11/16/11
One of the best parts of our situation in Kunming is that we are surrounded by universities, the perfect setting for making friends. Our first Thursday here, they took us to the English Corner at Green Lake Park, where Chinese learning English meet to practice together. Of course the second we arrived we were mobbed by eager English speakers. I believe at the height of it, each of us was working our own group of about eleven. I was lucky enough to meet Rich (not her Chinese name) and her friends, a group of eighteen-year-old Hindi majors, who attend the same university as I do for Chinese lessons! Let me tell you, Hindi majors are way cooler than Key and the other Tai majors. Psssh Tai majors.
People here keep saying how shy the Chinese are, but I don’t believe that’s true. I believe the Chinese believe they’re shy. So far I’ve been approached numerous times by mothers wanting their children to practice greeting me in English, Key and her gaggle of friends, and a collection of other wonderful randoes on the streets. Although, perhaps I get this kind of thing more often because I look so completely non-threatening. But I digress.
Within half and hour, Rich had invited me to a food festival, promised to take me to her yoga class, and taken my (well TBB’s) cell number. Cynical me, I never expected her to call, but what do you know, Sunday she and her friends took Andrew and me to the food festival! It was a blast! She and her friends were hilarious, and immediately she had linked her arm in mine, and was telling me which foods to try. I tried octopus on a stick, the world’s smelliest tofu, pear tea, fish-ball soup (like the world’s worst matzo-ball imaginable,) candied fruit on a stick, painfully spicy noodles, sweet rice cakes, cotton candy (just for S’s&G’s,) and some strange Tai thing with egg, beansprouts, and ketchup. I don’t know how smart it was to eat octopus from a street vendor, but I’m pretty sure that after Ecuador I have an iron stomach.
Next we went to the park, and stumbled upon some Miao (a Chinese minority) dancers, in full garb. Many people were joining in, and once again with the shy thing, “no I couldn’t. I’m too shy. Here hold my things, step ball change.” It was a great time.
The only part that made me uncomfortable, was that they wouldn’t let me pay for anything. Rich kept saying, “but you’re my guest.” It must be a cultural thing. Regardless, to ease our guilt (as well as for our own enjoyment,) Andrew and I are taking our new friends out to Salvador’s (an American restaurant) for lunch tomorrow. Can you believe it? I made Chinese friends!
Monday was my first full day in homestay. I woke up, and for breakfast was severed something brown that looked like meat, but did not have the taste or texture of meat. It was fried, and sort of sweet, and sort of sticky. I have since asked my teacher, and found out that it’s fried jellied lotus flower. It doesn’t taste at all bad, but I’m still not sure what lotus flower is.
Afterwards, my mother gave me an apple for snack, and walked me to school (to show me they way.) It’s an easy twenty-minute walk, about the same distance as from my house in CT to Weston High. It’s also about the same distance as my home in Los Naranjos was from the cultural center. It’s surprising how much quicker it goes when there are no crazy hills to climb, insane dogs, wet work boots, or a full day of physical labor holding you back. Anyway, my mother gave me a hug to say goodbye, and I was truly touched.
I came home that night, to find several guests in the living room. There was an old man, a man in his twenties, and a middle-aged woman who didn’t stay for very long. The man in his twenties was very nice, and I was so excited to finally have someone at the dinner table that spoke English! He cleared so many things up for me, meanwhile serving me large quantities of food with his chopsticks. The woman in her twenties is the girlfriend of the man who drove me home, my homestay brother. Turns out, she doesn’t live with us at all, she just spends every waking moment here! The old man is my homestay uncle. And although they had me going for about half an hour that my brother and the English-speaking guest were brothers (despite the two foot height difference,) I finally discovered that they are coworkers. I think my brother is holding back on me, I think he knows more English than he lets on. Oh well, at lease my homestay coworker takes an interest in me.
I’m really enjoying my family, the one thing that frustrates me sometimes is that they won’t let me help with anything. I can’t set the table. Every time I try to clear they signal for me to put it down. I’m not even allowed to do my own laundry. I’m very interested in learning Chinese cooking, but even when I phrased it this way to my mother she wouldn’t let me help cook. Charles (the Chinese teacher) says it’s because I’m their guest, and that’s simply the culture, but I feel so useless. Also, I really want to learn to cook Chinese food!
Ooooh, and about the laundry. When I got it back, I was wondering where all my socks had gone. They showed up the next day. The Chinese Foot Intricacies continue! Charles said that the Chinese always wash the socks separately. How interesting is that?
I’m starting to realize that getting a family that doesn’t speak any English was actually a blessing. From the stories of my TBB peers, it sounds like the families with some English skills are just using their homestay students as private English tutors. Whereas my family seems genuinely interested in me. I have never seen anyone spend so much time examining a photo album. I believe my parents spent a good forty-five minutes looking at each picture two or three times, and asking me to describe the situation via Google Translate. Halloween was a tough one. The next day when my mother had a friend over, she even had me pull it out again, and they spent a while going through it. Another plus about the English thing: unlike my peers, no one’s asked me how much money my father makes. Once again, it’s cultural.
Well, I’m learning to hold my bowl to my face as I eat, and throw my bones on the table. I’m also forcing down chicken feet, which are cold and don’t look nearly as bad as they taste. That’s all for now!
Love,
Katherine
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