As I sleepily wandered through the University at 7:30 am, en route to my class, I was startled by being cut off by a few squadrons of Chinese military marchers. As miserable as I was about being up and dressed so early, about to start a 4 hour class, watching the marchers reminded me of the silver lining: I was not them.
As the week progressed, I realized that all of a sudden, Dalian had been inundated with soldiers? Marchers? I didn't know who they were or where they came from, all I knew was that everywhere I turned, I kept on seeing these poor people in uniform, doing what appeared to be a hybrid of high school marching band and Prussian military marches. Finally, I asked one of my CTs what was going on, and she informed me that in China, all freshman are required to do three weeks of military training. I suddenly had a flashback to my freshman year of college, back to welcome week, when we were all bitter that we had to do a couple hours of orientation. Every month that I am in China, the thought that Chinese students are the most misfortunate of students is reinforced.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
In which Dalian cabdrivers prove worthless and I pull a MacGuiver
So to continue the story of my first night out in Dalian. My friend and I ended up going out to a restaurant for a little bit, then decided to head home.
And this is actually where my night begins. Before getting into the cab, I told him where to go, carefully pronouncing each word as it was supposed to be said in Pinyin, and in the proper tone. The cab driver smiled and nodded and motioned for me to get into the cab. Once in the cab, I also showed him the chinese characters of my address. Once again, he smiled and nodded and off we went.
Within a few minutes, I was started to get- not anxious- but puzzled. I knew that the restaurant wasn't so far from where I lived, and yet we were merging onto the highway. However, considering the fact that I had been living in Dalian for 48 hours and this man had most likely lived in Dalian his whole life, I decided to give it a minute.
Five minutes later, I repeated the address. This time, he didn't smile and his eyes showed his confusion. As I was discussing this with him, and by discuss, I mean repeat the pinyin of my address over and over repeatedly, he drove me up into a dark alley next to an empty lot filled with dark, vacant buses.
He kept on driving slower and slower, until I finally shrieked at him to stop, then once again showed him the chinese characters. This time, however, he looked perplexed and than had a fake moment of eureka! This address isn't right! Something that he was perfectly aware of the first time I showed him the same characters. I was left to conclude that either 1) he never had any idea of where the address was or 2) he did, and drove me the opposite was to try to cheat the silly foreigner. Either of these options was enough to send me into a mood best described as, " a murderous rage." That was the point when he decided to pull over to the side of the road, turn off the car, and start calling different people for help with the directions.
As I sat there, seething at the injustice that I should be at home in my bed, but instead was on the side of the road with a lost cabdriver in a bad part of town, I decided it was better to be proactive, because to be honest, I had no faith that the cabdriver would ever find his way to my apartment
That was when I remembered the map of Dalian given to me by my school manager, which had my apartment marked on it. The map had sat, un-opened, in my bag for the past week, but I decided to pull it out. I showed it to the cab driver, he looked at my blankly. I was starting to lose hope, when I suddenly recalled my lesson on map orientation and positioning that I had learned from the Australian Marine I'd met in Nanjing. Miraculously, I remembered what he said and I was able to orientate the map properly, using only the barest memories of the bus routes and the position of the sea in relation to me.
Using this, limited chinese and miming- the cab driver and I were able to find my apartment. I arrived at my apartment an hour and a half after I got into the cab. The cab driver, perhaps feeling guilty, only made me pay 10 RMB- 1.3 dollars.
The next morning when I told my roommate what had happened, her response was, "but weren't you so scared? Alone, by yourself, on the side of an unknown road with a cab driver on a bad side of town." And once she put it that way, it did seem like a frightening scenario- and maybe it was, but my anger kept my fear at bay. Or there is also the possibilitiy that it just wasn't a frightening scenario- it just sounds like one?
Thus started my Dalian cabdriver curse- for the next two days, all three cabs I tried to take ended up taking me to the wrong address- despite saying the proper pinyin and having the characters for all the adresses. Trying to get to Ikea- a 10 minute drive from my apartment- ended up taking longer than it took for me to fly from Jinan to Dalian.
And this is actually where my night begins. Before getting into the cab, I told him where to go, carefully pronouncing each word as it was supposed to be said in Pinyin, and in the proper tone. The cab driver smiled and nodded and motioned for me to get into the cab. Once in the cab, I also showed him the chinese characters of my address. Once again, he smiled and nodded and off we went.
Within a few minutes, I was started to get- not anxious- but puzzled. I knew that the restaurant wasn't so far from where I lived, and yet we were merging onto the highway. However, considering the fact that I had been living in Dalian for 48 hours and this man had most likely lived in Dalian his whole life, I decided to give it a minute.
Five minutes later, I repeated the address. This time, he didn't smile and his eyes showed his confusion. As I was discussing this with him, and by discuss, I mean repeat the pinyin of my address over and over repeatedly, he drove me up into a dark alley next to an empty lot filled with dark, vacant buses.
He kept on driving slower and slower, until I finally shrieked at him to stop, then once again showed him the chinese characters. This time, however, he looked perplexed and than had a fake moment of eureka! This address isn't right! Something that he was perfectly aware of the first time I showed him the same characters. I was left to conclude that either 1) he never had any idea of where the address was or 2) he did, and drove me the opposite was to try to cheat the silly foreigner. Either of these options was enough to send me into a mood best described as, " a murderous rage." That was the point when he decided to pull over to the side of the road, turn off the car, and start calling different people for help with the directions.
As I sat there, seething at the injustice that I should be at home in my bed, but instead was on the side of the road with a lost cabdriver in a bad part of town, I decided it was better to be proactive, because to be honest, I had no faith that the cabdriver would ever find his way to my apartment
That was when I remembered the map of Dalian given to me by my school manager, which had my apartment marked on it. The map had sat, un-opened, in my bag for the past week, but I decided to pull it out. I showed it to the cab driver, he looked at my blankly. I was starting to lose hope, when I suddenly recalled my lesson on map orientation and positioning that I had learned from the Australian Marine I'd met in Nanjing. Miraculously, I remembered what he said and I was able to orientate the map properly, using only the barest memories of the bus routes and the position of the sea in relation to me.
Using this, limited chinese and miming- the cab driver and I were able to find my apartment. I arrived at my apartment an hour and a half after I got into the cab. The cab driver, perhaps feeling guilty, only made me pay 10 RMB- 1.3 dollars.
The next morning when I told my roommate what had happened, her response was, "but weren't you so scared? Alone, by yourself, on the side of an unknown road with a cab driver on a bad side of town." And once she put it that way, it did seem like a frightening scenario- and maybe it was, but my anger kept my fear at bay. Or there is also the possibilitiy that it just wasn't a frightening scenario- it just sounds like one?
Thus started my Dalian cabdriver curse- for the next two days, all three cabs I tried to take ended up taking me to the wrong address- despite saying the proper pinyin and having the characters for all the adresses. Trying to get to Ikea- a 10 minute drive from my apartment- ended up taking longer than it took for me to fly from Jinan to Dalian.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The subversion of Chinese adolescents by Twilight/Harry Potter
"Cain? Your english name is Cain?" I asked. "Yes."
"Have you ever read the bible? That name has a negative connotation- I'm not sure that you really want that name."
"No, I read bible. I like story. Cain is a cool name."
"....?!?!?!"
I stared blankly at the 21 year told boy, who appeared normal but clearly was not. I spent the next 10 minutes explaining to him that if he planned on going an english-speaking country, there might be quite a number of people who would find that name offensive and either think that 1) he was ignorant of its meaning or 2) that he was insensitive to the culture. Still, he stayed true to the name Cain until he finally realized I was not going to give up on it. I wrote 16 names on the board- and he rejected them all, in favor of "Miller" - the hero of "Call of Duty," his WWII videogame.
Still unhappy with that name, I talked him into being named Don Draper, which he agreed on with the stipulation that we refer to him in class as Draper. I then taught him to say "Draper. Don Draper." as one would say "Bond. James Bond."
Thus began my 3 hour intensive IELTs prep course. What is IELTs? It is the english language test all foreign students must take to be considered for studying abroad. I teach IELTS for eight hours over a two day period every week to the same students, so as I was going into this class, I was praying that at least one student has a personality, otherwise it was going to be a very tedious semester
By the end of the first class, I found that one has to be careful what one wishes for. They had personalities all right, all bizarre in their own way, but with one common factor: they are all needlessly arbitrary and all of them watch way too much American TV for their own good. By the end of the class, they had:
-berated me for the purchase of red throw pillows, which they said 1) not necessary and 2) one should only buy red pillows for weddings
-peer pressured me into eating an ice cream dumpling- which is actually better than it sounds
- had an in depth conversation of whether zombies are vampires or if vampires create zombies, which, as the foreign expert from the country of Twilight, they expected me to know
Most impressively, they managed this feat while in the confines of my lesson plan. When I gave them assignment of presenting a one minute speech on something that was really important and meaningful to them, they took it as an opportunity to discuss their favorite magical creatures: Harry Potter, Michael Jackson, that vampire from Twilight and the plotlines from Supernatural and Heroes.
"Have you ever read the bible? That name has a negative connotation- I'm not sure that you really want that name."
"No, I read bible. I like story. Cain is a cool name."
"....?!?!?!"
I stared blankly at the 21 year told boy, who appeared normal but clearly was not. I spent the next 10 minutes explaining to him that if he planned on going an english-speaking country, there might be quite a number of people who would find that name offensive and either think that 1) he was ignorant of its meaning or 2) that he was insensitive to the culture. Still, he stayed true to the name Cain until he finally realized I was not going to give up on it. I wrote 16 names on the board- and he rejected them all, in favor of "Miller" - the hero of "Call of Duty," his WWII videogame.
Still unhappy with that name, I talked him into being named Don Draper, which he agreed on with the stipulation that we refer to him in class as Draper. I then taught him to say "Draper. Don Draper." as one would say "Bond. James Bond."
Thus began my 3 hour intensive IELTs prep course. What is IELTs? It is the english language test all foreign students must take to be considered for studying abroad. I teach IELTS for eight hours over a two day period every week to the same students, so as I was going into this class, I was praying that at least one student has a personality, otherwise it was going to be a very tedious semester
By the end of the first class, I found that one has to be careful what one wishes for. They had personalities all right, all bizarre in their own way, but with one common factor: they are all needlessly arbitrary and all of them watch way too much American TV for their own good. By the end of the class, they had:
-berated me for the purchase of red throw pillows, which they said 1) not necessary and 2) one should only buy red pillows for weddings
-peer pressured me into eating an ice cream dumpling- which is actually better than it sounds
- had an in depth conversation of whether zombies are vampires or if vampires create zombies, which, as the foreign expert from the country of Twilight, they expected me to know
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Don't underestimate little old ladies.
My first night out in Dalian, I wasn't sure what to expect, but since in Jinan the main attraction on a night off was to go to Wei Weis, to watch a crazed, old alcoholic do and say ridiculous things while his despairing family looked on, the bar had been set pretty low. I figured that it could only get better.
I was right and wrong. My first night out in Dalian started with me watching two grandparents drink my friend under the table, and ended with my cab driver recreating a scene from a horror movie.
The night began with the Dalian Aston dinner, where I sat at a table with an old british grandma and grandpa. Outspoken and prickly, but nice, I enjoyed just watching them bicker as they had bickered for at least the past 4o years. As I was in a reverie, people-watching the couple, and imagining their lives as a happily-married, adventurous British couple through the 20th century, I was not taking note of how quickly they were consuming beer.
Thus, I was shocked when the grandma uttered words I never expected, " Let's bring out the baijo!" - for those of you not in the know- baijo? is a strong, Chinese hard liquor. In terms of liquids, it resembles and tastes nothing as much as battery acid. In other words, baijo is not a drink you would ever choose to drink, and most people, myself included, try to avoid it. So there was that, and then there was the fact that this woman had to be at least 65: she had eight grandchildren and had referenced an event in the early 1960s.
Elderly people, in my experience, don't drink, except for my great-aunts, but they are Italian alcoholics. It is especially unhealthy for them! However, referencing my great-aunts again, if elderly people do drink, one should NEVER, EVER drink with them, because chances are, they will be much better than you at it. You've had 2 years of drinking experience, they've have 60: who do you think is going to walk away unscathed?
The elderly couple started peer pressuring of the other people at the table to take shots of baijo, I begged off, explaining my repulsion of baijo, but my friend was roped in, as he was still new to china and thus did not understand the horrible nature of baijo.
"Let's do a drinking contest- whenever I have a bit of baijo, you have some too!" the elderly lady suggested to my friend, I desperately tried to warn him, but his reasoning was the hopeless naivete of a person whose family background is not Italian/Irish Catholic, "She's a little old lady, how bad can it be?"
Very bad, as it turned out. My friend was supposed to join my other friend and I to go out for drinks after the dinner- but by 7pm, he could barely sit at the table and was slurring his words. Meanwhile, the little old lady was still unaffected by their baijo drinking game.
I was right and wrong. My first night out in Dalian started with me watching two grandparents drink my friend under the table, and ended with my cab driver recreating a scene from a horror movie.
The night began with the Dalian Aston dinner, where I sat at a table with an old british grandma and grandpa. Outspoken and prickly, but nice, I enjoyed just watching them bicker as they had bickered for at least the past 4o years. As I was in a reverie, people-watching the couple, and imagining their lives as a happily-married, adventurous British couple through the 20th century, I was not taking note of how quickly they were consuming beer.
Thus, I was shocked when the grandma uttered words I never expected, " Let's bring out the baijo!" - for those of you not in the know- baijo? is a strong, Chinese hard liquor. In terms of liquids, it resembles and tastes nothing as much as battery acid. In other words, baijo is not a drink you would ever choose to drink, and most people, myself included, try to avoid it. So there was that, and then there was the fact that this woman had to be at least 65: she had eight grandchildren and had referenced an event in the early 1960s.
Elderly people, in my experience, don't drink, except for my great-aunts, but they are Italian alcoholics. It is especially unhealthy for them! However, referencing my great-aunts again, if elderly people do drink, one should NEVER, EVER drink with them, because chances are, they will be much better than you at it. You've had 2 years of drinking experience, they've have 60: who do you think is going to walk away unscathed?
The elderly couple started peer pressuring of the other people at the table to take shots of baijo, I begged off, explaining my repulsion of baijo, but my friend was roped in, as he was still new to china and thus did not understand the horrible nature of baijo.
"Let's do a drinking contest- whenever I have a bit of baijo, you have some too!" the elderly lady suggested to my friend, I desperately tried to warn him, but his reasoning was the hopeless naivete of a person whose family background is not Italian/Irish Catholic, "She's a little old lady, how bad can it be?"
Very bad, as it turned out. My friend was supposed to join my other friend and I to go out for drinks after the dinner- but by 7pm, he could barely sit at the table and was slurring his words. Meanwhile, the little old lady was still unaffected by their baijo drinking game.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Chinese hospitals = wretched.
I have been pretty well fortified against culture shock since I've been here, but I met my match with the Chinese hospitals.
When reading this, keep in mind that I love China and appreciate almost everything about China, save this one matter. China doesn't do healthcare well. It is most likely the combination of the fact that because they have 1.3 billion people, and so the value of an individual lessens in the pragmatic long-term viewpoint of a nation, because they're a developing country as well as the problem that they just don't have the knowledge base to build a better healthcare system at this point.
Recently, my friend was diagnosed with something that could have been an appendicitis- but had mysterious symptoms that did not fit with her diagnosis. Day after day, she would return from the hospital more confused than the day before, usually grasping the test results and X-rays taken that day, because in China, your x-rays aren’t needed by the doctors for your medical records because medical records? Don’t exist.
She asked me to come with her to the hospital the day before her surgery for moral support, because she was little frightened. As I walked through the hospital, I realized that while I had been wary of the dismal hospitals, I had not been afraid. I should have been. Elderly people stared at us with vacant eyes, as they laid on the gray cold tiles, resting their head on the single piece of newspaper that served as their pillow, The hallways, “waiting rooms”- just a wider hallways with chairs- and parking lot of the hospital were lined with sickly people in various stages of decay. It was horrific.
As for the surgery, it went off without a hitch. The doctors did know what they were doing after all, though the language barrier had made things much more difficult and stressful. However, healthcare in China is not anywhere in the realm of healthcare in the US.
First of all, the concept of sterile is to China as dragons are to Americans: make- believe. There is a reason why Hepatitis B is an issue here. What are the implications of this? Forget sterile, basic standards of cleanliness is too much for traditional Chinese hospitals. One is lucky to walk into a hospital and not see a floor streaked with blood and vomit.
Within hours after the surgery, my friend was taken off of painkillers. She had been sliced open and had an organ removed and had no morphine, vicoden or even tylonel to surpress the quite substantial amount of pain she was in.
-She was not given nearly enough general anesthesia- she woke up while she was still in the operating room
and oh, insurance is completely worthless in China. They still make you pay everything upfront, and the insurance reimburses you afterward. So if you are hit by a car, and don’t have the 10,000 RMB on hand, you are pretty much doomed.
Basically, if I get seriously ill, I'm on a plane back to America. China wins this round.
When reading this, keep in mind that I love China and appreciate almost everything about China, save this one matter. China doesn't do healthcare well. It is most likely the combination of the fact that because they have 1.3 billion people, and so the value of an individual lessens in the pragmatic long-term viewpoint of a nation, because they're a developing country as well as the problem that they just don't have the knowledge base to build a better healthcare system at this point.
Recently, my friend was diagnosed with something that could have been an appendicitis- but had mysterious symptoms that did not fit with her diagnosis. Day after day, she would return from the hospital more confused than the day before, usually grasping the test results and X-rays taken that day, because in China, your x-rays aren’t needed by the doctors for your medical records because medical records? Don’t exist.
She asked me to come with her to the hospital the day before her surgery for moral support, because she was little frightened. As I walked through the hospital, I realized that while I had been wary of the dismal hospitals, I had not been afraid. I should have been. Elderly people stared at us with vacant eyes, as they laid on the gray cold tiles, resting their head on the single piece of newspaper that served as their pillow, The hallways, “waiting rooms”- just a wider hallways with chairs- and parking lot of the hospital were lined with sickly people in various stages of decay. It was horrific.
As for the surgery, it went off without a hitch. The doctors did know what they were doing after all, though the language barrier had made things much more difficult and stressful. However, healthcare in China is not anywhere in the realm of healthcare in the US.
First of all, the concept of sterile is to China as dragons are to Americans: make- believe. There is a reason why Hepatitis B is an issue here. What are the implications of this? Forget sterile, basic standards of cleanliness is too much for traditional Chinese hospitals. One is lucky to walk into a hospital and not see a floor streaked with blood and vomit.
Within hours after the surgery, my friend was taken off of painkillers. She had been sliced open and had an organ removed and had no morphine, vicoden or even tylonel to surpress the quite substantial amount of pain she was in.
-She was not given nearly enough general anesthesia- she woke up while she was still in the operating room
and oh, insurance is completely worthless in China. They still make you pay everything upfront, and the insurance reimburses you afterward. So if you are hit by a car, and don’t have the 10,000 RMB on hand, you are pretty much doomed.
Basically, if I get seriously ill, I'm on a plane back to America. China wins this round.
New city, whole new world
I moved to Dalian this week, which is in far northern China. I was not sure what to expect, since every single chinese person I asked about Dalian had the exact same answer: "Dalian is a very beautiful and modern city." Trying to expand on that sentence is pretty much useless, because the one sentence is burned into the Chinese cultural memory, so that all they know and don't know about Dalian is wrapped up neatly into that one sentence. Circular flawed logic? is a speciality of the Chinese people.
Example:
Me: I'm excited about moving to Dalian.
Chinese Person: you should be, it is very beautiful and modern.
Me: I know, I've heard. How so?
CP: well, it is a modern Chinese city that is beautiful.
Me: Really? why is it so modern?
CP: because it is so beautiful.
Me: Is there anything else you can tell me about Dalian
CP: you might want to bring a jacket.
Me: ::exasperated sigh::
Also, side note: In China, no city is ever a godforsaken, antiquated communist shell of a city. It's either "traditional" (old and most likely poor) or "modern" (soulless, cold new buildings). That being said, as with any and every city, there are always redeeming, charming qualities. And as for me, I loved Russia, so obviously I have a thing for depressing architecture.
I arrived in Dalian, to bright blue skies, fresh air and a cool breeze. It was affection at first sight. The city is, as advertised, both beautiful and modern- most noticeably, it is clean. I live within walking distance to the beach, which is already to cold to swim in- Dalian is far enough north that it was controlled by Russia at one point, but I really don't mind after suffering through the dizzying heat of Cambodia and the oven that is Jinanian (sp?) summer. I've discovered that despite my best efforts and wishes, I handle extreme cold much better than extreme heat. Give me blizzards, white outs, black ice and hail. I'll drive all wheel-drive down an Appalachian mountain without a second thought and walk through a blizzard in stilettos. It doesn't mean I like doing it, but I've done before and I can do it again. However, put me in anything above 105 degrees, and I react not unlike the Wicked Witch of the West, in that I wilt, then melt away and am incapable of anything but the most simple thought processes, such as : "I want to lie here and not move until the Earth flies off of its rotation and away from the accursed sun."
Dalian is a bizarre muddle of the ultra-chinese version of modern architecture, which is best described as oddly shaped buildings with random cut-outs and arches, Czarist-period Russian buildings, and early 2000s-era D.C. suburbia.
I have been much better at settling into Dalian than I was in Jinan. Maybe its because this apartment isn't always on the verge of being resettled by its original occupants: cockroaches, maybe its because I'm more adjusted to China, or maybe its because I've exhausted of continually being in transit. It is nice knowing that I will be here for the next six months.
I've also found that I've picked up much more chinese by osmosis than I would have imagined. I successfully bought champagne-colored sheets, pillowcases and duvet cover for a mere $21.25 USD through hard bargaining. The fact that I haggled it down from the original issued price of around $80 USD made this hard-won purchase perhaps my most victorious moment in China so far.
I've also found since I've arrived to Dalian that I actually know a lot more Chinese than I thought. Still not nearly enough, but it was a nice surprise. I suppose in Jinan that since I had originally learned to survive and get around with no Chinese, that I just continued doing so out of habit and laziness. My moment of shock came when I was interrogating my cab driver- the 3rd I'd had gotten into on this single trip, about if he actually knew where Ikea was, or if, like the 2 previous cab drivers before him, just lied to me to get me in the cab and had no idea what Ikea was, much less where it was. I found myself using vocab that I didn't even know I had retained, and most shocking of all, he actually understood what I said, answered the questions, and I understood him. So it's a start, I suppose.
Example:
Me: I'm excited about moving to Dalian.
Chinese Person: you should be, it is very beautiful and modern.
Me: I know, I've heard. How so?
CP: well, it is a modern Chinese city that is beautiful.
Me: Really? why is it so modern?
CP: because it is so beautiful.
Me: Is there anything else you can tell me about Dalian
CP: you might want to bring a jacket.
Me: ::exasperated sigh::
Also, side note: In China, no city is ever a godforsaken, antiquated communist shell of a city. It's either "traditional" (old and most likely poor) or "modern" (soulless, cold new buildings). That being said, as with any and every city, there are always redeeming, charming qualities. And as for me, I loved Russia, so obviously I have a thing for depressing architecture.
I arrived in Dalian, to bright blue skies, fresh air and a cool breeze. It was affection at first sight. The city is, as advertised, both beautiful and modern- most noticeably, it is clean. I live within walking distance to the beach, which is already to cold to swim in- Dalian is far enough north that it was controlled by Russia at one point, but I really don't mind after suffering through the dizzying heat of Cambodia and the oven that is Jinanian (sp?) summer. I've discovered that despite my best efforts and wishes, I handle extreme cold much better than extreme heat. Give me blizzards, white outs, black ice and hail. I'll drive all wheel-drive down an Appalachian mountain without a second thought and walk through a blizzard in stilettos. It doesn't mean I like doing it, but I've done before and I can do it again. However, put me in anything above 105 degrees, and I react not unlike the Wicked Witch of the West, in that I wilt, then melt away and am incapable of anything but the most simple thought processes, such as : "I want to lie here and not move until the Earth flies off of its rotation and away from the accursed sun."
Dalian is a bizarre muddle of the ultra-chinese version of modern architecture, which is best described as oddly shaped buildings with random cut-outs and arches, Czarist-period Russian buildings, and early 2000s-era D.C. suburbia.
I have been much better at settling into Dalian than I was in Jinan. Maybe its because this apartment isn't always on the verge of being resettled by its original occupants: cockroaches, maybe its because I'm more adjusted to China, or maybe its because I've exhausted of continually being in transit. It is nice knowing that I will be here for the next six months.
I've also found that I've picked up much more chinese by osmosis than I would have imagined. I successfully bought champagne-colored sheets, pillowcases and duvet cover for a mere $21.25 USD through hard bargaining. The fact that I haggled it down from the original issued price of around $80 USD made this hard-won purchase perhaps my most victorious moment in China so far.
I've also found since I've arrived to Dalian that I actually know a lot more Chinese than I thought. Still not nearly enough, but it was a nice surprise. I suppose in Jinan that since I had originally learned to survive and get around with no Chinese, that I just continued doing so out of habit and laziness. My moment of shock came when I was interrogating my cab driver- the 3rd I'd had gotten into on this single trip, about if he actually knew where Ikea was, or if, like the 2 previous cab drivers before him, just lied to me to get me in the cab and had no idea what Ikea was, much less where it was. I found myself using vocab that I didn't even know I had retained, and most shocking of all, he actually understood what I said, answered the questions, and I understood him. So it's a start, I suppose.
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