Part 9 - A Little Knowledge....
It occurred to me last night, and was hammered home this morning, that I’m entering a new phase of life in China, one that will probably last the rest of my life, or at least 10 years or so. There is a common description of amateurs that describes them as knowing "just enough to be dangerous.” I’ve just reached the beginning stages of knowing "just enough to be even more confused, and possibly scared.”
From day one, as baffling as life sometimes got, I knew that it was simply a language/cultural adjustment and that things would improve. This knowledge helped me to laugh off a lot of life’s irritants, although the laughter was usually directed at myself. I knew I was at square one and that I couldn’t do anything but laugh.
However, after a couple of months, I’m starting to make real progress. I’m able to communicate simple things, such as where I live, the fact that I want rice with that, and even what kind, the size shoes I need, make sure my beer is cold, No I don’t want to buy your $1 antique – go away, I really like your $2 antique but it’s too expensive. You know, just the basics.
The problem is that each new success spawns multiple new problems. You make the mistake of speaking one perfectly good sentence and you’ve opened yourself up to a dozen follow-up questions. What route would you like to take? How much rice? What color shoes? How cold? It never ends. Of course, I just logically assume that these are the secondary questions; they may all be trying to sell me the Olympic Stadium for all I know. At this point in any conversation, I’ve simply started saying yes and hoping for the best. Other than those neon yellow tennis shoes, it seems to have worked out for the most part.
This recognition of this new phase, as I said, occurred to me last night at dinner. That’s when I realized that new knowledge, which led to fear, would be a great loss. I got the right amount and type of rice and my beer was perfectly frosty, but I’m still in the woods as far as entrees go. I’ve had what I think was simply stewed garlic with onions, some type of small eggplant, and now, God Forbid, LIVER! I would never knowingly order any of those dishes and would point disgustedly at anyone who did. I loved every one of them.
I’m convinced that if prison meals were limited to liver, possibly accompanied by onions, that the number of repeat offenders could fit into one cell. The only problem with this penal breakthrough is that the Supreme Court would rule against it as cruel and unusual punishment. Yet, one Chinese chef took this disgusting offal and turned it into one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. I didn’t even realize it was liver until I was almost done.
I looked back on all of the unidentifiable meals I’ve eaten and, for the most part, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have ordered them. When you get a meat dish that is diced into 3’4” chunks, and yet every piece manages to have a bone, you can be fairly sure it’s not beef, pork, or even chicken. In one of the best dishes, I even found a miniature, 1” ribcage. This is a case where I fear learning because I may not yet have overcome my prejudices and will miss out on a lot of terrific experiences. I still don’t want to know the origin of that ribcage, but I’ve been trying to find it on the menu ever since.
The other facet of the new phase dilemma smacked me upside the head this morning. I’ve started taking the same Black Taxi to the university on the occasional morning. I know I swore not to do this, but on a rainy morning, even Beijing doesn’t have as many taxis as you need. It’s been a pleasant surprise. Since the distance is only a mile and a half or so, the rate is inarguably 10 kuai (US$1.25). I can’t be cheated and his car is very nice, so it’s a great deal. The unexpectedly pleasant bonus is that he sings along with the radio the entire trip, conducting the music with his free hand. I would normally jump out, moving or not, but he’s got a great voice. Once in a while, I catch a word or two, but it’s mainly the tune that’s relaxing.
This morning, however, we were driving down the road as he sang a very heartfelt, romantic love song. The confusion entered in when he told me the guy was singing about his drinking buddy. No one from Nashville ever sang about his booze brother quite this way. That’s as far as I got. I couldn’t ask for details. There was the odd hope that his buddy was female, but I think it was a long shot. By the time I know enough to understand the mystery, the song will probably have disappeared. I understood just enough to get confused, but not enough to enlighten me. I’m afraid I’ll just have to get used to that as well, although it will be a chore.
I’ve always held a deep hatred for being confused. I get frustrated and, occasionally, quite angry because I’m accustomed to understanding my surroundings and processing new information easily. Maybe I’ve never challenged myself enough, because I’m finally realizing that confusion is simply a point on the learning curve. You’re presented with new data, you’re confused as hell, it starts to make sense and then the light bulb goes on. The next day, the process repeats itself. Actually, each step repeats itself, since there can be several details overlapping along the curve at any one time. In an environment such as China, there is something new and confusing every day, so the sooner I learn to not get angry and deal with it constructively, the less likely I am to end up being fed pills and oatmeal in an institution.
Having said that, as schizophrenic as it may sound, I sometimes seriously consider chucking my computer out of the highest window I can find. Although I’m constantly drawn to online forums and other blogs about China, it’s a habit well worth kicking. There’s something to be said for emotional support and an occasional reality check, but I don’t want my experiences to be colored by the opinions of others, often misinformed, biased and/or simply asinine. Even if it prolongs my confusion, at least it will be my confusion and not someone else’s. As much as I love this place, I want to get to know it intimately, on my own!
Sorry for the brevity, but I still need to study and prepare for Mongolia. The week-long holiday is only 3 days in reality. They have rearranged the schedule to give us seven days off, but we earn this by having classes this Saturday and on the Sunday we return. That certainly takes some of the joy out of it!
