"If you can't say somethin' nice... Don't say nothin' at all"...Thumper has never been on a a flight full of Simpsons.

I hate flying. I hate airports. And more than anything I hate the people in airports.

Over the last three weeks I’ve taken six flights. And have pretty much met all of the people listed below at some point or other. I’m currently lying on a stained bed in a dingy hotel in central China. I queued for 2 hours to get a train ticket and the first one I could get is in three days. So to waste my time, I’m going to cyber bitch. After some sleep I may write something a bit more chirpy about the awesome time I had in Thailand (if I don’t catch a disease from these sheets and die half way through the night), but first I need to vent. By keyboard bashing this out, one less Chinese person is gonna get shouted out. Enjoy.

This here is a list of people I try to avoid in airports, which just so happens to be the list used by airline workers to decide who sits next to me on every single flight I take.

1)      Kids. Especially kids whose parents couldn’t give a damn about who their little brat is bothering. Fair enough, kids are curious and can’t keep still for long periods of time. But having to “play” with a kid sitting in the seat infront of you for the duration of a flight while his snot is dripping onto the headrest is enough to do anyone’s nut in.

2)      Chinese kids. See above, but add the fact that the youngest ones probably aren’t wearing nappies and there’s a slit in the back of their trousers ready for when the time comes to “go”.

3)      Kids with ipads. Most of the ones I’ve seen are Chinese, which only adds to my annoyance. What does a kid need with an Ipad? I swear it’s just the family’s way of showing everyone on the plane that they have money. “Look, my kid’s playing fruit ninja on an ipad. Turn the sound up even further baby, so that even the pilot knows that we can afford an ipad”

4)      Anyone wearing headgear. This is not racist. I mean EVERYONE who has anything on their heads. Turbans, kippahs, bandanas, big flower hats and worst of all; tour group hats. We gathered that you were all travelling together from the fact that you’re all following a short guy who’s waving a toy panda on a stick around in the air. You do not need matching hats too. My personal favourites are the cool guys who try and spice up these hats by flipping a corner up, or wearing it backwards…looking good pal, it matches your mother-ironed and creased jeans perfectly.

5)      Fat people. Everyone’s sat next to a wardrobe before now. They take half your seat, their flesh is touching you throughout the whole flight and each one I’ve sat next to usually has the sniffles. Add to this the fact that they get completely pissed off if you want to go to the toilet because it means they have to exert some energy.  

6)      Dudes with giant headphones. I don’t want to listen to your music thanks. It annoys me even more when they just wear them like a necklace.

7)      The Chinese version of these “dudes” who use no headphones just turn their speakers up full blast. I ESPECIALLY don’t want to hear your Chinese music on a plane that has no viable escape routes.

8)      Business men. Well done, you have no luggage checked in. I’m sure it’s highly necessary for you to check your spread sheets as soon as you get on the plane. And travelling in a suit, I’m sure that’s comfy. Oh and thanks for the business card, I’ll be sure to call you next time I’m in dire need of copper tubing for my air conditioning unit.

9)      Chinese business men. Well done, you have no luggage checked in. I’m sure it’s highly necessary for you to check your spread sheets as soon as you get on the plane. And travelling in a suit, I’m sure that’s comfy. Oh and thanks for the business card, I’ll be sure to call you next time I’m in dire need of copper tubing for my air conditioning unit. Have fun with the prostitute supplied for you once your meeting is over, say hello to your wife and child for me.

10)   Monks. These deserve a mention, just because they make me laugh. On my flight back from Koh Samui I followed a monk through the security checks. He bleeped. What the hell is a monk carrying under his bright orange robes? They didn’t search him, they just let him go through. Future terrorists, make note. That’s all you need is a slight Asian look about you, a shaved head, bright orange curtains wrapped around a few times, a satchel and and a pair of manky sandals. As well as an I-just-walked-up-and-down-a-mountain-before-catching-this-plane aroma.

11)   White guys married to Thai women. It really is lovely to hear you talk about all the things you’re gonna buy her from duty free. I think I listen to these men more than their newly purchased missus does.

12)   Groups of people. By all means lean over me to speak to your friend, I’ve always wanted someone’s head in my lap for the duration of a flight. Mind if I put my tray on your ear?

13)   Groups of Chinese people. See above but add the fact they they have no volume control, spit and love to have group debates about what to buy from the duty free cart. No I don’t think you need that second toy plane either.

14)   Smokers. These probably bother me the least, but every now and again you get a really fidgety one with a fag tucked behind his ear. Which is pointless as you can’t bring lighters on to a plane.

15)   People who bring suitcases on to the plane. This bugs me. This really, really bugs me. The first thing that bugs me about it is that half the people who carry these suitcases don’t have the strength to lift the case up into the overhead lockers. Surely that doesn’t count as hand luggage if you can’t actually use your own hands to lift it. Secondly, for me hand luggage should only consist of the things you might actually need during the journey. And finally, some of these people STILL have a bloody suitcase to wait for, so they’re saving no time whatsoever. And their suitcases squash my normal sized bag into the back of these lockers, thus cracking my laptop. Pillocks. Yes, I’m bitter.

16)   People who buy their body weight in touristy shit in departures. I know planes are built to carry a huge amount of weight, but I can’t help thinking that the weight of things bought by people in departures is not accounted for. Even though I’m sure Mr. Airasia has thought of this, a nervous flyer worries about these tiny little things…or gigantic boxes of tea in the case of most Chinese people. Again…leading to the crushing of my laptop. Chinese pillocks.

17)   Nervous flyers. I even hate myself on a plane, sitting next to me must be hell.

18)   Needy flyers. The constant “dinging” when someone needs the attention of a flight attendant scares me shitless. I think they should change the sound to something less alarming.

19)   Chinese needy flyers. Same as above, just doubled. I actually heard one Chinese guy ask if there was wifi on the plane! 35,000 feet (?) from the ground and the guy thinks this is possible. And they call the Chinese an intelligent race!

20)   Those who pretend to turn off their phone when asked by the flight attendants. Again, my nervousness just makes me think he’s phoning one of his terrorist buddies to let them know that the plan is still going ahead, or telling his missus that he loves her one last time, setting the bomb timer off, or just messing up the plane’s electrical systems.

21)   Anyone who buys food on a 1 hour flight. I’m sure you can do without that thoroughly delicious meal served in an aluminium case that contains your entire salt intake for the week, yet you add more salt because it came free with it, for one hour.

22)   Spewers. I get spewed upon enough on land, I don’t need it in the air too.

23)   Those who stand up to get their bags from the overhead lockers as soon as the plane touches the ground. This has arisen from the last flight. An Asian stands up, the plane’s still moving, he wobbles and his suitcase hits the French woman’s shoulder. She then starts to curse (I assume) in French and the guy carries on getting the rest of his family’s suitcases without uttering a word of an apology. I believe the word “pillock” has previously been mentioned?

24)   Any of the first 10 people on a plane. This is just because I have a thing against people who start queues before there’s a reason to start a queue.

25)   The queue lambs. I have an even bigger thing against the people who follow the lead of the people mentioned above. Chill out, if you’re already at the gate I highly doubt you won’t notice that the plane has left without you.

26)   Anyone who takes their socks off. Feet, ych.

27)   Couples. It’s fine, lay your legs on top of your boyfriend. Then fall asleep, unconsciously stretch out and put your feet on top of me. Want a massage while you’re there?

28)   Chinese couples. Same as above but can’t keep their hands off each other. Not in a lovey dovey way though. They will literally sit there bursting each other’s spots, or cutting each other’s nails. And a personal favourite…holding a tissue for their partner while he/she blows their nose. I seriously think a no child policy would be better for the human race.

29)   Anyone who dresses up to fly. My aviation pessimism and I just see this as “well she wants to look good in the coffin after the engines cut out, the cabin pressure lowers and our lungs burst, thus killing us”

30)   People with seat wings. 3 seats = 4 arm rests. 2 selfish b******s = 0 arm rests.

I am the most hypocritical person on earth right now as at one point in time I have been all of the above (minus the Chinese and monks), so I would sincerely like to apologise to anyone who has ever sat next to me on a plane. I feel your pain.

If anybody from Airasia reads this, swap the extra leg room option for Chinese-free seating options. I would happily pay an extra couple of quid for a phlegm-free flight. 

Money making

Chinese people love money.

They love money so much that they’ve come up with some innovative, yet completely illegal, ways of making a few extra kuai. Here are some of the best I’ve seen:

Roadworks

The main road running through the city is under construction at the moment. I know they’re building underneath the road, but not too sure what they’re actually building down there. Some conflicting stories are 1) They’re building an underground mall 2) They’re building an underground car park (which would be the most sensible option, so that can’t be it), 3) They’re building a nuclear attack shelter (considering the paranoia these people have about Japanese attacks, this is probably what’s being built). Either way, I’m just waiting for this to happen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_B1PkgA3kA .

Notice, she still has her schoolbag on her back! Guaranteed she got home to a bollocking from her parents for wasting time and not doing homework.

Back to the point.

So with all this construction going on, there’s a lot of workmen doing various things involving dirt and machines (construction knowledge right there). Unlike SOME workmen in the UK, these people don’t get paid by the hour, they get paid depending on how much work they do; which is a lot in fairness. Also unlike British workmen, you will never see a Chinese worker wearing fluorescents, overalls or boots. Oh, no, no. That’s way too sensible. Instead, they wear suits! Not necessarily a matching suit jacket and trousers. But always a suit jacket and some sort of trousers. The most favourable combination it seems, is a combination of a tweed jacket and cords. Fetching! Ties are optional. This all changes in the summer, when clothes generally are optional.  

Still not at the actual point. Need to work on that.

So, these workers apparently don’t get paid enough. So they’re always looking to make a bit of extra money on the side, or on the side of the MAIN freaking ROAD in this case. With all this construction going on there’s tonnes of rubble, dust, dirt and sand piled up on the side of the road. Usually beside the hole that this rubble came from; unearthing water pipes, electricity cables and god knows what else. Now some genius Chinese guy has bought a batch of about 100 plastic spades and is renting them out to parents with young children, so their kids can play in the piles of rubble! This guy stands there in between digging holes himself, taking in a shedload of money from parents who want to shut their kids up. Genius. He stands there gloating to his colleagues then with the wad of cash he’s just earned. Absolute genius. What toddler doesn’t want to get dirty? I hope to shake this guy’s hand someday. A great big middle finger to the government and lack of minimum wage.

Grandma’s house

Most apartments in China are relatively small and every building is crammed next to another. Yet there’s still quite a bit of empty land. Although I’m sure it won’t be empty for long. The government owns all of this land so most people wouldn’t dare touch it. Unless these people were longstanding members of the comm***st party that is. Here’s what you need to know.

CNP + parents in the CNP + grandparents in the CNP = untouchable

I was invited to spend the mid-autumn festival with the family of a colleague of mine, so we spent the afternoon in his parents’ house with the entire family. They lived in a ground floor apartment in a pretty basic block of flats near the mountains. As they were on the ground floor they assumed that they had the right to use all the ground surrounding the block (as you do). Some of the things they used the land for were; a shed to keep chickens, which were tied to bricks with a piece of string; a vegetable patch; a bathroom/open space; and 2 other apartments.

This 70 odd year old woman and her husband, who had been in a motorbike accident the week before, had spent the morning looking for building materials to build a third apartment. Not by nipping in to Jewsons to buy a few hundred bricks and cement, but my rummaging around construction sites to see what they could find. They would then organise these bricks into some sort of cube-like structure until they had what they called an apartment. No cement was used, there was nothing to attach the roof to the walls except a few strands of the string (I assume they had to let a chicken go in order to do this) and the only thing that stopped the “door” from caving in on itself was a wooden broom handle laid across the top of it. They then charged young families to live in these death shacks.

Clever senior citizens. Stupid tenants. Although I’m guessing they must have been a bit desperate to live there. These poor people were making money from even poorer people.

Side story:

The best thing about mid-autumn festival is the mooncake. It’s basically a filling of absolutely anything covered in pastry. For me it was pot luck, as I can’t read Chinese I had to make do with whatever was handed to me. Sometimes I was lucky and got the red bean filling, other times I was unlucky and got duck egg.  It certainly rattles your nerves biting in to one of them in front of a whole Chinese family, whose 90 year old matriarch had spent days making these.

Anyway, as I was whole heartedly welcomed into this family for the day, I had to make the effort with the grandmother, which involved using the very little Chinese I possess, refilling her tea and handing her mooncakes.  I couldn’t understand a word she was telling me, but she kept repeating herself in the hope that I’d eventually understand what she was saying. So I asked my colleague to step in and translate, this is how the conversation went.

Me: What is she saying Tommy?

T: She’s saying she likes….errrrr….errrrr….black semen

                  Mooncake spluttered everywhere

Me: WHAT does she like? (Oh god not another one of these conversations)

T: Black semen (Ok, he’s perfectly aware of what he’s saying)

Me: Right, ok (don’t have any on me I’m afraid)

                          Praying for this conversation to end, but it got worse before it got better

T: Have you tried the black semen?

Me: Errrr ghjewkhgbf;v

T: What? Have you? Do you like it?

Me: Errrrr… Do you like it? (I may get into politics when I get back)

T: A little, but I make a mess with it

Me: Oh Jesus

That was it. He left me with his 90 year old black semen loving grandmother, who just sat there smiling at me. I was racking my brains out trying to think of what he could have meant. He’s mistranslated this before and it turned out he meant cement. But there was no way cement fitted into this context.

It was a few minutes later when the grandmother turned to me, with her mouth full, pointing at her lips and putting her thumbs up. Ohhhhh yey she obviously likes something. Then her grandson turned around and said

“She’s got some black semen and she wants to share it with you”.

“Oh. Yey” .

She then opened her hand and then it all clicked. She was holding half a black SESAME filled mooncake. Sesame. Freaking sesame. Did I correct the guy? No. That would have involved an awkward conversation about the definition of semen. So, I’ll let some other poor, unsuspecting foreigner fill him in on that one. 

Turns out black semen flavoured mooncakes are good. No wonder she liked them.

Employing a foreigner

Advertising that a foreigner works for you. Since I started working in a kindergarten the school has added my face to their posters and has increased the school fees by 1000yuan per term. 1000yuan!! I do nothing except get spewed upon, tell mothers that their children are cute, teach “clap clap 1,2,3”, pose for photos with the other teachers (during the time they are supposed to be teaching) and generally act like a clown. There’s 200 kids in this kindergarten, that’s an extra 200,000rmb per term. I’m definitely starting my own kindergarten/circus.

Owning a manpurse

Carrying 400,000rmb in cash in a man purse wherever you go, just incase “friends need to borrow money”. This man is a loan shark. He’s the brother in law of another colleague and every time I go to dinner with them, this man jets off with his little purse for half an hour or so, comes back and acts like he was there the whole time. I started questioning and this is what I was told:

“I don’t trust him. He borrows money from people and promises to give it back to them with interest. I don’t understand how he can make so much money from lending money to his friends and getting them to pay him back. I don’t trust him at all, so I only gave him 10,000yuan for 2 years”.

Waw. Naïve.

Every time I see him now I keep an eye out for blood marks on his clothes (quite difficult to spot on a leather jacket), knuckle dusters in his pockets, a violin case or if he sneaks a chopstick from the table as he leaves.

Begging

There’s quite a lot of beggars in the city. Some of whom are disabled. Others are just old and without a job. Rule number 2 of living in China is to always carry change in your pocket. There is nothing worse than passing a beggar and not giving him money, especially when every single Chinese person assumes that foreigners are minted. But anyway, I’ve chosen my favourite beggar. The first time I walked passed him, sitting on the floor near the duck neck vendor, I thought to myself “What the hell is this white guy doing sitting on the floor? ”. Then I got nearer and that initial excitement of seeing another foreigner got subdued by the realisation that this “white guy” was in fact a blind albino. Nice one Merrigan.

Not many people can say they’ve seen an albino Chinese guy. So naturally, I had to blog about it. I’m not yet brave enough to take a photo, not that he’d know I was taking one.  Rule number 1 is to always carry a camera in with you, photo opportunities on every corner.

He sometimes sings.  Badly.

And yes I do give him money. I hope he invests it in singing lessons.

I’m going to hell.

Mentioning the J country, the com****t party and a youtube link in one post. If god doesn’t decide to kill me off in my sleep tonight then I’m sure Voldy will do the job. 

Welcome back Merrigan!

This one's a bit crap. 

Having been in China for 8 months last year I already knew what to expect, so going back wasn’t as exciting as it was this time last year. I can’t say I was looking forward to going back, but I was ok with the thought of it.

Leaving this year was ten times harder than it was last year and I don’t really know why. I remember crying twice as I left last year but the floodgates opened a few more times this time round. I hate crying, and I hate crying in front of people even more. Saying “tara” to mother first thing on the Friday morning was tough, she was in tears before I even came down the stairs, so by the time I’d reached the door all four of us were in tears. Ouch.

The drive to the airport was a typical Merrigan ignore-it-until-we-can’t-ignore-it-anymore situation. We spoke nothing of me leaving, therefore no tears were shed. We got to the airport, ate (like Merrigans to when we’re sad or upset, or angry, happy, annoyed…), then my darling sister opened her mouth and got us all in tears. Horrible. Well and truly horrible. Without a doubt the toughest goodbye I have ever had to say.  There was a good few times after I’d left them at departures where I was seconds away from going “sod this, sod the contract, I’m not going”.

But I did go. Obviously.

Played a game of Spot the White on the plane. Watched every single Chinese person put the complementary Virgin Atlantic socks on at the first opportunity. Listened to the Chinese woman behind me complain (in Chinese might I add) to the air-hostess about me putting my seat back, WHICH I'M ALLOWED TO DO.

Sat and recoiled every time I heard that gut-wrenching “cccchhhhh” sound of an Asian phlegming onto the plane floor. Then thought to myself “Yep, I should have stayed in Wales”.

Anyhow, an American Pie, Dictator and The Lucky One later (Note: When did Zac Efron become hot?) and I’d landed. Larry was late yet again. Then he got a little bit mixed up and thought I was at departures…why would he think that? I have no idea. He’s Chinese, I don’t question the workings of their mind.

The next thing that happened was heartbreaking, up there with saying goodbye to the family.

As I was collecting my bag from the scanner in the coach station (yep)…my deodorant got confiscated!!!! THE product that was going to get me through the next 10 months and make sure that I didn’t turn into a Chinese person, got confiscated. Heartbroken. She took 3 cans out and just threw them in the bin. And there's me thinking that Chinese people didn't like to waste anything. It was apparently because of a fire hazard. A fire hazard on a coach where people paid to sit in the boot. A fire hazard on a coach where people smoked throughout the entire journey. A fire hazard on a coach where the driver got out to put petrol in, and lit up a cigarette while doing so! A FREAKING FIRE HAZARD!!

Thankfully, the stupid cow (necessary) didn’t see the fourth can, which I’m now rationing. I now have to decide if I should use it through the winter and accept that I’m going to smell during the summer. Or save it for summer and only smell a little bit. Ohhh decisions.

Got to Tongling, to be greeted by Tommy, his entire family and their dentist (as you do). Had a welcome meal of giant frogs and ice cream dumplings. Just what I needed! I’d been travelling for over 30 hours and that’s all I wanted was a shower and bed. Instead, I got a houseful of Asians wanting gifts. Cheeky little shaits.

Welcome back Liws!

You know you’ve been in China too long when…

You substitute the word “rarely” for “seldom”

I’ve corrected many a Chinese person on many a word, but correcting the word “rarely” is just not happening. If you are ever in need of a good giggle, go to your nearest take away and ask them to say “rarely”… a full proof plan to put a smile on your face.

You automatically hold your breath every time you see a sign for toilet

You mistake the sound of a baby crying for a chicken being killed; both common sounds on any city street.

You see that people don’t need tissues to blow their nose. Air will do just fine.

If a hole is tiled, then it’s a decent toilet. Never mind the lack of doors, a flushing system or running water.

You can pick fish bones out of your mouth using chopsticks.

You compare a new white top with a “white” top you wore last year and see that the colours wouldn’t even be on the same freaking B&Q colour chart.

You think you’ve had an expensive week when you’ve spent more than £8

You think nothing of calling a student by names such as Cinderella, Money, Zero or Tottie.

You can eat soup with chopsticks, silently.

The sound of a car beeping its horn becomes completely meaningless.

The sound of burping doesn’t even make you cringe.

You look for a person to give your empty bottles to, rather than looking for a bin.

I may have written about this before. But my internet isn’t really allowing me to go look back through my blog (must have pissed Voldermort off). Empty bottles = money. People collect empty bottles and take them to various refuse collection point in order to get the money. It’s something like 1 or 2 jiao (1 or 2p) per bottle.  People make a living from doing this. Which reminds me that I need to rant about the benefits system in the UK at some point in the future.

You’ve mastered the art of drinking tea without getting leaves stuck in your teeth

The name “Wang Ke” doesn’t even make you chuckle anymore

Your natural response to “You have a dinner with the headmaster tonight, I’ll pick you up in 5 minutes”, is not “shit, I’m in my trackies and I haven’t washed my hair”. Instead, you set the alarm and put photographs of your family and friends in your schoolbag for the next day, as the 7am class will need to be hangover friendly.

You see non- Asian strangers on the street and have no issues about going up and introducing yourself. I now have two new Finnish friends; Risto and BR. Pekka (?!)

The sight of kids excreting on the street makes you grateful that they’re not shitting on a table in a café (a rather unfortunate experience that shall not be delved into further for fear of vomiting on my laptop)

You begrudge spending more than 10rmb (£1) on any one single item

People don’t understand why you’re holding 6 fingers up whilst saying the number 6. But as soon as you make the “call me” hand gesture, EVERYONE understands.

You have to ration deodorant and tampons

You can hold a glass of boiling water for a few minutes without even flinching

You get asked what animal you are before how old you are

                I’m a horse; year of the horse and all that malarkey/tradition

Breaking a 100rmb note is heart breaking

You get given rice for breakfast and eggs for lunch.

The first thing given to you as soon as you walk into someone else’s house is a pair of slippers or plastic bags to put over your shoes.

You tell a student off for writing his name as “wwgq22” instead of “Wwgq22”

You see a family of three plus a dog on scooters, on a daily basis

You agree to “play” with middle aged men

I feel the need to explain this one. Remember when you were little and used to knock on your neighbours’ door and ask their parents if your friend could come out and play? For me, that’s the first meaning of “play”. Then as you get older the meaning gets slightly dirtier; meaning number 2. Then you come to China and a normal Friday afternoon conversation with a colleague goes something like this:

Mr. Zhen: Liwsi, would you like to play with me and my friends tomorrow?

Me: Can you say that again?

Mr.Zhen: Tomorrow; Me, my brother and some friends are going to play with each other. Would you like to join us?

Me: Of course, where and when?

Whether you use meaning one or meaning two, this conversation sounds wrong. Generally, “to play” (which makes sense)in China means to go out and do something fun; KTV, eat out, go the park. So yes, I play with my colleagues.

One episode of Mock The Week takes 19 hours to download and you think “Oh, the internet’s good today”

You play the “fat or bone” game with dishes at a banquet. If it’s fat; you lose. If it’s bone; you win.

Explanation:  At banquets, good pieces of meat are few and far between at the end of the night. But if the host tells you to have some more, it’s considered rude not to. So you shove your chopsticks in and play the “fat or bone” game. Now, Chinese people love to eat chunks of fat, therefore you can’t really waste it in front of them, so you’ve got to chew and swallow. Ych. If it’s bone, then it’s perfectly fine to spit out onto the table, so you survive another round of “fat and bone”. Note: For 

soups this can be substituted for “blood or bone” and with poultry “beak, fat or bone”.

Most of the people you see have a thumbnail which is at least 2 inches long. I have no explanation for this.

You only put one pillowcase out to dry at a time as the neighbours have a tendency to steal them!

Why steal a pillowcase? I have half my wardrobe out there drying, and you steal a pillowcase.

A “short walk through the mountains” results in a 6 hour trek up and down the bloody thing, whilst wearing jeans in 28degree heat. Ouch.

Chinese men in gyms are like German tourists at the poolside

So I’m running (plodding along) on a treadmill and a Chinese man comes along and puts his towel down on my treadmill. He says something, which I don’t understand, and leaves. He was essentially booking his sunbed while he went to get breakfast! More on the gym later.

Every chicken soup you get given has a beak and feet in it.

Wo de shengri

 A few weeks ago it was technically my birthday. Although in my mind, the earth just skipped from April 26^th to April 28^th, as the 27^th was absolute hell. Some of which was my fault. But most was down to China, generally.

A week before I’d been called to the office. I was met by the head of English, Yang and the head of foreign affairs. They, quite bluntly, told me that I was going to be giving an open class at No.1 High School in T county on April 27^th. Shit.

How many students will there be? Not sure, around 40 (ok, quite a small class)

What age? 17 (ok, same as some of my students)

How good is their English? Not sure(cheers for that)

How long will the class be? 45 minutes (Ok, usual class length)

How many teachers will be watching? Every English teacher in that school and any teachers that want to watch from around the city (SHAAAAAAAAIT)

Will I have powerpoint? Not sure, but I think it’s just a normal classroom (not good, but ok)

So I planned my lesson, prepared everything for a 45 min lessons with around 40 students. I was bricking it. I had no idea what to expect, other than a High School, with Chinese students.

I was wrong.

As we drove into the school, at 4.20pm (my class was at 4.30pm) my translator and I had conversation that went something like this:

T: Oh no, this is a junior school

L: Ok, how far is the high school?

T: No, I was wrong, you’re teaching at a junior school?

L: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?

L (thinking): W****dfsghajkdhjdklsdklsdklsdfkl8**jnbvsdkjdfj**bdaskjs;lek*ks’sajQWDSM8

Sheer panic. What the hell do I do now? My plan was for a class of 17 year olds with semi-decent English. I’ve never taught at a junior school before (for a reason).

It gets worse…

L: How old are they?

T: 12

L: What do they know?

T: Numbers, colours, days of the week, animals

HOW THE F**K AM I SUPPOSED TO PLAN A LESSON (in less than 10 mins) ON COLOURS???

And worse…

T: Oh no…

L: Oh god don’t tell me, you’ve forgotten to tell me something else…

T: No

L: Good

T: I didn’t forget, I just didn’t know

L: Go on then, it can’t get much worse

T: There’s not 40 students

L: Ok, how many are there?

T: 200

************************************silence****************************************

And slightly worse…

Walked into this LECTURE THEATRE WITH POWERPOINT, to be faced with 260 (let’s be honest, anything above 80 is insignificant) students, 30 teachers, 6 headmasters and LOCAL TV CAMERAS.

I wanted to cry.

Slightly worse again…

The entire lesson was a bloody pantomime, getting kids down to the front (choosing the ones from the back so they would take longer to get to me), asking names, “what’s your favourite…”, “When’s your birthday”, “find someone who…”. I was like the fairy freaking godmother.

Yep, a little worse…

Time was moving too quickly, so as it was my birthday I figured I’d teach them Happy Birthday in English. With that, I saw the head and another man leave. Didn’t think much of it, other than the fact that I was boring them as they don’t speak English. Then I got called to the side by my translator, bear in mind that I’d been teaching for 30mins at this point.

T: There’s a delay, you must make the lesson last longer

L: How much longer?

T: I don’t know

L: Puck you de!! (No, I didn’t, but my god do I wish I had the balls to say it)

So I ended up entertaining this audience for 70mins. I finally got the nod from my translator to let me know that I could finish. Eventually, after photos, interviews and signing autographs (I kid you not) we were lead to the restaurant they had on campus.

I was met by about twelve kids with a cake and a gift, singing Happy Birthday. Which was sweet of them, but still not enough for me to forgive the entire nation for what they had just put me through

How good does that look?

(Put more cream on my face and I'll break your finger)

Then it got worse for the last time…

Baijiu was involved. Lots and lots and lots and lots of the damn Chinese rice wine. We were drinking the stuff by the bloody gallon. I vaguely remember being taught how to say “sexy” in Chinese (no, I can’t remember what it is), being asked who was the most handsome out of the headmasters (I hope to god I didn’t answer, but I’ve been offered a pay rise for next year, so I’m guessing I chose correctly) and being welcomed by the head of No. 1 school into his family (couldn’t recognise the git if he was stood in front of me). I think I remember leaving and getting into a car.

Then I woke up…

No this wasn’t a dream. I have photographic evidence that it actually happened. I’ve been told that I went to a pub with a few friends after that. Can’t say I recall walking in, let alone rolling out…

Liwsi, pick a “princess”

I’ve discussed KTV prior to this post, so I won’t go into too much detail. But what I’m about to write shocked me, we’re not talking “Oh no I fused the Christmas tree lights” shocked, we’re talking “I’m standing on top the Eiffel Tower with a lightning rod” shocked.

The evening started with a text:

“Hey!are you Free for taking some boozes with some friends tonight?i can tell u where and when we’ll meet if you can.lol”

Haven’t I taught him well?

1)      “Lol”

2)      “u”

3)      “boozes” (ok, not technically correct, but A for effort)

This man is 44. Yes, I went for some boozes.

The dinner was good. The men got drunk and started showing off their Russian dancing. I ate turtle (or tortoise, I don’t know the bloody difference), which wasn’t too bad, until I realised that the plate was actually a shell. Lovely. Then we were off to KTV.

I must have been to KTV about twelve times in the past six months, not once have I been to the same venue. This city has one night club and three pubs (one of which I am never, ever able to show my face at again, but that story’s for a later post), yet tens of KTVs! I’ll never understand this country.

Since I’ve been here I’ve successfully murdered Celine Dion, Gaga, Avril Lavigne, Taylor Swift, Katy Perry and Whitney Houston. No wait, she managed to do that herself (I physically could not stop myself from typing that one).

So let’s dig a little deeper into this KTV business. What possible pleasure could a group of men in their forties get from KTV late at night?

Sexual pleasure.

Now I have to go back into code (please refer to previous entries) for fear of my life.

Prostitution is illegal in Narnia. However, the boundary between illegal and legal here is somewhat blurred. It’s quite difficult to explain, but is goes something like this: If you have money, it’s not illegal.

For the sake of not having to confuse myself (my brain cells have significantly decreased in quantity since I came here), let’s call these legal-illegal activities “shmillegal”. Yes, ladies and gents, I am an English teacher.

But it’s frowned upon for a man to pay for his own shmillegal “service”. So these incredibly intelligent Simpson men give these “services” as gifts. So where can one purchase such gifts? Well, I’m assuming there are brothels in Narnia, but I haven’t stumbled across one (as far as I’m aware), so obviously the second place one goes looking for a hooker, is at KTV.

The first few times I went to KTV I noticed that every room had another small room attached to it, which was a toilet with a huge hallway. Didn’t think anything of it. The first time I went to KTV with a group of men I noticed that the men were using the toilet quite often. Didn’t think anything of it. The next time I went to KTV with a group of men, I noticed that there were three “waitresses” in the room (who liked to practise their English with me), yet every time a man went to the toilet, there were only two waitresses.

THEN I clicked.

All the stories I’d been told about these “services” and “gifts” all came together. So I left.

So this particular evening there was some fuss over the beer. The men I was with were rich and this beer was a “poor-man’s beer”, so they demanded different beer. But the place didn’t have the beer they wanted. So they asked for free “services”. For some unbeknown reason, the owner obliged and brought in three “princesses”, only one of whom could stay.

It was like being in a cattle mart, these men were looking the three women (who looked like girls) up and down, umming and arring (if anyone knows how to spell that correctly, please send me a message, I’ve been racking my brains out over it) and arguing over which to choose. By now, I was planning my escape, so not really paying attention. As I got up to say goodbye, Feng Jie pointed at me, said something in Chinese and everyone seemed to agree with whatever he just said. I turned to Tommy, so he could translate, he quite enthusiastically said “they want you to choose the princess” as if it was a freaking honour.

These men are tools! They were all dumb enough to think that I didn’t know about any of the schmillegal activity going on.  What did they think I thought? Mouthful right there. That choosing a freaking waitress was taking them 10 minutes! These tools are pretty much running the city; amongst them was the city planner, the city judge, two barristers and a government leader. If this was the UK, I could have made a fortune selling this story.

I’d previously had dinner with every one of their wives and children.

So I said by zaijians and left, without making their decision (although I would have chosen the one that didn’t look like a horse).

Well, it’s definitely one for the “Never-have-I-evers”. 

Doesn’t deserve a title

“I once employed a n****r, my students cried because they were scared of him. So I fired him and employed a Chinese man”

Not the kind of sentence you want to hear over a light lunch.

Racism/ethno-nepotism/mono-culturism (think I may just have made that one up) or just plain ignorance, call it what you want. It exists. And you can’t blame the kids.

So this bubble that I’ve called home for the past 6 months is ever so slowly being burst, thus giving access to people of all colours, creeds, shapes and sizes. The crafty sods let us in, then try to change everything about us e.g. I’ve been given make-up tips from a 44yo man, been force fed to the point of gluttony, hence putting on a hefty few pounds (6 weeks to get into a size 10 bridesmaid dress…shait) and have been described as American, Russian, English, Australian and my favourite; Korean.

Let me clarify, people from all over the world have been able to visit, study and work in China for many, many years. Yet 90% of the people I’ve met had never seen a foreigner until they met me (no pressure Liws). I live in tiny city (by Chinese standard) of just over 800,000 residents with a grand total of 7 foreigners (we trapped a Canadian bloke at the beginning of this month). I’m sure the percentage is significantly lower in the bigger more “Westernized” cities and probably smaller in some other small cities/towns (and if you go to a village they’ve never seen anyone that’s not a relative, bit like Builth eh Rach?)

Back to the actual point of post: kids crying after seeing a black man.

So the kids cried (I have no idea if the man did anything to make them cry, but for the purpose of this entry, let’s assume he didn’t and he was just your average non-paedophilic man). They cried to their parents and the parents complained to the owner, who then sacked the poor sod.

Now, this man was an American, whose first language was English. Naturally, his English is going to be better than any Chinese man’s (I live here; I’m allowed to say it). The owner was basically a coward who couldn’t give the black man (this entry is beginning to make me sound racist, so let’s call him Barry) a chance to win over the kids and show both the children and their parents that he was a decent English teacher.

I don’t want to say that this is acceptable, but I partially understand the children’s reaction. They have never seen anyone that looks different to them. Had the teacher been white, green or freaking multicolour, I’m almost certain the reaction would have been the same.

All this reminds me of a story my mother loves to share with random people at inappropriate times, involving my 3 year old self and Woolworths:

My mother had just taken me shopping, we were queuing to pay for my pick n mix (awww remember those days?) when I started shouting “MAM, look, it’s a monkey!!” pointing to what my mother thought was a black woman at the front of the queue. So my mother tries to smother me with her hugs to try and shut me up, for fear of being judged a racist. Obviously, Iittle Liwsi didn’t follow the plan and screamed even louder “MAAAAM, LOOK, LOOK, IT’S A MONKEY”. At this point we started to leave the queue, which enraged Liwsi bach; who then roared “MAAAAAAAAAAM, MOOOOOOOONKEY” and pointed directly at the front of the queue.  By now, the black woman had left the shop (through no fault of my own), leaving a woman standing there, right by the till, wearing a furry brown coat. The monkey.

There was absolutely no need for that, but there we go. And I’m now reminiscing over pick n mix, yo-yos, bliss magazines and finger skateboards.

I suppose the point I’m trying to make is that a child’s mind is innocent (it was my mother that thought I was racist). The mind hasn’t yet been corrupted by (some) societies’ discriminating ways, it has no idea what racism and prejudice are. If a person is different (looking, sounding, smelling) a child will notice. Hell, if you give a different dummy to a kid it’ll scream the place down (Hanna Merrigan). It’s the parents and those surrounding the child that decide if a kid embraces the difference or turns against it (you either force the kid to like the new dummy, or you let her scream until she gets the old one back…Hanna Merrigan). Lucky for me, my mother ensured that I didn’t turn into a racist, (although a bit of ethnic banter between friends is ok, isn’t that right Guptar?).

After editing: I wish to add that my mother isn’t racist. She married my father, who looks Iranian.

The sad thing about the original situation (which I completely forgot about whilst rambling on about some bullshit), is that the parents gave the old dummy back to their kids. Instead of embracing Barry (remember him?), and explaining that Barry is exactly the same as Wang Zhi Hui, they were cowards who cost their children an amazing opportunity to learn English from a native speaker (not to blow my own trumpet).

Finish with a giggle:

I accidentally said the Chinese word for “whore” instead of “carrier bag” in the Supermarket last week. Ouch.