The End

[Picture 1: 4th graders Lilly, Abby, and Alice.  Picture 2: my hero Greg and his wife Amy Cole]

I am back.  Back to the land of houses and cheese.  The land of english, church shopping, individualism, ordered roadways, family, friends, med-school, Lake Michigan, sandwiches, and ultimate frisbee.  I know America is not perfect -- but it is home.  For those of you who prayed for and supported me, thanks.  And I commend anyone who read this whole blog. It got sporadic at times… this last post for instance.  Now that I'm around, I hope to share stories and pictures in person -- that is, if you're not trotting the globe yourself.  In the mean time, I'll be making new stories.

More Than Fine

[Picture 1: Stan, Candy. Picture 2: Edward]

 

Hi Everyone! For the past two months, my life in China has been a whirlwind. And as far as whirlwinds go, it's been pretty good. Better than good -- it's been amazing! Sure, there have been a few bumps now and then. Like when I broke my arm while mountain-biking (it is healed already). Or when my city was at the epicenter of a small 4.7 earthquake (no one was hurt). And there's the stress of trying to beat med school deadlines with limited internet access. Overall, though, things are great. The bumps have been overshadowed by heaps of new friends and memories. Since I last wrote (a long long time ago, in a country far far away) I've traveled in Southern China, ran a week long English camp (by far the highlight of my time here), started teaching summer classes, and done a million other things. Don't worry, it is well documented. I can't wait to share pictures and video clips with everyone when I get back -- in 2 weeks! What!

 

Double time

[Picture 1: Stan, Alysia, Chinese friend who's house I stayed at.  Picture 2: Stan, Hanna]

 

I haven't posted in a while, I know.  The internet was down, then travel, then things got busy.  But I'm back :)  Things have picked up.  I'm teaching some more English classes, doing three times as much orphanage work, going to the clinic more, and I've added a couple guitar students.  This just means less time for studying Mandarin.  Last week was good.  I went to Yu Ci (a city about 1 hour south of Yangqu and 10 times its size).  It mostly consisted of shadowing doctors and sitting in on public health lectures given by Evergreen.  I stayed with a Chinese family the whole time, which forced me to use my shaky Mandarin.  They had three turtles, a bird (who woke up early) and a garden right outside their apartment.  They were poor and extremely generous.  Very faithful Christians.  I liked riding my bike alone late at night -- it was a neat city to explore.

 

I have some new friends, Alysia and Hanna.  They'll be with Evergreen for six weeks.  Both are from Canada, but their families are originally from China and Hong Kong.  Since we're doing a lot of the same stuff, we see each other a lot and they've been fun to get to know.

 

And back again

 

Noises began to merge and shrink.  I was sinking into a muffled underwater world where sounds melt into vague blobs.  You could hardly distinguish the sudden cry of a cell phone from the din of Mandarin and the crinkle of stubborn newspaper pages refusing to turn.  An epic decrescendo engulfed me.  At the same time, my ears began aching.  First it was faint, then violent.  How could I end this madness?  Swallow.  Equalize.  At once, hazy hearing became crisp and my world realigned.  I was traveling through the longest tunnel in China (23 km) on a high-speed train coming back from Beijing.  We were nearing the tunnel's end, thus the changing pressure.

 

I looked at the window.  The window looked at me, wearing a 4 day beard on a 23-year-old face.  This reflection was abruptly erased by a thick rush of light.  We had exited, and were now hurrying past mountains tinged amber in the sunset.  The falling shadows cast each fold, each turn of terrain into running gradients that collided now and then, forming sharp contrasts. Every shade of green played upon the hills.  There were deep gorges where the ground sunk unexpectedly, making rows of earth stretch like giants' fingers from the heights.  And all around, the land was dug into terraces, planted with trees and garnished with an odd hut or two.  What a breathtaking finale to my travels in Beijing.

 

Then we ducked into another tunnel, and the face reappeared.  Reflections make lonely companions.  A familiar pang of homesickness punched me in the stomach and I had the distinct feeling of riding a tandem bike alone.  This train was taking me where I lived, but not home.

 

Our train made the station.  The city was so... small!  Honey, I shrunk Taiyuan.  And had they coated it in a fresh layer of dust since I left?  After my trips to Hong Kong and Beijing, the difference was jarring.  This was not cosmopolitan or modern, it seemed backward.  Yet I loved it.  I knew it better somehow.  You really gain perspective after getting away for a while, and sometimes you have to shed something for it to grow on you.  Sometimes distance brings people closer.  Sometimes leaving home helps you find it.

 

Palaces and parks

 

A few decades ago Beijing was rather flat. Two-storied buildings crowded an urban ocean that touched the horizons. It was a two-ply city. Then it modernized. They launched skyscrapers, spread out highways and built McDonalds. The Great Mall supplanted the Great Wall. But, not wanting historical landmarks to become history (or go unexploited), they preserved the old sites. And so I visited some yesterday: the Forbidden City and The Summer Palace. The Forbidden City was aptly named -- I forbid anyone to waste money on it. I think it's like the Mystery Spot. You only go to say that you've gone. So unless you're a history buff, you'll enjoy the exterior as much as the interior. Do see the Summer Palace.

 

There are parks too, like the one beside my hotel. A large sign welcomes visitors with a complete list of 20 banned activities. Keep this up, and they'll soon be prohibiting prohibitions! They would have done better to list what you CAN do in the park. Once inside, though, it is green, breezy and calm. The wind sets the weeping willows swinging and blows waves through the hairs of grass. It sails over the pond, causing it to bob. This is ideal for writing, so I am. At least I was. Now I am done.

 

To Hong Kong... O visas...

Any trip starts at the beginning, and my beginning was Evergreen's office in Taiyuan.  I flagged a cabby and got a fair fare to the airport (These days I'm harder to dupe).  Not far out we pasted a construction site -- a sure sign I was still in China -- and I was rereminded that this country is development crazy.  I mean it, they're really going to town.  Before me were 7 skyscrapers emerging from the earth.  These bones of  an embryonic city were swaddled in green tarps encrusted with mud, suggestive of a kudzu infested wood.  There were cranes bending over their work, too.  They formed inverted Ls on the horizon.  Then it was gone, and I was at the airport.

 

Plane travel is plane travel.

 

2000 miles (and 100 pages of Mark Twain) later, we landed in Guangzhou.  None of the signs were in English.  Wait, not true, one was.  The sign that said STAN, that was in English.  Mia held it.  She is a Chinese girl studying for her masters in interpreting and was a friend of a friend.  Now she is a friend.  If I had a sweetest-girls-I've-ever-met list, Mia would be near the top.  So gentle, so generous.  She acted as guide while we bus-hopped across town to her university.  We had dinner together, then for a haircut (you're welcome Mom), then into a Christian bookstore, then to the hotel where Mia had booked me a room.  The next morning we bus-hopped again.

 

These busses are something else.  I feel like I'm back in middle-school and getting stuffed into a locker... with 50 other people.  Or imagine a moshpit, but with 80-year-old ladies.  Funny story: I was slouching on the bus when this woman with the face of a happy raisin says "Stand up straight!  The best doctor is yourself.  I'm 80 years old.  When my mother was pregnant with me, she was sick.  That's why I have this black spot on my neck."  I got this secondhand via Mia, my personal translator.  My posture has improved dramatically since then.

 

Next up I took a subway to the train station.  Then a speed train from Guangzhou into Hong Kong.  There must have been 20 countries represented in our car.  My favorite was this cute little Arabic-babbling girl, maybe 6 years old.  For two straight hours she laughed and danced up and down the aisle.  I didn't laugh and dance up and down the aisle.  No, boring me, I just read another 100 pages of Mark Twain.

 

Then the end.  We were there.

Door to door health salesman

Hop on a bike, and five minutes of downhill coasting brings you out of Yangqu and into Shanxi countryside. Everything is dry, yet somehow they coax crops from this chalky soil. It is also hilly, so the fields inhabit quaint terraces rising like amphitheaters above the road. I feel like I'm riding through a topographical map.

 

Last week I went on a house call with Dr. Kurt Elliot past the farms and up into the mountains. Kurt is about my Dad's age and looks identical to John Piper. We met downtown, and after stowing some medical supplies in a black and turquoise fanny-pack that a middle-schooler wouldn't be caught dead in, we set off. Did I mention we were biking up a mountain? Soon Kurt was out of sight. Luckily for me we planned to rendezvous at a Catholic church near the top, a big one. You couldn't miss it. So I pedaled on, glad for the stiff wind blowing in the right direction. Gusts would lift dust into eerie curtains and let them play in the air before dashing them to the ground. The snow (yes, it is still below freezing... I don't want to talk about it) glided silently by. Eventually I arrived. Be still my beating heart.

 

Kurt let me peek into the church, then we rode to visit his patient. He lived in a traditional Chinese home -- courtyard with raised garden, pig pit and outhouse next to a modest brick structure with cement flooring. There were three rooms arranged like a row of jumbo-sized mailboxes. Inside, a TV squawked in the corner. Above this hung two pictures, one of Jesus and one of Mary. There was a naked light bulb strung from the ceiling.

 

Kurt broke out his stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff -- merely a routine checkup. Things looked good. The patient laughed and talked nonstop, not hiding his sole upper tooth. Every smile swallowed his face in wrinkles and exposed a youth at odds with his real age. Only his shuffled step revealed the truth (or maybe it simply reflected the slow pace of life). But he was not afraid to die. "When God says it's time, it's time." We finished the house-call with a prayer. Then it was back down the mountain. Going downhill is glorious. I highly recommend it.

Creepy Ditch

Every Thursday afternoon I go to Creepy Ditch.  No easy task.  The van bumps and seesaws over 10 cm deep canyons in the road, jostling the packed occupants.  (China has officially cured me of car sickness -- I can now read anywhere.)  The traffic is thick and chaotic.  After almost two months of this, I've become numb to daily near-collisions and my heat-rate barely rises.  It's when the entire car goes berserk -- screaming a torrent of Mandarin two octaves above normal -- that I get afraid.  That's only happened once.  After rough highways and the maze of downtown Taiyuan, we move to the outskirts of the city.  The alleys become narrower, there are fewer shops and more garbage.  Heaps of wrappers and plastic bags marinate in sewage.  Feral cats and dogs grub through the mess, hopeful for a snack.  Then we turn left here, make a right, another left, and at last we're there.  Creepy Ditch.

 

It is anything but creepy.  I'm greeted by a pack of kids dangling on the gate bars.  They are happy and loud.  I can't tell if they're excited because we're there or because it is recesses, and suspect it's a little of both.  About four of them give us an official welcome as we enter the gate.  Usually they wear red handkerchiefs tied around their arms, heads or necks.

 

Suddenly, Jingle Bells blasts from the loudspeaker and the students stampede to their classrooms.  That means it's time to start.  I find my room, take a breathe, and go in.  They all greet me.  The timid ones steal a glance and then turn to giggle with friends; the bold ones shout a hearty "Hallo!" and wave furiously.  I'm glad I have a Chinese-speaking helper to keep order.  By myself, it'd be like trying to pick up oily marbles with chopsticks.  After calming them down I begin the lesson.  It's important to exaggerate everything (which I'm good at): it makes them laugh and understand you more.  By the end I'm smeared in chalk dust.

 

I love Creepy Ditch.  I will really miss these kids.

 

[Picture: four of my 4th graders]

Peek-a-boo

Reputation is everything.  If you come to China, you'll find that out.  They call it "having face," and it's entrenched in the culture.  The government does it, your neighbor does it, your twin sister does it.  I'm reminded every time I ride into town.  Crowning the heights above Yangqu, and prominent from the highway, is a temple.  It is three stories of red grandeur -- an impressive pagoda.  There's only one thing: it's a shell.  There is nothing inside.  It's merely a stage set.  Apparently the country got a face lift for the Beijing Olympics, and backwater Yangqu wasn't overlooked.  This would be like Milford erecting a 10 meter high George Washington statue if the Olympics came to Chicago.

 

At the people level, it's all about respect.  They will never criticize you, and you better not criticize them.  You also can't get angry.  Life is very passive aggressive here.

 

This idea of face isn't completely foreign to Americans.  Not at all.  Take for instance Facebook.  There you can manipulate your image ad nauseam (but remember to keep close surveillance on your wall and untag awkward pics).  Then there are blogs -- the ultimate way to Photoshop your life.  Plus on the street we have fashion, parlance, Starbucks and Macs.  Image is everything.  The difference is that Americans like to HAVE face, but few are careful to GIVE face to others.

(Aside: obviously I'm not completely against Facebook and blogs.  They connect people, which is good.)

 

Does God have face?  Yes.  One theme running through the Old Testament is the Name of the Lord.  God saves his people (and sometimes punishes) so that everyone will fear and glorify his Name.  I recently read Daniel 9:15-19, which talks about this.  It's in the New Testament too.  I read Luke 11:5-13 the other day.  There are probably better examples, but that's what came to mind.

 

Does God give face?  Yes -- in Jesus.  The perfect example of God giving us face.

 

I thought this was an apt post to include my picture.  Notice that I chose a decent one.

 

Sometimes I forget

I heard my alarm this morning; it was going off somewhere in China.  Then I opened my eyes and saw it blinking at me.  So I reached over and flicked it off with my hand.  I got out of bed and walked across the room, using both my legs.  My stomach didn't hurt, and I didn't even have a headache.  I exercised.  I read.  I ate.  I studied.  It's been a good day so far.

Striders

People walk differently here.  At home I see herds of legs swinging in confusion.  There is no order, just dizzy limbs on the move.  But here, here it is different.  Close friends look like close friends.  They synchronize, whole lines of them.  Four girls walking in step, shoulder to shoulder, exuding camaraderie, blending into a single new organism that was born for laughter.  It reminds me of a graduation ceremony.  They're even wearing matching school uniforms -- white and blue windbreakers.  They march, like in a parade.

 

Why?  Maybe it's because they're the same height.  They see eye to eye.  Maybe it's because they're going the same direction and the same pace.  Whatever it is, it's no accident -- I've seen them.  They file through gaps between idling cars and kiosks, then stutter-step to restore solidarity.  I've seem them.  Even on bikes, I've seen them.  They pair up and hold each other's handlebars.

 

It makes me happy.  And then it makes me sad.  I think about where most of them are going, hand-in-hand, and my stomach tightens.  Few are Christians.  I still can't give directions in Chinese.

 

A kid and a king

"And then, and then Stand, and then we have to drop the bombs on them before they shoot us.  And, can I tell you something, Stand, we have green core energy."

 

Sixty feet below us rests a pool.  The drop is sheer.  The valley's dehydrated walls are bare.  Slabs of compacted dirt clutch the cliff face, waiting in the sun, waiting for gravity to take notice.  Some trees grow here, though I don't know where they find water.  It's all down there, in that pool.  Up ahead the trail keeps following the rim of the gorge.  Mountains rise along it's left, flanking the path between steep inclines.  It is picturesque.

 

"Hold your fire men.  Roger, Roger.  Ok and, and FIRE!"

 

Two rock-hard dirt clods fall from on high.  One shatters against the ground, reduced to a cloud of dust -- a staccato death.  The other makes the pool.  Mine didn't make the pool.

 

"Stand, can I tell you something, Stand, and then we have to get back to base."

 

I am Stand.  He is Collin Stern.  Faint freckles, a spontaneous mess of hair.  This kid is 100 percent six years old.  He is the playwright of his life -- in total control of every bullet wound, castle storming and alien attack.  Total control of everything, everything except reality.  He is also the youngest.  Collin knows of life's injustice.

 

I can relate.  I am not in control here.  And I like escaping too: in books and, today, a hike with my biggest fan.

 

More Culture

About once a week it happens.  Some unremarkable stretch of pavement gets the royal treatment.  A red carpet unrolls, masking the ubiquitous Yangqu dust.  A red canopy rises.  This is capped by a banner -- red cloth, white lettering, bold font.  And then there are the girls.  About 16 of them form two sides of a tunnel; all wear traditional dresses that are, you guessed it, red.  Each rank is armed with cymbals, which they use.  All day, in fact.  The cadences are often unoriginal, but attention grabbing, and thus effective.  If this weren't enough, it gets better.  Nothing in China is done without fireworks.  The musicians retreat, and the street is enveloped in a gunpowder rant that would make even Crazy Kaplan take cover.  This frenzied eruption lasts a quarter of an hour.  Then back to our cymbal serenade from 16 girls, who by now are quite deaf.

 

Why this exhibition?  Advertising.  It's often some grand opening or anniversary.

 

I went by one the other day (and beat them in who-wants-to-be-the-most-exciting-spectacle).  Up close, I noticed something missing: smiles.  These girls were bored.  All this pageantry, all this gaiety; all pretend.  I certainly don't blame them -- I'd be bored too.  But it made me think: do we sometimes do this as Christians?  We put on our costumes, set off our particular brand of fireworks, clang on cue, and we're even clever enough to fake a smile.  But we're not really celebrating, we're advertising.  It's just cosmetic joy.
 

Thawing at last

I'm used to South Bend springs.  The calendar is spangled with dazzling warmth surrounded by depression.  In one day the perma-cloud lifts and the sun ignites, leaving no choice but to cast off homework and outer layers and play.  This is followed by more stretches of gloom interspersed with joy.  And eventually, spring wins.

 

Here, we recover from winter like recovering from a wound.  Slow, steady.  Unnoticed.  You don't consciously acknowledge the new season, you just gradually forget about the old.

 

One of my friends here is an Aussie.  They don't even have winter.

 

Acclimation

"Welcome to China, here is your bike."  Mike Stern handed it over and grinned.  I love that grin -- full of loving sarcasm.  Mike is Evergreen's language coordinator, and my life coordinator.  He's also my library, soup kitchen, guide, guru, personal trainer and mom.  "Time for the grand tour, you ready?"  This was my first day in China, of course I was ready.  We set off.  "Over there's a good restaurant... and that's the, whatcha-call-it, market... and here's where you'll get your fruit, and..." My head was spinning faster than the wheels.  It was a phantasmagoria of red flags, vendors, vans, dust, ads, vegetables, fireworks and people.  Hello China.

 

Now, a month in, we're acquainted, me and China.  I pass the familiar and it doesn't even register.  Still, there are plenty of  mysteries; take for instance the men on main street.  Nearly 60 of them sit for hours, listless, lining the park-front curb.  They're wearing five layers of cloths, maybe even six.  Some are talking, some are staring, some are spitting, most are smoking.  And then some are stooped in a tight circle ringed with onlookers.  These are the energetic ones, and these are the mystery.  Is there a snake?  A fight?  Or maybe it's Chinese chess (my competitive side starts salivating).  One day I venture closer and see dice and money -- it's gambling.  Later I find out the men are waiting to get picked up for work.  And that's what they do: make money and then gamble.

 

This is actually a huge problem.  Not all men hazard their income on lucky dice, but many play even longer odds with their careers.  They start businesses intent on actualizing the Chinese dream.  They want to get rich, and fast.  What happens, though, is this forces their wives to take steady, low-paying jobs, while they skip from one failing scheme to the next.  Haste makes waste.  And that's what's happening.

 

Life goal... check.

Les Miserables is this mammoth beauty that's been on the back burner my whole life.  Every few years it taps my shoulder, I turn, then cower, then retreat.  But I couldn't resist forever.  Like a sand castle ignoring the ocean, I was eventually sucked in.

 

This week I finished it.

 

And sorry Lord of the Rings, but I might have a new favorite book.  Every page is epic, profound, and sublime.  Well, almost every page... he likes to digress at times.

 

Don't worry, I won't spoil anything -- not that you could.  Even if you've memorized the musical, it doesn't ruin it.  And this is coming from someone appalled by spoilers.  It's as different from the musical as reading a blog about China is from being there.

 

You should read it.

Acceleration

You know that feeling at the start of a roller-coaster?  The sick twinges of  anticipation and then -- BAM! -- you've left your life 10 meters behind you.  You forget to breathe, while the world reels in fury.  Well, that's how I feel.  I'm back in South Bend.  Or rather, the part of me that counts.  Here there is just motion blur, and I'm stuck wondering if I'll find myself when I return.  Maybe the me that's missing will discover its wings and then break free forever.

 

And then I remember who I serve.  That He has placed me here with wise purpose.  That He knows my needs better than me, and is faithful, powerful, gracious, and loving.  That He has given me a charge.  So I'll get my head and heart in the game, and thank God that the Bible kicks hard.
 

Tunes

I have a guitar.  It's not mine, but they're letting me borrow it.  And it sounds good too... I guess... you should ask my neighbors to get an unbiased opinion.  Well at least I for one am enjoying it.  I don't think I could survive without it.  When stress starts collecting in all the hidden depths, it's a sure way to flush it out.  Words articulate my mind, music articulates my gut.

 

So here I am, singing away my frustrations and fears; longing; thanking; praising; baring my naked soul to God.  And then I realize something.  I can hear every word from the street below.  Every word.  I forgot that cities aren't exactly private.  And then I realize something else.  Every word is in Chinese.  Good thing I'm broadcasting in English, eh?  (Hopefully by the end I'll be spouting some Mandarin too.)

 

I'm not just playing in my room.  My guitar has made several guest appearances at the schools, and the foreign fellowship, and this, and that.  What I'm really excited about is giving guitar lessons.   The music here is... not good.  But for a good reason.  I forgot how luxuriously we live in America, and how expensive instruments are.  China may groom an elite set of musicians, but the average guy is a different squirrel.  This is generalizing, I know, but I think it's true.  Anyways, I'm giving mass lessons to about 10 beginners and doing one-on-one with a few.  Fun stuff.

Happy Easter!

Tremors

The other night I was deep in a book when the room started to quiver.  The bed, the couch, my hanging train of dry but unfolded shirts -- everything trembled.  Then it calmed.  I hadn't packed a seismograph, and could only guess what magnitude I'd just survived.  But the next day, same thing.  And the next.  These tremors were certainly punctual, or maybe a bit too punctual.  Eventually I noticed other things too, like the rhythmic clack of wheels on steel and a distant train whistle, or the rumble of a truck.  Not exciting after all (unless you're some geeky physicist who daydreams of harmonics).  Too bad.  But I soon found out I wasn't the only one with earthquakes on my mind.

 

It's time to quake-proof the schools.  Apparently the last earthquake leveled some school buildings right next to a government office.  An office still standing strong.  This means students will get off a month early for the construction.  But it's not good news -- now they have school on Saturday.  Yes, this is China.  And they didn't warn the schools, so schedules and curricula must be adjusted on the fly.  Yes, this is China.  The kids, whose lives are already school-centric, are now burdened with more studies.  This makes it much harder for me to connect with them with consistency.  On the flipside, an extra month of summer is never bad.  And a quake-proof school isn't so bad either.

 

My schedule has taken a pretty hard hit.  Saturdays were by far my busiest, but everything has been cancelled.  This also frees up all the time earmarked for prep.  So I'm replacing it with more medical activities and one-on-one tutoring.  I'm glad.  God knows what he's doing.

 

I'm so thankful to be here.  At home I've read books, talked with MKs (some very cool ones!), talked with their families, and even their friends' families.  But to experience everything first hand -- yes!  I can see how rewarding it is.  And the communal depth of the church is vivid.  Ok, I don't want to push the earthquake theme too far (since it can quickly become cheesy), but I think it applies nicely.  There is the hard side of life, too.  Little stresses build along the fault line between East and West.  Like Chinese water torture, perpetual inconveniences grow and grow.  Now, combine this with interpersonal relationships.  When two opposing viewpoints collide, it can cause huge riffs in relationships.  I see how everything gets magnified out here.  But God is still all about grace, unity, disciplining us as his sons, being patient, filling us with joy and peace, you know, the works.  So cool.

 

[The pictures are of a meal with Lisa]

One Day in the Life of Stan Strycker

It's 7:00am.  Snooze.

 

It's 7:09am -- and morning.  First devos, then head to the shower.  This means getting through the door, and each door is a new puzzle.  By now, though,  I've memorized every subtle flick of the key and pressure point needed.  The door submits.  I'm in luck -- today there is water.  (Usually I have water, and hot water at that.  But it doesn't always turn on promptly at 6am, and I'm too rushed to wait who knows how long.)

 

It's 8:30am.  Time to prep for class, do some reading, and study Mandarin.  Outside a man brushes snow from his storefront and a dog trots across the street.  The traffic is not disturbed, it merely reacts.  Cars bikes and pedestrians all register the new fact, find the path of least resistance, and life continues.  Order and chaos.  I watch behind a window.  Until I learn Mandarin this is my lot -- to observe but not influence.  Okay, not true.  Still, that's how it feels.  I turn back to my book, huddle against the radiator, and down a glass of hot tea.  The widow always distracts me from my reading.  My reading always distracts me from living in China.  In the summer I will study in the park just down the way, and escape this cloistered existence.  But for now I take breaks and chat with the Chinese staff in the community center.

 

It's 11:30am.  The van is here to take me to Taiyuan.  That usually means half an hour of highway speed-bumps and a car-sick Stan, trying to read on the way.  Today, though, I have company.  The other English teachers are here (Wendy, Nina, and Christine -- those are their American names), so we talk and laugh a lot.  Half the time it's Chinese, so I practice listening for familiar words.  We arrive, drink tea with the principle, talk, then to classes.  Kids, kids, and more ordered chaos.  Then order!  Class has begun.  We practice vocab, pronunciation, play games, learn grammar, the usual.  They love me, I love them -- a good  combination.  Then the bell, a break, and round two.  Afterwards I am swarmed.  We return to Yangqu.

 

It's 6:00pm.  Already?  Yes.  It's 6:00pm.  I'm hungry and there are many restaurants to explore, so I'm out the door armed with a few but effective phrases: "I want to eat some noodles with meat sauce," and "I want to eat MANY noodles," and "How much does it cost?" I have my favorite dishes written down, so I can try those out too.  I walk down the street.  Everyone knows I'm walking down the street.  Only the dogs aren't staring; they're more interested in garbage heaps growing against the curb.  This restaurant looks clean, so I'll try it.  I part the plastic strips veiling the door and step in.  Cigarette smoke drifts aimlessly, and so do I until they point me to a seat.  I order, they giggle, everyone is curious.  Then I read (tonight it's Les Miserables), the food comes, and I eat.  With chopsticks.  China is famous for great food, and Yangqu is not one to disappoint.  The specialty is noodles drenched in oil and flavor.  If my brother Glenn were here he could name every spice and proportion, but I just close my eyes and enjoy.  Ignorance is bliss, as they say.  Better not to know what's going in, and since it's probably unexciting, I can at least pretend it's exotic.  I pay, then talk to the crowd, eager to know my story.  They're easy to please, which is good since I can only communicate my age, nationality, and that I'm learning Chinese.  Then I walk back to the community center.

 

It's 7:00pm.  My two friends are busy in the kitchen and invite me to join.  I do, of course, and wish I'd skipped the restaurant.  It's bean curd and millet soup for starters (both from Lisa's family farm), and then something else -- I don't know what.  Everything is bland, but I like it.  And who cares, food isn't the important part of meals anyway.  Their English is good enough for light conversation (and with a little more effort, for deep conversation), so we chat into the night.  I then grab my guitar, Lilly her piano (I actually just made that name up.  Don't know her American one), and we worship.

 

It's 10pm.  I read.

 

It's midnight.  I sleep.  Hard.

Nothing New, Except Everything

I can see why they had to abandon the tower of Babble.  There is only so much that pointing, grunts, and pantomime can convey.  It's slow too.  The good thing is, our attitudes are hard to hide.  This makes building a relationship possible -- even if tower building is a no go.  So I'm quick to smile and laugh at gaffes.  That's lesson number one, which of course you already knew.

So the rumors are true: they speak Chinese in China.  Unfortunately, where I'm living that's all they speak.  Shanxi (Shan-she) province is somewhat backward compared to most of the country.  And I'm in the small town of Yangqu (Yahng-choe with the german "oe").  It has only 40,000, making the backwardness even more backward.  The closest real city of something over a million is Taiyuan (tie-you-win), which lies 6 hours south-west -- not south-east -- of Beijing.  I'll be splitting my time between the two cities.

My room is 4 stories above a loud and busy main street (the pictures are of my window view).  Fireworks haven't stopped blasting since I've been here -- just the noisy type, nothing pretty.  Car honking is all the rage.  It's Morse Code for "hey I'm behind you," or "hey get out of my way," or "hey," or "HEY!" I doubt there are any laws for drivers.  The only rule I know of so far is, watch out.  My bus ride from Beijing to Taiyuan was quite the trip.  I have a sneaking suspicion my driver recently retired from NASCAR, and I'm not exaggerating.  Who knew that the horn and flashing the brights could be used so effectively.  It was fun, but I didn't sleep much.

Tomorrow I will start orphanage work and English teaching at a public school in Taiyuan.  Then same thing on Friday (mostly 5th grade classes).  Saturdays are 4th and 5th grade here in Yangqu, then English corner in Taiyuan.

It's been just over a week, and I've had more adventures than I can tell (or process).  Most of them include meeting wonderful people and beginning friendships.  The staff at Evergreen (about 6 expatriate families and maybe 20 Nationals) are so loving and welcoming.  Most have kids -- all of them obsessed with legos and hanging out with Uncle Stan.  There are two Chinese girls my age living next door.  We share a kitchen, meaning meals and conversation!

I wish I could tell you everything, but I don't need it all in one blog entry.  Here are the highlights.  Praise and prayer time with Evergreen staff, church on Sunday, music with friends (everyone is thrilled that I play guitar, and want to learn), and reading and explaining the Bible to some friends.  I've had several enlightening conversations with the Evergreen staff (some are doctors).   And I mountain biked through a Tang Dynasty village (~600ad).

And this is just the beginning.

Note regarding this blog

Stan cannot access his blog while in China (even to edit), so we've set this one up so he can email his posts.  However, this setup means he won't be able to read comments posted to the blog, so I've turned that feature off.  If you need to contact Stan, you'll have to email him directly instead.  I believe he will be checking sic2010ad@gmail.com in addition to his regular email address.

Glenn (Stan's brother)

Safe Arrival

Hi everyone,

I made it safely to Yangqu in Shangxi, China! That means I passed the first initiation: getting from Beijing's airport to the long distance bus station, to the train station in Taiyuan, to my contact with Evergreen -- all by myself with almost no Mandarin. Well, not quite by myself :)

Thanks for the prayers and all the support that's been pouring in. And sorry that this email is so long in coming... I'm still getting settled and figuring out how to use the computers here (they're in Chinese). I'd like to keep these mass emails fairly short. So if you want more, I'll be setting up my blog soon. (Blogs are blocked here, so it will take some time to get around that. I'll let you know when I do.) You can email me directly, too. I'll try to be prompt, but give me some time to get adjusted first.

In short, here's what I need most. Servant's heart, communication, stamina, sleep. I have already met many wonderful people, and forgotten many wonderful names. Can't wait to go deeper.

Love,
Stan.

PS. If you don't want to get any emails, or if someone wants to be added to the list, let me know. I'm sure I forgot some people (nothing personal).