Fall is on its way out here in Jilin. It's getting colder outside, and the leaves (those that haven't been rendered unresponsive by pollution) have changed to reds and golds and oranges. It's quite beautiful, but it does make me miss the endless valleys of autumn leaves of the Cuyahoga Valley. I never appreciated the novelty of free access to nature until I came to China. I opted out of the 100 rmb visit to Red Leaf Valley this year, in spite of its beautiful scenery. Instead,I chose to visit the campus of Jilin Medical College, where my dear friends Father Brian and Wang Wei (and their free coffee) reside. (Disclaimer: Wang Wei does not actually reside at the Medical College, but with the amount of time she spends there, she really might as well.)
(Jilin Medical College- a small selection of the 2008 trees planted to commemorate the 2008 Olympic games)
Although you wouldn't know it from the colors of the leaves, we've already had our first snow in Jilin- a couple of days ago, in fact. It didn't stick, but the chill lingers in the cold breeze and the clammy interiors of apartments whose heating units won't be turned on for another two weeks. I think my apartment building is planning to freeze the swine flu out. It likes warm climes, right? Really, it's quite a logical approach. I'm sure that the fireworks that are still going off outside my window everyday are an equally logical attempt to scare the swine spirits away.
Maybe Beihua should give the old frozen firework approach a try- it seems like most of the people on campus are sick with something: the American guys all got either stomach viruses, bad colds, or the flu; a bunch of Pakistanis came down with laryngitis; and the Koreans have had a monopoly on digestive issues. The Russians claimed to have some sort of something, but I suspect they were just hungover. I, myself- being the global citizen that I am- have tried my best to catch all of the above, but have managed to escape with minor stomach weirdness and four days without a voice. I'm hoping that the latter is the result of a cold, rather than early-onset throat cancer from my exposure to Chinese air. The voice seems to be coming back more or less normally, though, so I think I'll be okay. Maybe I'll write an inspirational book about it someday... Where Miracles Happen: The Shocking True Story of How 1.6 Billion People Breathe Chinese Air Every Day... And Live to Tell the Tale!
Okay, so it's a working title.
In spite of all the illness and coldness, the Beihua students were adamant about getting English Corner up and running. Dedicated kids, my former students. That's why yesterday, despite sounding like an 80 year old smoker with an artificial larynx, I found myself on the 32 bus headed to Beihua.
Now there are some very nice bus lines in Jilin. There are bus lines with big, spacious aisles and modern steering apparatuses. There are bus lines with new brakes and working doors. There are even bus lines that may be accidentally fuel efficient. The number 32 bus line, however, is not associated with any of the aforementioned characteristics.
The bus I was on seemed to have only two gears- go and neutral. For the most part this was fine, and I didn't even notice anything amiss until halfway through the journey... that was when we tried to stop on a hill. The driver gunned past the bus stop, then put the bus in neutral and opened the doors. Fascinated, I watched as the passengers lept off the bus, which was slowly sliding back toward the stop. When we reached the bus stop, the waiting crowd casually hooked arms around the sagging door and pulled themselves up the stairs. I was most impressed by an elderly woman who came just as the bus driver started to rev the engine- she took a running leap and managed to simultaneously squeeze past three people waiting in line and avoid being crushed by the closing bus door. I wonder sometimes if public transportation in China is merely one giant training scenario for future Chinese gymnasts; it would certainly explain why gymnastics is the Olympic flag sport of China.
I exited the bus and walked toward the building where English Corner was being held. The road outside Beihua looked like a scene from The Great Escape- kids climbing over fences and slipping between holes in the fence, skulking in the shadows outside the lights as they waited for the guards' attention to wane. Campus quarantine is kind of a joke. Some of the Chinese students just walk right past the guards, jabbering in a made-up language; they say the guards think they're Korean, and let them walk right out.
Scenes from Beihua: (left) the field students sneak across to get to the fence, (right) the street outside campus
English Corner itself was short and crowded. I passed the time by surreptitiously beckoning George's students over to my group, while he tried to retaliate by mocking my taste in clothing. I think we should do an English Corner focusing on trash talk, so the students will be able to keep up next time.
(George attempting to lure students to his side by virtue of his abnormal height)
After English Corner was finished, I opted to take a taxi home, rather than risk dismemberment on the 32. I climbed up the stairs to my apartment, let myself in, and thought about how much more enjoyable convalescing would be if only I had heat.
Recent Comments