>For wet floors, I have yet to see “Caution” or “Slippery When Wet” signs. The last one is particularly obvious, isn’t it? Someone could easily write “No Shit” right below it.

I suppose Chinese people can see that the floor is wet and that running across it at full speed or careless walking may result in disaster. So there’s no need for such hand-holding.

Though I still wonder how many broken necks have occurred without this Western comfort.

>

I got lost and missed the first two classes periods.

I could blame the school, who told me to get off at the second bus stop on the New Campus.

I could blame the school, who told me to go to Building 5. It was Building 3. 哎呀

I could blame the school, who gave me such vague directions.

I could also blame myself, for not asking these questions and assuming.

Then again, I could indeed blame them for not giving me a printed schedule, which tends to help new teachers find their classes.

Instead, I’ll treat you to this awkward bit of “Chinglish” I caught at the New Campus Library. To encourage students to be quiet, or “shut the hell up”, they engraved the following words into a sign below neatly blocked Chinese characters.

Don’t make clamor.

Clamor. Can you imagine The Commons telling the weeknight socialites to not make any clamor?

Can you imagine the blank stares?

>

Part of a legal long-term stay in China is the Residence Permit. And part of the Residence Permit is a series of medical exams that make sure you are free of such diseases as leprosy, tuberculosis, and AIDS. People with STDs need not apply.

This morning they loaded the new foreign teachers into a small van lacking AC and drove us to a medical clinic on the other side of East Lake. When we got there, the door was open. A woman sat in a small chair, waving a fan.

Some talk in Chinese ensued. Camilla, one of the assitants, turns to us.

Camilla: The power is out.

Yes, the power is out. Have to come back tomorrow. Great. What time?

Camilla: Early. We have to beat the crowd.

I see. How early?

Camilla: Seven.

I should note that several teachers had to cancel their classes at the last minute because the office decided to inform us of this little trip the night before, or in Rob’s case, around 10 pm the night before.

And now that the power’s out, we have to come back tomorrow. Earlier.

Rise and Shine.

>I’m starting up a new section where I answer a question that is important yet may not be covered in any entries due to space limitations.

What’s it like being a foreigner in China? Have you encountered any prejudice?

I cannot speak for other cities, but over here in Wuhan, the people have been very nice and very hospitable.

Every one I have met so far has been very friendly. My students love to talk to me, and are always willing to hang out outside of class. Perfect example: Thursday afternoon as I was eating in the canteen (cafeteria), one of my students sat down and introduced himself. He then offered to show me the campus, and we ended up seeing this campus, another campus, and meeting six friends of his, all of whom asked me tons of questions and seemed to relish the opportunity to speak to a foreigner.

We talked more, and he offered to take me to tourist spots in Wuhan. Fast forward to yesterday (Saturday, September 13), where he and two girls accompanied me to Yellow Crane Tower. He bought me a water, and brought a Moon Cake for me to eat, as well as buying me a cup of “Chinese Jello”, a gellutine substance with little bits and pieces inside.

He paid for the bus ride there and back, and all three of them were very polite and friendly. At the sight, a total stranger shook my hand and said ‘hello’, while another woman told Ivon (one of the Chinese girls) in Chinese that she thought I was ‘handsome’.

I could go on for pages on how nice everyone has been, but I hope you get the idea from this short blurb. Check out entries, both

>

Meeting people is insanely easy here.

If you’re a foreigner, people are drawn to you. They’re curious. Especially girls. I have gotten more stares and more questions from women than I have from anyone else.

Frequent waves, frequent hellos, and all around good hospitality, it’s a far cry from the reception many receive in the States. Rather than go through illustration after illustration, I’ll stop at the first one:

The well-known bars here in Wuhan play host to a lot of foreigners. Places like Blue Sky Café and The Vox have a large number of laowai, along with the native Chinese and are purported to play host to a number of Christians looking to set their ideas afloat in a sea where they usually sink.

KTV Bars differ. KTV Bars are Karoake Bars. Indeed, KTV = Karaoke Television. “Box Party”, a bar owned by a Chinese guy named nicknamed Bear, is one such place. One of the British teachers, Gerald, is friends with him, and as such, we get discounts on drinks and access to his many friends.

To meet local Chinese people, go to a KTV Bar and avoid the laowai hangouts. Avoid the laowai hangouts anyways. They’re far too western. You’re here to experience China, aren’t you?

I spent last Friday night at Box Party. Me, Rob, Gerald, and a Canadian named Paul. When we get there, Paul overhears that it’s 28 RMB all you can drink.

“Don’t tell me that,” he says, and proceeds to prove why. Bottle after bottle falls empty while I slowly sip on my first one and observe.

I observe some Chinese girls playing pool and some Asian guys sitting on the couches while a couple makes out near a drum stand missing its drummer and the local DJ plays a bewildering variety of music. I swear, we must’ve heard everything from boy bands to hardcore rap to a rousing techno piece whose chorus went “If you’re feeling [], put my dick in your head”.

A pretty deep commitment, if I do say so myself.

One of the Asian guys comes over and stares. Fine. As an awkward white guy in a land of Asians, I’m used to it. The long stares, the short stares, the smiles and random ‘hellos’, I have no issue with it.

So I sip on my drink until he greets me, a soft ‘hello’. I greet him back and he sways a bit. A little too much to drink? In English broken by bad teaching and filtered through an alcohol soaked net, he informs me that he’s Mongolian. I make a few comments, he nods and smiles, and I wander over to play darts.

He follows. We play darts for awhile and I return to the bar, where Rob and Gerald are talking to a artsy Chinese girl. Art student black overalls, white shirt, a beret, and huge earrings, I smile at her and turn and lift my bottle.

Through it, I see my Mongolian friend. He sways again and leans in to share a little secret.

“I have too much drunk.”

I nod and smile. Then he shares another secret.

“I hate Chinese.”

He gives the finger to a small statue.

“Fuck them.”

Flipping off a statue. Indeed, he has too much drunk.

Mongolian China-Hater wanders off and Gerald introduces me to the artsy girl. A little conversation and a lot of smiling ensues where she confirms my initial suspicions: she is an art teacher.

We talk some more, she asks for my number. I have no phone, so I offer my email instead, and I say something that she doesn’t quite understand. Is it time to break out that beginner’s Chinese?

No. She pulls out her phone and searches the word, gets the Chinese translation. A nod and another smile follow, the cute, interested smile. Pretty eyes, a cute sense of fashion, she spends the rest of the night beside me talking. The communication is sparse, but she asks me what my schedule is and we set up a lunch meeting for the beginning of the week.

I knew some Chinese girls liked to talk to Western guys, but I expected nothing like this. She was completely into me, and we barely talked. We barely could talk.

Tomorrow I’m meeting her at noon for lunch. I’ll let you know how it goes.