Beijing: Nine Dragon Screen

And finally, I did get to see the Nine Dragon Screen, resplendent with nine frolicking dragons on each side, chasing pearls through sea and sky and generally looking like they're having a wonderful time.
Even that early in the morning, I had to duck and weave to avoid accidentally including the heads of Chinese girls in my photos, many of whom seemed to be starring in an amateur mini photo shoot. I hadn't had any coffee yet - can you tell even from my memories?

Symbolically, I believe that the dragon represents the Emperor/Imperial Authority, and in a more extended sense, power, fertility, goodness, wealth, bravery, success, and no doubt other desirable qualities whilst the pearl symbolises knowledge. If you know of another interpretation, I'd love to know about it.

From the wall enclosing the screen

Visit other worlds with My World Tuesday.

Beijing: Beihai Park, take two

Eager as I was to see the Nine Dragon Screen, I returned to Beihei Park early the next morning. After a dispute with a taxi driver, who wilfully took me to the wrong gate, I paid my twenty kuai again, and headed for the Screen.

And thank goodness I had been tardy the previous day, as I was just in time to see the the Beijinger’s Beihei, crowded with people, some practising martial arts, ballroom dancing, calligraphy, sports and tai chi, others just taking the cool morning air.

Beijing: Beihai Park, take one

From Tiananmen Square I walked to Beihei Park. It was originally an Imperial Garden, so abounds with pagodas and such like.

Now it’s where the lucky residents of Beijing can come and loaf, exercise or canoodle, and where overheated and footsore tourists can chillax (ha, I’ve been waiting to use that word!) without feeling like there’s a need To Be Very Impressed.

I particularly wanted to see the Nine Dragon Screen, at the north entrance to the park, but I didn’t want to stampede past everything else to get to it.

I wandered about, exploring hidden nooks and crannies, and fondly remembering my first visit to the park in September, when we had all flopped around, exhausted, on the grass and played cards, and it seemed like we’d have forever until we went home.

The result of this leisurely, and slightly prematurely nostalgic, stroll was that I arrived at the Nine Dragon Screen five minutes after it had closed. I taught one of my Chinese friends the word ‘Doh!’, and this would seem to be its perfect definition.

The closed doors of the Nine Dragon Screen.

Beijing: Tiananmen Square

Despite having visited Beijing frequently since September, the closest I’d got to Tiananmen Square was speeding past it in a cab, on the way to dinner. The view from the cab suggested that that was enough: it was big and squarey and that was about it.
But last Friday, I decided to walk around the centre of Beijing and to stop of at Tiananmen, really just to say I had. It was big and squarey and that was about it.

I much prefer the old Tiananmen, before Mao went all megalomaniacal and tore it all down.

It was on the way to Tiananmen that I also realised Shijiazhuang has corrupted me. I’m still suffering from the ‘tuberculosis’ (actually some sort of virus, but TB is way more fun to say in a queue) I got in May. Everyone spits on the floor in the Shiz. And although I deplore it, being a hypocrite, I’d started to do it to.

After a coughing fit, I did the deed, just as two Chinese guys walked past. I don’t think they could’ve looked more horrified if I’d been taking a shit on the pavement. And then I realised that nobody spits in downtown Beijing. Whoops.

I’m glad to finally be able to take part in SkyWatch Friday again, follow the link to check out other skies from around the world.

Getting That Marshmallow Feeling

There were times teaching when I felt like I could bottle my classes as essence of banging your head against the wall. At the start of the year, each of my senior classes would present a wall of silent faces before which my perky little plans for discussions and games would wither and die.

The only way I could make them talk individually was to write a question on the board and then walk around the class to hear their responses, making it clear that I would stand in front of you for five minutes waiting for a one word response that was probably the same one word response that I’d gotten from 90% of the rest of the students.

And so I did this, again, and again, and again. Every time someone mocked their classmates efforts they got the rough side of my tongue. Even if a secret part of me wanted to shake them and scream ‘What is wrong with you? I know you can do this, just speak to me before I go completely insane!’, I stood patiently and waited for the answer that eventually grew to one sentence, and towards the end of the first semester I was getting actual answers.

At the end of second semester I did a lesson where half of it was a ‘free talk’ session. The Chinese English teachers told me it wouldn’t work, the students would be too shy to ask me random questions. But we proved them wrong. Apart from one class, I spent the week talking about all sorts of things, from Elizabeth I to tattoos to gay rights to Egypt to eating disorders. I felt incredibly proud of the students and myself, that we’d come so far and together exceeded the expectations of my classes.

Then I received two letters from students that are perhaps some of the best gifts I’ve ever received. This is one of them:

I really got a lot of benefits from you. I used to be very shy, and I become kind of brave with your lessons. And you let me know how to speak English so I’m brave enough to be the first one to make the speech in class 4. There are many more things.

Another student, who I’d normally chatted to for ten to twenty minutes every week between classes, emailed me to let me know that she had gained a prestigious university scholarship to Singapore, and thanked me for spending that time talking to her, which she felt had contributed to her success at her scholarship interview (which was conducted in English).

There were other words from other students too, all of them treasured.

It’s a very strange feeling to know that, in whatever small way, you’ve actually changed someone else’s life for the better, made them more confident of their abilities.

Going Away Party

Thursday was the very last time that I got together with all my friends in China. It had been raining on and off all day, which by the time we left the restaurant had turned into a summer downpour.

Taxis there were none, so we waded to the bar through the filthy water: when I got home I had to wash off a calf high brown tide mark. I like to think it was just mud, but given the dubiousness of the sewerage system in the Shiz…

Arriving sodden at the bar I didn’t really feel in the party mood, and probably would’ve gone home if I thought I could’ve got a taxi. Thank goodness I didn’t though, as it was one of the best nights I had in China – everyone managed to overcome the petty irritations with each other that had become more obvious as the second semester wore on.

You can’t actually see it in the photo above, but a great deal of entertainment was had by melting and burning gummy bears in the candle flames. Ah, the results of an expensive education!

It was slightly surreal to say goodbye to the people who have been my day to day companions for the last ten months, knowing that I will probably never see some of them again. But there was still excitement as we talked about the hoped for trip to Chicago I want to make next summer.

And the next morning I left the city for good on a train to Beijing.

I spotted this cat in the convenience store as we were buying some booze before dinner.

Coming Home

Thank you all for your well wishes for my journey home: I had a delightful last weekend in Beijing, a good flight, and since arriving home at about five yesterday evening have enjoyed a takeaway Indian meal with my family, a shopping and lunch trip to Brighton with one of my closest friends and cat adoration, all of which I badly missed in China.

Before I readjust to England, I wanted to record how my hometown, Worthing, looks through ‘China eyes’. On the way home from Heathrow airport, the first thing that struck me was how sedate the motorway traffic was, compared to the honking and weaving and constant near collisions of Shijiazhuang.

Then I noticed how intensely green southern England is at this time of year: it seemed like someone had poured a tin of green paint over the countryside.

And everything is so quiet. When I first moved to Shijiazhuang I thought the noise was going to drive me insane, but I’ve gotten used to the constant honking, the trucks going over speed bumps that rattle my apartment windows, the school bells and announcements, the noise of students, my neighbours banging their doors and yelling at each other on the stairs – and did I mention the honking? Now Worthing seems eerily quiet, the streets too deserted – where is everyone?

Walking to the train station today, the near silence actually started to make me feel quite oppressed and anxious.

I’ve always thought of my town as nothing special, and certainly parts of it are scruffy and, like so many places, it is blighted in spots by ugly brutalist rip buildings and unimaginative apartment buildings. But as I walked down the main street I realised how beautiful some of the buildings are, how blessed the location and how little anyone appreciates what we have here.

Oh, and I’ve had to restrain myself from spitting on the street, smiling at random children, saying ‘xiexie’ instead of ‘thank you’ and putting rejected food on the table in a restaurant.