I am in China. Let me repeat that: I. Am. In. China! Whoa. For those of you who know me at all, you know how huge this is and how long I have been longing to come here. I haven’t even been here 48 hours yet, but I already feel like too much has happened to write it all down.
I arrived in Beijing on a hazy, coolish night. From my first class seat (that cost me absolutely nothing) I caught my first glimpse of the place I am to call my home for the next eleven months. The reality that I had actually made it to China hit me for the first time when I saw the sky scrapers in the distance—each one with neon red characters spelling out what I assume to be the company’s name. Hopefully I will be able to read a few of them when I take off from the airport next August.
Attempting to hide my giddy excitement, I gathered my things and followed the herd of other priority flyers, trying my best to look like a seasoned traveler used to such pampering. The Beijing airport is new and beautiful (in that weird not-so-many-people-like-it modern way). It is now one of the largest airports in the world, thanks to the new addition built to support the masses of spectators that poured into the country during the 2008 olympics, and apparently was voted by someone somewhere to be one of the most beautiful modern structures.
Customs in China is incredibly simple, though slightly nerve racking due to the temperature monitor and voice recording device hovering in front of your face while the customs agent stares at you trying to make sure you aren’t Jason Bourne or someone like that come to destroy the country…
From there I hurried to the train lest I get separated from the group of fellow AA 187 passengers and be lost in a world of metal and moving sidewalks forever. I thankfully found my bags quickly and exited the terminal to find a small man, whose American name is Allen, holding a sign with my name on it. Hiring a car through Expedia was well worth $40 because trying to find a taxi on my own at eleven at night within the first half hour of arriving in a foreign country does not sound like fun.
From what I could see past the red tassel with a holographic Buddha on it hanging from the rearview mirror, Beijing’s interstate system is surprisingly similar to America’s. The exit system is about the same, and at midnight, the cars are rather orderly. One difference: if some one slow is riding in the left lane, the person who wishes to pass them flashes their brights at them and gets them to move over. I vote we bring this custom to the U.S.
Halfway to the university, we dropped Allen off on the interstate. Literally in the median. From what little conversation we had in broken English, I gathered that his home was nearby. Fortunately I can report that he made it home safely that night because the next evening I found him waiting outside my dorm room, where he had been for over an hour, waiting to collect my voucher that he had forgotten to get the night before. No voucher no pay. Hence the waiting.
Allen disappeared into the Beijing fog, and moments later our van passed through the south gate onto Being Language and Culture University’s campus. The looks of things drastically changed. No Olympics here obviously. Typical metal walls littered with posters and advertisements. Dimly lit streets that need paving. Ah the communists. None of this bothers me, but I did get a little worried when the driver took a wrong turn which led us to a dead end that had the word “Blababar” (bad English for conversation café?) spelled out in red rope light with a blue arrow pointing to the left made out of, worse still, blinking blue rope light. Anytime you stumble upon something like that just walk away, my friend. Walk away.
One turn down from the mysterious Blababar and we arrived at Dorm 9. Ah, dorm 9. I’ll just say that all of the scholarship students live there and the government takes the “We have to pay for this” approach rather than the “We get to pay for you” approach. Thankfully, I was placed on the second floor in this five story building with no elevator. A Bangladeshi boy helped me carry my overweight bags, and I stumbled over my roommate’s suitcase into my room. A single florescent bulb lit the small room to show two small mattresses, two desks, two small closets, and a mini fridge. The walls resemble a whitish color, darkened by years’ worth of residents’ foot prints and tape residue. The only decoration—a large map of China complete with the national anthem. In order to power the room you have to place your key inside a box, and the door automatically locks everytime you leave, so when you leave, all of the room’s power cuts off—including the AC (which is irrelevant since ours is broken anyway) and the mini fridge.
Enter Kenya Rahming. A farily aloof Bahamian girl who attended Nottingham University in the U.K. My roommate—well, at least she will be my roommate until she moves to an apartment, which she seems quite desperate to do. My first question: “Do you speak English?” After confirming that she indeed does speak my language, I promptly misunderstood her response of “Bahamas” to my question about her nationality for “Paris.” I blame the Chinese MTV that was blaring into my one good ear.
Now for the subject I know everyone is wondering about: the bathroom. Squatty potties? Most definitely. Community squatty potties? Oh yes. Toilet paper and soap? Oh no. Do they smell? Do you really need to ask? It’s a squatty… all I’m saying.
Thursday September 2, 2010 will be forever lost in my lifetime, and I woke up to a rainy Friday September 3—my first full day in China. Though the beginning was a little rough with the realization of being in a foreign country and knowing absolutely no one, the day shaped up to be pretty amazing! The Lord so kindly provided guidance for me every step of the way. I took a taxi with three other girls—Dara (19 from Georgia), Kenya (the afore mentioned 22 year old from the Bahamas), and Yueni (20 from the U.K…of Chinese ethnicity)—to some Chinese restaurant somewhere in the city. Complete with “mu er” (black fungus which is amazing…and good for blood pressure so I hear), it was a wonderful first meal for me. Apparently that was the first real food any of them had had since they arrived three days earlier.
After the awkward ten minutes where I made them tell me some substantial facts about themselves (you would think it was weird to want to get to know someone) we hailed another taxi and headed back toward campus. During the ride I caught my first glimpse of the Bird’s Nest and the Water Cube! Dara and Kenya decided they wanted to go to the mall, so they asked the taxi to stop halfway, Yueni and I were left to find our way back to campus. We took every possible wrong turn before taking the right one and stumbled upon an elementary school along the way (you can imagine my excitement to see a bunch of Chinese children wearing oversized backpacks).
Back in Yueni’s room, we sat and talked for about an hour, and I got to share my story with her. We had a great time getting to know each other. Around seven we met up with a girl named Caitlyn Yu, an American Chinese girl from UGA, and found a small hole-in-the-wall dumpling restaurant—the best kind. Then we purchased cell phones in the small “take pity on the foreigners” store on campus, and I let Caitlyn figure out how to work them.
With nothing else to do, I braved the showers, armed with a t-shirt for a towel (obviously something I forgot to pack).
Today, Saturday the 4th, I completed my registration, guided by Caitlyn through the insanely unorganized and confusing process. I thankfully already had copies of everything and came prepared with ten passport photos (who knew you wouldn’t automatically know you would need that many).
For lunch I headed out into the city (as in walked off campus and down the street) and ate lunch with another American—a friend of a friend— who is here doing sports stuff for a couple of years. I was so thankful to meet someone who knows about the people and the city! He told me where the good DVD shops and the best ice cream was—priceless information I must say.
So now I am sitting in Lavita, a small internet coffee shop, drinking iced coffee. Definitely should have gotten the small because I am starting to feel the caffeine which is making it hard to type. And yet I am still drinking it. So for future reference, xiao de (small) not da de (large) when it comes to Chinese coffee goodness.
Other tidbits:
No one seems to know when classes start here. My motto for the trip has become “We’ll just wait and see.”
I got invited to go clubbing for the first time ever yesterday. Haha thank goodness for the easy excuse of messed up ears that don’t like loud noises…
I will receive an allowance each month, and they “just so happened” to mess something up so that I am receiving the masters students’ allowance—1700 yuan— instead of the undergrad allowance—1400 yuan. Ha.
I am truly grateful for the peace that passes all understanding. I could not do this on my own! But I am loving it and am staying hydrated—body and soul! :)
