket they have the same strings of garlic hanging. I ask what they’re called. “Suàn,” the lady says. ‘Well I know it’s garlic,’ I think, ‘I want to know what the mosquito-repellent strings are called.’ Wait. Garlic is suàn. If garlic is suàn, then why was I saying gā lí? Gā lí is curry! I ask her why everyone has garlic. She says it’s in season.

My ego crawls home, determined to spend even more time in the textbooks.
咖喱和蒜，不一样。

Pronounced: wén zi
Means: mosquito

In China, the weather is measured in units of “Blue Sky Days.” These undoctored photos below show why. They where taken from three places: the middle of the road where we cross to enter the school grounds, a bridge over the canal looking in the direction of our apartment, and out our kitchen window. The photos were all within 5 days of each other, except the last clear one.

Mouseover the photos for date and time.

For the record, we do occasionally have brilliantly clear blue skies, which you can see in the Tianjin Bike Ride photos.

For the Olympics they plan to rain all smog out of the air and prompt two weeks of sunshine. Hope no one gets thirsty.

In the next two shots, our apartment building is on the left but you can’t see it, way up just before the next bridge:

These last two were taken from our kitchen window:

Please pray for our lungs.

Picking a Chinese name is like trying to pick out clothes to buy while blindfolded. How do you know if it they look good when you’re blind? How can you know what’s a good name and what isn’t when you can’t feel the cultural connotations of individual characters, let alone combinations of characters? Choosing a name is actually harder than buying clothes blindfolded, because unlike clothes, you can’t go home and change your name, or return it to the store for a different one. Once people start calling you by it, you’re stuck with it.

After a couple months of collecting names and opinions from all the Chinese people we know here, in Taiwan, and in North America, I wasn’t much closer to a name. It’s a highly intuitive thing, I guess, and every name that was suggested had at least one naysayer. How am I supposed to sort through all that? It’s all about the sound and the meanings, though most people seemed to ignore my request to have the name somehow connected to specific ideas; they just weren’t going for it. I also realized early on to explicitly state that I don’t care about getting rich, being lucky, or having a long life.

In the end, I followed Martin Symond’s advice and asked the Director of our school to suggest one. He’s a Chinese guy and former Mandarin teacher whom Martin knows personally. I scheduled a visit with him a week after asking to give him time. I think I can live with his suggestion. It has all manner of good cultural connotations that I will probably never come close to fully appreciating, but at least there’s meaning there that didn’t appear to involve getting rich and lucky. Hopefully I’ll learn enough to make some sort of personal connection with it. It’s kind of weird to try and psychologically “own” a name that you don’t have a feel for. But I suppose now that I have another name, I can start working on my alter ego!

Foreigners like us don’t want to just survive or get by in Mandarin. Can you imagine, wherever you live, not having enough English to share your thoughts and feelings with people? Sure, you can buy groceries and understand directions, but what about sharing with friends about one another’s family life and other relationships, and all the struggles and joys that come with it? I would love to be able to discuss face, Confucianism, history, nationalism, family issues, individualism and interdependency, etc. in Chinese with Chinese people. Or at least imagine seeing traces of them in the nuances of the conversation. If we’re going to actually live in China – rather than merely exist as some sort of long-term, permanently clueless tourists – we have to really learn Mandarin well.

But attempting to learn Mandarin well is like training to swallow the ocean. That could be said about learning any foreign language, I suppose, but for native English speakers, Chinese is not just another Spanish or Swahili; the cultural/linguistic distance is significantly greater. After three years of full-time study a good student can expect to have poor Chinese, or in the more positive terms of Martin Symonds, the linguist who writes our textbooks, “a good foundation.” Comparing your progress to the average Western language student is one thing; your level of proficiency in the eyes and ears of native speakers is another.

Martin Symonds is a linguist who’s lived in Chinese cultures for decades and is the author of our textbook series. Here’s how he laid out realistic expectations in a journal article, regarding what a good student can expect to achieve with full-time language study in a good program in China:

Apparently unless you’re some sort of mutant, you can’t learn Chinese in two years, or three years. Three years of full-time study gets you bad Chinese/”a good foundation.” Sure, you can wow your visiting friends and family and garner lots of compliments from the locals, but really being able to work, live, and love in Chinese is a whole nother deal.

We were privileged recently to have individual 90 minute sessions with Martin. Part of what he does is travel around and give coaching to the students who are using his materials. His experience helps paint realistic expectations for us. He assessed our progress, helped map out our learning strategies, and unreservedly affirmed our commitment to do what it takes to really learn this language well. A little sobering, but encouraging.

The guy on right, Mr. Sòng, was in the process of kicking my tail at xiàng qí (象棋), a.k.a Chinese chess, when this photo was taken. I’ve played him a couple times now. He’s one of the guys that hangs out with the bike repair crowd on the corner, the ones with the bái jiǔ (白酒). They’re more or less nice, and good for language practice, except for the main bike repair guy who speaks really thick Tianjin dialect/accent.

Xiàng qí is similar but different to Western chess. A few extra factors, like the river in the middle that some pieces can’t cross, the “goalie crease” around each king that some pieces can’t leave, some pieces move differently and can be blocked differently. It’s still all about strategy, and it’s sort of a community thing, where people gather around and offer suggestions, or argue a little over who’s suggestions are best. To be manly about it you’re supposed to slam the pieces down when you take one. One my favourite things is getting to say things like, “Ah, but if I beat your elephant, you’ll eat my horse!” Beat, eat, and kill are some of the verbs used to describe taking one of your opponent’s pieces.

They’ve let me sit and snack/drink with them several times, so I thought it’d be nice to bring some food for once. My teacher suggested cherry tomatoes, because they would be the right price (not too high) for the occasion. If I brought something out of proportion to what they’d given me, then it would put pressure on them to reciprocate, kind of like a “my face is bigger than your face” sort of thing (I guess?). Anyway, after class I grabbed a bag of xiǎo xī hóng shī (小西红柿) from the cài shī cháng (菜市场), washed them at home, and brought them in a bowl to our scheduled match that afternoon.

No one would touch them. They just sat there for about 90 minutes while we played and friends and neighbours came and went. Before we left　I asked one of the guys why no one ate any. I had to scribble his answer down in pinyin and take it to my teacher the next day. Her take on the whole situation, after I explained way more details than I’ve given here, was that there were may have been two or three reasons. They may have thought I hadn’t washed them, because I didn’t pull the little green grassy things off the tops. Apparently you don’t serve tomatoes or strawberries with the green part still attached. Second, “old people take more care about their face,” meaning I probably didn’t ask them to eat enough times or forcefully enough. I should have asked them three times and then when they still refused just shoved the bowl at them and told them to eat while taking one myself. And if some of them hadn’t ever been the ones to foot the bill for food previously, they would feel bad taking some.

Next time, I’ll just pretend that he’s me and I’m him trying to get me to drink more bái jiǔ. That oughtta do it.

We had “China Night” recently, where all the students do little performances in Chinese. The teachers manage everything. There was a spirited and slightly altered rendition of a classic Chinese play about a beautiful woman who’s really a snake (instead of the pathos-ridden tragic ending, they get married and go out for a hàn-bǎo-bāo at Mài-dāng-láo), the skit where a guy gets stung by a bee on the butt in Chinese – repeatedly – each time in a different genre (drama, musical, etc.), songs (“I’m a Wài-guó-rén” sung to “On the Road Again”), the teachers rapped Chinese tongue twisters (show offs!), The Three Little Pigs puppet show in Chinese, and other fun stuff.

Jessica and I did a cameo in the play, and we were the first-year student team for the game show, where one person has to describe a word and the other has to guess it. We hammed it up, of course, to make it funny, and this included me acting dumber than I really am during the game show – partly to be funny, but also conveniently masking just how dumb I really am. It went over well, people laughed, etc. But it turns out there was a bit of a disagreement among the teachers afterward. Some said I was just acting and not really that stupid, others thought my Mandarin really was that bad. I have two teachers, and they were divided on the issue. They had to ask me in class.

We also reprised our roles in the snake-woman play for a charity event a week or two later. The second time was even more fun, as the audience was a little more rowdy and easy to get reactions out of. The photo is our cast and crew from the second performance. They had to replace the original two leads with teachers for the second show.