Back in Shanghai, and what are those bags?

Made it back to Shanghai after a fantastically busy week. Melbourne, to Oxford for a workshop, back to Melbourne, then on to Shanghai while trying to catch up with work and even go on a date. As a result, I ran out of time, leaving the house a complete disaster and forgetting lots of things including toothbrush and the all-important deodorant.

While I was being screened in quarantine for a runny nose (honesty is the best policy), I was checking out the passengers coming into the country, and it struck me how often Chinese bring in these bags of goods. Nothing wrong with bringing home stacks of stuff, but there’s a particular style of bag – like a heavy-duty plastic bag – that you always see in these situations. What are those things called? Do they have a name?

Chinglish Roundup

It may seem a tad unfair to make fun of foreigner’s attempts in good faith to helpfully add English to signs and products, but many of the attempts are rather poor – and weird language tickles the humour centres of the brain so nicely. I collected quite a few examples of Chinglish in the last few months, but here are a couple of highlights.

The Gold Articles is Monoplied

Another store has been spotted with “is monoplied” in the name – it’s probably a dodgy entry in a popular dictionary like Powerword.

Compare to insurance expert

Are insurance experts dissocial? I don’t know, but there’s nothing less fearsome than a dragon that can be compared to one.

Adding ethereal oil

This is the menu from a massage parlour nearby. What I like is that I can pretty much guess what adding the ethereal oil foot cave means, and it doesn’t sound too bad.

No psychotic ragamuffins

This classic is from the gate of Shanghai’s most visible tourist attraction, the Oriental Pearl Tower. Although this will presumably be fixed soon in advance of the Expo, in the meantime its ban on ragamuffins, effluvium and baleful biology is a classic.

Finally, this isn’t Chinglish but I like how they omitted the fate of this “flight pioneer”. Surviving acocunts vary on whether he actually acheived lift-off before dying, or was simply immolated on the ground.

English Corner

People’s Park, in the centre of Shanghai is pretty busy on weekends. Some people (including me) go to see the lotus blossoms when they’re in bloom; most people there seem to be parents looking for a match for their children, as I’ve previously mentioned. There’s a section of the park, though, informally known as “English Corner”. Locals go there to practice English, so if you show up as a foreigner you’ll quickly gather a flock of Chinese conversationalists ranging in age from small primary school kids to octogenarian professors.

English Corner at People’s Park

Many people ask where I’m from (“guess!” is my reply), what I do, how do I like Shanghai, and other such banal but useful topics. I quickly get bored with discussion of my job, and at least half of the people practicing seem to be computer programmers or engineers, which makes the problem worse. We had a discussion about porting the Linux kernel to embedded systems, which is interesting but probably not good vocabulary for a general audience. It’s easy to change the topic, as the speakers aren’t shy – “How much do you earn?”, “Are you married?” and the ubiquitous “Do you want to marry a Chinese girl?” have to be parried (“I’m not rich”, “No”, and some good-natured wisecrack).”Do you like Mao”, “what don’t you like about China”, these questions require more delicate handling and I generally deflect those too.

Some learners have a (literally) encyclopedic knowledge of Australia which borders on the bizarre. A few people have been there, but some have only studied the country’s geography, so will ask me where I’m from, then list the states and territories of Australia and name landmarks near my house. “I’m from Melbourne, MEL-BUN,” I might say, to which the reply might come, “Oh, I like Londsdale Street,” or “Bendigo! Ballarat! Geelong!” Last year in Germany I ran into a woman who lived in Clayton while working for Bosch, and this year met one or two students who studied there at Monash University, so it’s funny to think of that rather unexciting suburb as a world city, but there you go.

There are a few characters – short bandanna-guy (pictured) seems a self-appointed organiser and facilitator, often shepherding reluctant learners and shy children towards expats. A garrulous English teacher claims to have swum the Yangtze for four and a half hours as a child, started English Corner, and can act, sing and dance like a pro. Dissident guy likes to talk only about the poor human rights record of the Chinese Government, causing – perhaps in my imagination – the other learners to glare and shift impatiently.

The kids are especially cute. They are often pushed up by eager parents, dreadfully shy, and then, after overcoming the stage fright, launch into their routine: “Hello-my-name-is-Alice *pant* I-am-in-the-5th-class-where-are-you-from-do-you-like-Shanghai?” Last time, a boy from Harbin who must have been seven or eight years old spoke conversational English with perplexing ease – “Are you married?” “No.” “Oh, so you’re available?”

Perhaps I should be practicing my Chinese, but where else can I simply stand around and have people flock up eager to talk to me, be my friend, and pry about my life? It’s like being a minor actor in an episode of Star Trek show and going to a Trekkie convention, only without the figure-hugging Lycra uniform.

Chinese Lessons

I’ve had about a month of Chinese lessons so far, and I’m tentatively calling it a success. There’s been no quantum leap in my Chinese ability yet – it’s early days – but I can feel some slow and steady progress is occurring. An interesting phenomenon I’ve experienced: I’m still having trouble understanding as usual ( 听不懂), but 5 minutes later, as if a background process in my brain had been quietly started and working away, I’ve suddenly realised what someone was trying to ask or tell me. “Oh, that’s what they wanted!” Hopefully, this 5 minute lag will eventually reduce down to the 500 milliseconds or so I need to have a normal conversation. Gotta start somewhere, it beats the complete timeouts I’ve had until now.

I started off with 1 or 1.5 hour lessons in the mornings when I hoped my brain was freshest. We chose a book to work through (Schaum’s Chinese Vocabulary, which I recommend) but the lessons pretty quickly became work – I got bored of conversations about airports, taxis and hotels, and I think the teacher got bored as well, especially when I was lax in doing my preparation. I also had to spend more time memorizing the book’s vocab and less on ChinesePod and other avenues of study. “Excuse me, which way is Beijing Avenue?” gets dull pretty quickly and I started to fall behind in the preparation. One vaguely racy lesson on underwear wasn’t enough to keep things interesting, so I sat down and had a think about how to keep things on track and make the lessons something to look forward to.

I made the following suggestions. First, use ChinesePod content in the lessons alongside the books. This was the most successful suggestion (see below). However, we also tried number quizzes so I could get used to counting and paying without having to pause to think and I suggested we try some TPR (Total Physical Response).

TPR is a really interesting method – it basically involves being bossed around with simple commands for a while. The theory says – and I have no reason to dispute it – that the brain forms firmer connections under the pressure of responding physically to an immediate command. “Stand up!” “Sit down!” “Give me the glass!”, once repeated a few dozen times, do become second nature without the need to explicitly parse the words in your head. The trick to this method, which of course is not suitable for imparting complicated grammar or advanced vocabulary (“Recite the impact of high unemployment on consumer spending!”), is to find someone who can actually confidently boss you around in a very repetitive way without feeling silly or bored. This is no mean feat and we haven’t had much success there yet. I’ll definitely never forget “站起来！” (stand up) though.

Oriental Pearl by night

Perhaps the best innovation was shifting some of the morning lessons to the evening and getting out and about in the city. My teacher is pretty good and keeping me on track and forcing me to discuss and describe the things I see. At the same time, we’re going for a walk, riding the bus and seeing the city. Makes a great change from sitting and reading or reciting. Not only does it make the lessons something to look forward too, I’m sure the brain benefits from the extra stimulation, and absorbs the new words along with all the new sights and experiences.

That’s probably why the ChinesePod has been so useful as well, as the content is very engaging. My teacher totally gets a kick out of lessons involving gangsters, pick-up artists and zombies. I’ve realized there’s an awful lot of value in making the teacher’s job more fun. For my part I enjoy doing the voices and roleplaying in Chinese – not as good as real roleplaying, but I’m absorbing all the vocab and patterns much better than before.

In the meantime I’ve been doing a lot more Internet chatting in Chinese which is helping. Once my literacy improves a bit, so I don’t have to resort to WenLin all the time, I must hunt down a QQ account.

Is a breakthrough in my ability coming? Only time will tell but I am yet to tire of this whole enterprise, so we’ll see!

The four types of foreign guy in China

A discussion with a Chinese friend (call her C) the other day turned to the subject of foreign guys and their experiences in China. It got interesting when she said that she has come to see foreign men falling into four categories, especially when it comes to relations with the opposite sex. I can’t have an opinion on the accuracy if this folk taxonomy, and of course any such scheme is bound to be an oversimplification. Neverthless I suspect there is some truth behind this. If so, one can draw a few conclusions about laowai and one or two about China as well.

Group One: Fresh off the boat

Group one guys know very little about China and Chinese people, but respect what they find as they would in their own country. They brought their mindset – and ethical system – with them.

Group Two: Dazed and Confused

Group two guys have learned something about China and have some experience with Chinese culture. As a result they feel confused and conflicted, and can become a little suspicious or cynical depending on their personality, education, and pre-existing morals. They don’t know how to deal with or communicate with Chinese people.

Group 3: The bounder

Group 3 guys know a lot about China and the Chinese. They have combined the selfishness of the Westerner with the lying of the Chinese and become very arrogant and cynical. They have bad reputations and damage the reputation of all foreigners. Many Westerners who have been living in China for a long time fall into this category. (C was not shy in expressing anger and contempt for this archetype.)

Group 4: Bigfoot with a big nose

These guys know China well, but have the intelligence and judgement to accept both the kindnesses and weaknesses of China. These are friendly, genuine and worldly people who respect their host country and its inhabitants. C believes they must exist somewhere, but they are an endangered species.

Lotus blossom from People’s Park

Remember, these aren’t my opinions. I can hardly have such a harsh view of foreigners here, nor of China, which in C’s view clearly has a corrupting influence on the Western men who dwell here. If the Mr Charisma effect  is real – that is, the inflation of a man’s attractiveness that occurs solely by the virtue of him being a foreigner – and it seems to be, it’s not hard to see that this could have a corrosive effect on any man’s ego and respect for the opposite sex. The fraught subject of inter-cultural relations causes an awful lot of hand-wringing on both sides, and is even the subject of books (and some unsavoury magazines). As a single man in China it’s not a subject I can pretend to ignore (especially as a confused Group 2).

Of course I countered with a few groups of Chinese women (a humorous analysis I will take with me to the grave for obvious reasons), but C responded with her  groups of Chinese Girls, another interesting list, and just as uncompromising as this one. I will share it at a later date if I can think of some way to do so without being lynched.

What do the foreign gals in China must make of all the fuss, I wonder?

How about that local sporting team, eh?

I’m trying my best to start a convesation with each cab driver. Occasionally they seem a little hostile, but more often than not they like to chat and the occasional driver is both curious and patient -the guy I had today wanted to know about Australia’s weather, and asked each question three times with different phrasing, casting about for a synonym I’d understand. I was aided yesterday though by a news broadcast about the world cup qualifier that played in the taxi – I said I was Australian and we both gloated over a victory agains the Japanese. If I really want an in with these guys, time to study the domestic league.

I wish I could have a camera at the ready at all times in this town. Last week I was going to the supermarket and a white man in a lounge suit rode a sidecar-motorbike at high speed round the corner, a cigarette hanging jauntily from his lower lip. I’m sure I could have seen the same thing on this street in 1930. What I’d really like to catalogue, though, are the Shanghai residents I refer to in my head as the “don’t give a rat’s” guys – the men who stand on a busy street in their boxer shorts, slapping their bellies causally and scowling, or the man I saw in silk pyjamas going for a stroll at 3pm, with only one slipper on. “Yes, I’m washing my armpits on the sidewalk. So?” Don’t-give-a-rats-guys, I salute you.

There are lots of other cool things about this place. For instance, I’ve never seen an albino in person before, and now in 2 weeks I’ve seen 2-3 in Shanghai. Unless my calculations are incorrect, that means China has infinity more albinos than the rest of the world. That’s pretty cool.

The Chinese word for Vampire is 吸血鬼 (xīxuèguǐ), blood-sucking-ghost. What I like is that if I’d not know the word for vampire and tried to tried to explain it, that’s exactly what I would have said. We were discussing zombies at the time. I knew that word, thanks to a Chinesepod lesson on the subject. I can now discuss zombies and ninjas, but I still have problems at the supermarket. I can’t blame Chinesepod for that, though. To discuss the need for lessons about killer robots and superheroes, I visited their offices last Tuesday. How they find the time to meet all the poddies I don’t know, but they were extraordinarily friendly. Thanks Gulam, Matt, Jenny and John for making me welcome and for producing the content that keeps me coming back.

Finally, I’ve always liked the corn-shaped ice creams, and I always will.

Dude, where’s my f**king car?

Sometimes, there’s more to a sentence than correct grammar, spelling and word order. For instance, I wonder what the owner of this pimped-out Mazda was really trying to say? The label on the door says “Ms. Milky”, which just raises more questions.

It’s right there!

I found the Shanghai equivalent of K-Mart – the French chain Carrefour – and stocked up on appliances and cheap kitchen junk. I’d been shopping a while when I realised I had no car and decided I’d better stop, being uncertain how I’d get my stuff home. In the end I had to call a taxi, which fortunately worked out OK, though he shook his head and tut-tutted while I loaded my ridiculous haul in and out of the boot. Took a few trips up and downstairs to get my stuff into the apartment as well. I think in future I’ll avoid buying more than I can easily carry. Despite this, it’s good to be living the carless city life I’ve always espoused as the ideal, which is sadly unrealizable in Melbourne.

I got a new apartment baby

Moved into the apartment yesterday and no regrets on the choice. Ten minutes from the metro at JingAn temple, a pretty happening area, and the apartment has everything I need including blessed internets through which my voip workstation seems to somehow work unmolested by Shanghai Telecom’s blocks.

Starting from scratch in a new place is harder than I remembered – I need everything from clothes pegs to toilet paper. Ironically, although I found some computer stores, the local shopping centre is full of luxury goods like $300 imported italian toasters and $150 Sheridan towels from Australia. Back home in Clayton, I could pop round the corner and buy cheap Chinese homewares from cheerful Chinese people. Here all I can find is high-end shopping malls and pricey Japanese supermarkets.