more la mian?

Two weeks til payday and I have failed spectacularly to stick to my budget.

To be fair, I've done okay to go nearly seven months without a drop in the bank tank [I refuse to acknowledge the $230 the government gave me for being nothing more than unemployed as 'pay']. Indeed, it'll be my first wages since September.

Can't say it's been all that bad either - living (or, trying to) like a pauper, eating off the street, surviving from one day to the next hand-to-mouth.

Ah, not entirely true... at least, not the bit about the poor diet. True, I couldn't afford to buy floor cleaner today; nor could my remaining three kuai stretch to tonight's dinner of vegetable jiatzu (dumplings). And I've made the crippling decision to abstain from alcohol for the next two weeks.

But starve? No.

I'm lucky that people are nice to me. Let's just say I could probably line my kitchen floor with IOU's.

And even so, I admit I managed to scrape together enough for a tiny bar of chocolate.

(Paul, I'm getting lunch tomorrow, I promise [la mian, right?])

Actually, the cost of food is probably the least of my worries. When it comes to forking out for a feed, even the fussiest foodie can dine mightily on noodles, vegetables and green tea for less than ten kuai (about $NZ2). The boys' standard fare of la mian is about six or seven kuai; street-made omelette is around three.

Drinking is another story. A chain-restaurant cup of tea can cost anything from four to 30 kuai. Beer (depending on the brand) is between 13 and 20; a vodka and coke will set you back about 25 kuai.
A tiny bottle of baijiu (the gloriously sweet and potent Chinese rice alcohol) starts at 2.5 kuai. There's slightly better stuff for 10; and, if we're feeling frivilous, 15. Anything above that I've not tried.

It's a matter of sorting out your priorities. Basically, the filthiest Scrooge could live here quite happily.

And, just to put things in perspective... we ventured into a poncey import store today purely for educational purposes (Ali misses his Haribo). Incredibly, this place has Western products you'd expect people to miss and ones you'd never even think about. Between the Toblerone and Cocoa Pops were things like Fisherman's Friend and Pantene shampoo. Everything has been slapped with extortionate price tags; 56 kuai (around $NZ11) for a block of Whittaker's chocolate, 120 kuai for a bottle of less-than-impressive Queen Adelaide merlot.

Think I can manage another two weeks on the noodles, thanks.

[looking forward to the care package, Mum]

the sh*t, the fan and everything in between

Some days, it's the little things that really bust your ass.

Stumbled in the door tonight cold, dirty, smelly yet satisfyingly shattered after eight hours of Old Macdonald Had a Farm and 'What are THEY doing? THEY are listen-ING to music!' only to turn the bathroom tap and be welcomed by a dry hiss... and nothing more.
No water.
No ****ing water. Not a drop. Zilch. Nothing. Nada.

During those first few horrifying minutes in which I stood in my grimy little bathroom, wrenched helplessly at the tap and shrieked 'No... not again... not tonight...' I would have thought nothing of sticking a needle in my eye if someone had told me it would make hot water burst from that damn shower head.

It didn't matter that last year I went for six weeks without even knowing a drop of hot water whilst teaching at a school in India; it didn't matter that my hot water cylinder once broke down in the middle of winter back home; it didn't matter that it was only a two-minute walk to Paul and Ali's, my dearest friends in China, who would no doubt spare me a splash or two in their own bathroom.

No. I just wanted a ***king shower in my own ***king bathroom and I wanted it right there and then. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so.

Unfortunately, China doesn't always deliver. So I'm learning, anyway. This is the second time I've been left high and dry (whilst in stinking need of a bathe). I've also grappled with a blocked toilet, cockroaches (both of which I may have already mentioned), black dust, chokingly dry air and - more my fault than China's - a sprained/strained ankle, chapped hands and recurring insomnia.

I'm looking and feeling less than healthy. And, if I'm honest, whinging a bit.

From the outset, it probably seems like I'm not enjoying myself. And yeah, I'm going to admit outright that there are some things that really ***king suck.

But one doesn't grow from lying back on silken pillows and being spoon-fed sugared almonds (though, right now, I wouldn't say no to it).

It's the shit hitting that fan that makes us strong; the what-doesn't-kill-you stuff. The grit in your tea bag, the squashed bug in your trainers, the worm in your last apple.

Or so they say anyway.

That's enough of my being noble about this shit. I'm going to bed.

one month.

So, the boys are out getting better acquainted with Chinese women whilst I sit at home indulging in google music.
I could bemoan my solitude, but it’s the first night in a month that I’ve ended up on my own. And, comforted with a little lychee and baijiu, it’s not so bad.
This week calls for celebration, anyway. We (myself, Paul and Ali) marked our first month in Hohhot on Tuesday with an opulent meal and beer at Hawkers, a local restaurant whose menu offers something more than our daily staple of la mien (noodles in broth). The place is expensive (by Chinese standards) but delicious. And Ali was happy to walk away with the waitress’ phone number.
Can’t believe it’s actually been a month. A month since I got off that plane; since I first entered Aston English, since I met Paul, tasted greasy roadside tofu, drank nine-percent Chinese beer, slurped noodles, dodged high-speed electric bicycles, spied the first cockroach in my apartment… how can so much happen in four weeks? It seems like much longer.
How will six months feel?
We’ve splurged a couple of times in the past week, actually. Last Thursday we (rather, Paul) made an impulse decision to check out a Chinese massage joint. The three of us ended up flat on our backs being rubbed and mauled and pinched by three Chinese women for an hour. Going by their incessant giggling and chatter, I think the women enjoyed themselves as much as we did. We finished the night off with a boozy stint at White Castle hanging out with a bunch of teachers from English First, the other major language school here. A decent bunch of people. Pity about the Americans.
Paul and I also ventured in Coco Mood for the first time. Ever-generous Paul left 60 qi lighter; 32 qi (about six dollars) for his Irish coffee, 28 qi for my red bean smoothie. We sighted a couple of waigourens (who ignored us), met an Aussie guy travelling around China (who actually came over to chat) and the waitress zoned in on Paul to ask for English lessons. He left with her phone number.
I’m beginning to think that China offers more (at least, in the way of romance) for Western men than women. When it comes to waigourens, the majority of men we’ve met over here have – or have had – Chinese girlfriends. Not so the case for foreign women; I’m yet to see any even hanging out with Chinese men.

Hmm. Wonders will never cease.

It does, however, mean that I face the prospect of sitting at home listening to ripped music whilst the boys are entertained by hoardes of doll-faced Chinese women over green tea and beef hotpot.

Time to join a chess club, maybe.

turning Chinese

Footloose was still pounding in my ears when I woke up this morning. And I'd told myself I wasn't going to have a big night.
KTV - karaoke TV - is the glorified night in. You and your buddies shut yourselves up in a dark little room with sofas, disco lights, a big screen TV and a microphone and sing your hearts out. To cringe-worthy Chinese music videos. Throw in a few beers, a smuggled bottle of vodka, a heap of food and you've got a party.
Singing is not my forte, but, fuelled with the aforementioned goodies, I was quite content to believe otherwise. And everyone else was either too nice or too drunk to complain.

Here's to many more nights of karaoke with our otherwise reserved teaching staff.

That said, I'm not yet sure if the nights out are worth being completely naff the next day. I struggled to keep my patience with the child genius who told me she wasn't going to read out her essay (in between nibbling on garlic peas and talking about some shit called i-Carly). Deep breaths, Katie. She's only nine.

Struggled again in English Corner when insanely hyperactive eight-year-olds kept inexplicably snatching flashcards out of my hands or, when I tried to evade them, crawling on the floor to see which card was the 'monster'. Monster they nearly got, too; my patience was fairly worn through by the time they started hitting me around the head with a stuffed tiger.

I do like them, really. And besides, one can only get away with being too young to know better for so long.

Anyway, in lieu of a thorough account of the past three weeks, here's a brief outline..

I have:

- eaten noodles nearly every day
- become addicted to Holilands black tea
- been run over by a motorbike
- discovered the delights (and horrors) of baijiu
- started learning Chinese pinyin
- survived 24 hours with a blocked toilet (apparently the plumbing system is not designed to cope with toilet paper)
- destroyed my foot through excessive walking in bad shoes
- landed inelegantly on my arse after slipping on black ice
- eaten McDonalds. At 2am. For shame.
- danced badly to bad house music
- amused restaurant owners all over Hohhot with my crap Chinese pronounciation (wo bo chi rou - I don't eat meat - does NOT sound how it looks written down)
- battled through some thirty-plus hours of teaching without any children crying/screaming/spontaneously combusting.

There's more, but that's all my sleep-deprived brain can handle for now. Details to follow. Maybe.

they call me Teacher.

Saturday and Sunday were, without a doubt, the most intense and draining and overwhelming days of my life. Well, of the last few years, at least.
We've pretty much been thrown in at the deep end. The training we were promised this week hasn't happened; apparently we'll go to Erdos next week for it. So: last weekend it was sink or swim. Here's your schedule, there's a book, and oh, your class starts in five minutes.
We each have between six and eight hours of classes each day on Saturday and Sunday. I'm teaching kids as young as four and adults in their twenties, with mostly 8-12-year-olds in between. The kids are pretty entertaining; either incredibly hyperactive and eager to learn, or shy and withdrawn. The parents that follow them to their classroom doors often don't speak any English at all. God knows what they think of these great clumsy waiguorens that lead their children in rounds of Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.
Anyway, I survived the weekend. I was almost catatonic with fear on Saturday morning; I didn't feel ready at all. But, apart from one painfully slow and awkward class in which the Chinese teacher pretty much ignored me (they're supposed to be available to help with translation and instruction), the weekend went ... okay. Sure, there were a few crap moments, but there were lots of good moments as well. Seeing the kids smiling and laughing is a fantastic feeling, even if it meant leaping around the classroom like a kangaroo on crack cocaine.

Outside of school has been no less hectic. We've undertaken the very serious task of sampling as many restaurants and bars as our wallets can handle; in most cases, more than our brain cells can handle. Yesterday was a very slow day... we'd had dinner the night before at a sushi restaurant (where the sake was as excellent as the sashimi and shrimp) and then headed out to a few clubs. Many beers and vodkas and rounds of drinking games later, it was 2.30am and we were chewing our way through McDonald's burgers. Yes, Katie ate McDonalds. And it was disgusting. How does anybody stomach it??

Otherwise, we've been touring Hohhot on foot, exploring the endless streets and cafes and vast, opulent shopping malls. There's always something to eat, something to drink, something to point at and exclaim, "What the hell is THAT?" (shrink-wrapped chicken's feet, deep-fried pig's head, moisturiser called 'Snake Oil Sod').

I still have so much to think about, write about; I'm only just getting a handle on everything that's happened in the last few weeks. Like, going through a bunch of medical tests in a Chinese hospital (required for the medical certificate), our 'welcome party' banquet with all the teaching staff, my getting run over by a motorbike, buying hair straighteners for the equivalent of $NZ5.00, eating at street stalls, drinking baijiu (Chinese rice alcohol), trying to order non-meat dishes at restaurants with our very limited vocabulary...

I guess I'll have to cover each experience when time (and motivation) allows. For my own record, at least; I'm not bothered if nobody reads this.

My first one-on-one lesson tomorrow morning. A clear head required.

a week in.

Day 6 (March 2)
I am never eating capsicum again. Or anything with chilli. I have the most horrendous heartburn.
Lots has happened; it’s hard to get my head around it all.
On Saturday night we had a leaving party for the three guys who had finished their contracts and were setting off elsewhere. It was a good night; the team of foreign teachers and Chinese teachers all gathered together before a huge spread of Chinese food (and KFC, god knows why) and copious amounts of beer and baiju. We played a few drinking games and got a bit silly, although the Chinese girls drank little, if at all. Everyone - bar Paul and I - had classes the next morning, so they headed off home at about 10pm. Paul, John and I decided to try for another pub, but Joe’s directions proved fruitless and John was no help, being utterly boozed, so we ended up heading home after all. We did, however, stop in at a general store and pick up another tiny bottle of baijou and some munchies… one last tipple couldn’t hurt, I thought. I thought differently when my alarm went off at 6.30am so we could sit through a day of classes.
I was pretty knackered by Sunday night, but Paul and I ended up going out for dinner at a slightly upmarket restaurant about 10 minutes’ walk from our apartment. Nice food, although my ‘rib fish and vegetable’ bore little resemblance to the menu picture: it was more bok choy than anything else, and oily stuff at that. What fish I could find was mostly spiney, boney stuff. Still, every experience counts.
Today – Monday – has been rather hectic. I got up early and headed to the gym, only to find it was locked up like Fort Knox and showing no sign of opening by 8am. Frustrated, I resorted to running around the park again. The snow has more or less melted now, but the paths are still slippery with ice in places. Bloody freezing today as well.
We had another roam around the streets before collecting the key for my ‘new’ apartment from Sally at lunchtime. Ventured into a restaurant we hadn’t tried before, and – luckily – a Chinese woman came to our aid when we were trying to figure out the menu. Tofu for me again, absolutely drowning in orange oil.
Paul taught a demo class this afternoon, his first. I sat in and watched, and although he shook and sweated like a demon, he did really well. That feeling of intimidation has started to set in now, especially now that Alistair’s arrived. Alistair is English as well, around 22, and has just come from four days’ training in Xi An. I kinda wish I’d done the same training – he seems quite confident about teaching now, whereas I’m still having nightmares.
I did teach my first English Corner class today, and I feel okay about it. It’s the first time I’ve ever dealt with three-year-olds, so I can’t be too harsh on myself about it. The only hiccup was when the Chinese teacher left the room to get me a marker pen; about six kids decided class must be over and ran out after her. Still, I got most of them shouting and pretending to be pigs or elephants or rabbits for most of my 22.5 minutes as teacher.
We took Alistair out to one of the popular alleyway restaurants tonight and spent about an hour picking our way through fried potato, capsicum, egg, tomato and various meats. It’s very easy to just eat and eat and eat when there’s several dishes in front of you. One can be full and still feel obliged to keep digging away.
I’m now in my silent, smelly, scummy ‘new’ apartment. The boys left it looking exactly how I feared they would. Grease and dirt and stains everywhere. The kitchen is abysmal. The bathroom is thoroughly caked in black scum, although the cleaning lady did her best. I can smell unwashed boy everywhere.
I’ve got a job ahead of me.

my new posse.

the people thus far...

I’d already ‘met’ Paul via email; he’d picked out my address from a bulk email and taken the liberty of introducing himself. He’s my flatmate for the next six days – until I move into a different flat on my own – and he’s a damn decent guy. A dad himself, he’s sort of taken me under his wing. In fact, he’s already shared quite a bit of personal stuff with me about his former life… his two marriages (and divorces), his kids, his thoughts on life… and he’s put up with my initial zombie state and my utter inability to make decisions about EVERYthing – food, clothes, which street to turn down… and all in good humour. A gentleman; if he’s faking it then he’s doing it bloody well.
Luke is the manager in charge of the foreign teachers here. Again, I’d met him via email first, and then he picked me up with Sally at the airport on that first bitterly cold morning. He’s been here a year and just been promoted to manager. Also studied journalism back in the UK but gave it up and came here to teach English instead. From the sounds of it, he’s thoroughly enjoyed living like a king on his teacher’s salary. Most of his money goes on boozing at the nightclubs (where he seems to know all the staff) and on expensive gadgets like mobile phones, a number of which have been lost on drunken escapades. Incredibly laid-back, dry-witted guy, very easy to talk to and brilliant with the kids.

The other teachers – John, Owen and Joe – are all British and all about to leave Hohhot to teach elsewhere, which is a shame because they’re pretty cool guys. I’ll be taking over John and Owen’s apartment when they leave. I’ve told them it had better be clean.
The past two days have mostly been spent exploring Hohhot and getting settled in. Yesterday, Paul and I spent hours walking the streets, sampling food and shops and sights. Today was more or less the same; after we’d sorted out sim cards for our mobile phones and memberships at the local gym, we went wandering again… eating things, buying things, drinking things. I bought boots. We ended up back at the school by late afternoon, and Luke suggested we have a go at taking an English Corner class for five minutes each. I didn’t actually get to play the ‘game’ I’d prepared, but I did get to stand in front of the class and hiff a ball at each of the students in a sort of question-and-answer routine. The kids are cute, actually – hyper, eager, smart. I can see how we’d get to know them pretty well over a few months.
Tonight I met my first one-on-one student, a precocious nine-year-old called Amy. Her mother took me and another Chinese teacher, Arena, out for dinner at a pizza buffet restaurant (a slight improvement on the one I went to with the guys last night) as a means of introducing me (and no doubt scrutinizing my adequacy). Amy is unlike any other nine-year-old girl I’ve ever met. For a start, she doesn’t look like a girl at all. She is short-haired, round and terribly plain-faced. Apparently she’s had some fairly serious health problems and spent most of last year on a special diet of cabbage and potatoes, which probably explains her obsession with KFC and McDonalds now. She’d already had her dinner before we arrived; only the remnants of a custard-and-pineapple pizza and chicken nuggets remained. She was playing with her (own) iPad and iTouch mobile phone. Her first conversation with me was about the number of Chinese casualties in the Christchurch earthquake. Later, she dragged out an exercise book and made me read her essays. Most made me laugh – she’d covered her dislike of certain English tutors (Luke), her love of McDonalds, her future plans (to be either Santa or the owner of KFC, McDonalds, and all the cafes and shops in the world) and a stream of other creative thoughts and fantasies. I picked up pretty quickly that she’s thoroughly spoiled and doted upon. She’s also had a few run-ins with previous teachers and apparently needs a firm hand.
Hmm. Could be a challenge.

Hello, Hohhot

Minus twelve degrees centigrade, sang the air hostess. Please dress in warm coat before exiting the plane.
I, in long shorts and thin cardigan, had just left a scorching Kiwi summer. I was not prepared for the ice and wind and frost of a Chinese winter.
It is only now, 30 hours after landing in Hohhot, Inner Mongolia, I am wrapped up in thermal pants, thick socks and a long-sleeved vest. It wasn’t so bad when I arrived, actually – only minus five. And it’s getting warmer by the week, apparently. We could hit double figures by March.
The sudden about-face in my daily dress only compounded to my utter panic about what the hell I’d gotten myself into. I can’t teach! What am I doing? I’ve never imparted knowledge on anybody about anything, let alone led a classroomful of eager Chinese kids in rounds of “Now I know my ABC’s” and how to use the past continuous tense.
Nevertheless, I got off the plane. A prim Chinese girl slammed a stamp in my passport and I hauled my bag (abhorrently lacking in thermal clothing) off the conveyor belt. I presented my rumpled, jet-lagged face to the Exit and was warmly gathered up by Sally Jia, Aston School’s manager, and Luke, the new foreign manager.
Driving into Hohhot for the first time was thrilling and terrifying. I hadn’t slept for 36 hours, I was bloated with an aeroplane diet of beans and over-stewed vegetables, and I was nervous as hell about my new employees discovering my inadequacy as a teacher. I was also freezing.
But, after a stiff-legged stomp around the city park, a hot shower and a meal of unidentifiable street food, I was feeling somewhat human again. In a matter of hours, I’d met most of the staff at Aston English – all of whom are wonderfully friendly and laid-back – and had a ‘taste’ of the English lessons I would be taking myself in a short time.
Too much to cover just yet; details will follow.