My Temporary Kitten

The Story of Kitten Little

The sky was not falling the day my friend and I walked down by the river in Tunxi.    And there was no little chicken sounding the familiar nursery rhyme cry.  But there was a cry.  A loud, distressing and ugly “weahhhh, weahhhh” from a tiny, orange rat-looking thing.   My friend heard and saw it first.  Upon inspection we discovered it was an incredibly young little kitten.  It had been left at the bottom of a staircase that led down to the path next to the river.  There was some sort of necklace or bracelet looped around its belly and there was a black plastic bag next to it.   Its four legs were splayed out and gripping desperately to the top of the cold, hard stone wall. 

I didn’t want a cat, and I certainly didn’t need one right then; I was about to go on a two week vacation.  But turning a blind eye when a little life is at stake is something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do.  So I nestled the tiny thing in the bend of my elbow and carried it home.  It wailed the entire time, drawing more pronounced and lingering stares from the locals than I already get simply by being a blond haired foreigner in China.

We stopped for a small box of milk and semi-force fed the little kitty with the straw once we got home.  When we held the kitty it cried.  When we tried to feed it, it cried.  When we put it down it trembled and looked helplessly around; and it cried.  So we held it.  Eventually kitty felt comfortable enough to fall asleep and we transferred it to its new nest of blankets and towels. 

My friend was staying at my apartment that weekend, and we had made some sangria with tasty French wine and fresh strawberries.  With these creative juices were flowing through us we thought of the perfect name for the little fur ball: Obamao.  Well, it was Obameow when we first said it, but Obamao was the official name, in part homage to the funny Obamao trinkets that can be found throughout China, but also because mao is the word for cat in Chinese.  Plus, its nickname could be Obi, like the alien looking dude from Star Wars because kitten actually sort of resembled Obi Wan.  Proud of our accomplishment, we drank some more sangria to celebrate.

When I woke up the next day and found Obamao still alive I was elated.  I kept dreading that I would lose the little bugger and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle the guilt.  My new mission in life was to keep this munchkin alive and to find it a good home.  Both of these things proved to be considerably more difficult to do in China than it would have been in the U.S. 

In the smaller cities in China, house pets are typically dogs, rabbits, turtles and fish.  Anything else kept in the home is most likely a future dinner menu item.  Because of this, finding anything for the kitten was tricky.  There was one type of kitten food in all of the supermarkets I visited, and it took me an entire week before I finally found kitty litter.  Even when I asked my Chinese friends where I could find it they had no idea what I was talking about.  And there are no cat vets in Tunxi.  I discovered this when I had my first cat crisis.     

It was about four days after finding Obamao that he took a turn for the worse.  I had managed to keep him alive for that long by constantly consulting my trusty kitten expert friend: the internet.  I was told that I had to keep kitty as warm as possible since it was still so young, that I had to help it go to the bathroom and I had to teach it to clean itself, and that feeding it cow’s milk is a big no-no.  Oops.  The good thing was I stopped feeding Obi cow’s milk after that first day.  Another good thing is that there’s an abundance of “kitten formula” recipes on the internet.  Unfortunately, nearly all of them required ingredients (KMR, evaporated milk, corn syrup, Pedialite) that either don’t exist in Tunxi, or if they do I can’t read the label anyway.  So I made a random mix of various ingredients I could find from the assortment of recipe lists.  I don’t think this was a good idea.  Though Obi got more energy and was at least getting some nutrients, he wasn’t going to the bathroom.  A few days later he started to look bloated, lost is appetite and his energy.  Based on these symptoms, the internet told me I should “take him to a vet immediately!”  Not helpful.  In the absence of a cat vet, I rushed tiny Obamao over to the little dog pet shop, and thankfully they were kind enough to indulge this frantic, teary eyed foreigner with a pathetic looking orange blimpy kitten with a pooping problem.

Through a mix of Chinglish and improvised sign language, they told me how to care for the little guy.   They got me a supply of puppy milk-replacement formula, some vitamins, feeding syringes and soft cotton; and they helped the kitten relieve himself.  For all the help and peace of mind they provided me with, they would accept no money for their service; they only charged me for the supplies.  Shortly after this issue got cleared up, I got a message from my friend telling me she found a family that wanted the kitten.  A lot of good shit was happening for Obamao that day!

Once on his new feeding regimen, Obi started doing much better.  And although he was still only about four weeks old, I thought it would be better to get him to the new family as soon as possible.  Problem was they lived in Hefei.  You can’t take pets on the trains, and we suspected the same would be true with the long distance busses.  But I had to chance it.  So a few days later, I packed up all of the supplies I had scavenged for Kitten Little, shoved him in a small box and headed for the bus station.  Whether it was because I am a foreigner or whether they actually allow pets on the bus is a mystery to me; bottom line was we made it through ticketing and security and onto a bus headed for Hefei.  The next major test was to see if I could keep him quiet.  I quickly found my seat, and to the shock of the man sitting next to me I took Obi out of the box and promptly put him under my shirt.  Strange as it may sound, this is the tried and true way to make him shut up.  As luck would have it, both Obamao and I were able to sleep peacefully (and quietly) for the entire four and a half hour ride. 

Saying goodbye was hard.  Keeping the kitten alive for two and a half weeks had been hard.  Seeing him alone on that stone wall and thinking about how he got there and what might have happened to him had been really hard.  But the hardest thing by far was waking up that next morning and not having him there.  Time is many things.  It flies when you’re having fun, it drags by when you’re in a hurry, it is money, and it heals all wounds.  I am thankful for this brief moment that Time granted me with my temporary kitten, and I know that in time I won’t miss him so much or so often.  I am thankful that Kitten Little is now with a wonderful and loving family, and I hope that Time grants them many happy years together.    

Blogger won't let me upload a picture right now, so here's a link to the photo album.

Honkaholics

Drive Me Crazy:

In America, when someone honks the horn on their car it typically means one of a few things.   For one, people will honk their horn outside someone’s house when they are picking a person up.  Another reason people may honk their horns is as a sort of rallying cry, like at the end of a successful sporting event.  People also will honk as a defense mechanism, alerting other cars not to pull out in front of them or to make sure another car can see them.  And people will honk their horn as an audio alternative to flipping the bird; this generally occurs when they’ve been cut off in traffic or when experiencing any other infuriating traffic incident.  As a rule of thumb though, most people try to use the horn as little as possible because it is regarded as both rude and because it causes unwanted noise pollution.

In China, the horn is an integral part of driving and is used extensively at all hours of the day and night.  Noise pollution is an unknown concept.    The following is a study guide to understand the language of horns in China.

Beep beep (short, staccato sounds) = The most common form.  Used as a warning or alert simply to let others know the car is approaching.  A typical example is “I am coming up behind you and am about to pass you, so don’t move into my lane.”  Can also simply mean “hurry up please.”

Beep, beep beeeeeep = I’m now coming up next to you and you still haven’t moved for me, idiot.  You better not veer my way now. . . .

A motorcycle’s beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppp = I’m turning  through head on traffic at the intersection and the light just turned red; please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me . . . .

A car’s bbbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepppppppppppppp = I know the light just turned red but I’m going anyway and I’ve now given you fair warning so you better not start going until I’ve blazed safely through.

The throaty growling baritone  Fwrrrrrrrrk fwrrrrrrrrk = I’m an official vehicle, or at least trying to sound like one (there are no horn regulations here), so you better get out of my way because I’m potentially very important damn it!

Unbearably loud, shrill, ear piercing Chreep Chreeep of a long distance bus = get the fuck outta my way, I’m bigger than you and I’ve got places to be and I’ll run you over and you know it and nobody will care, so seriously, get out of my way now.

Beeeeeeeep beep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep = Why is the light green and we still aren’t moving?  Basically I’m just really frustrated right now and this is my only outlet.

Beeeeeeep beeeeep . . . . hoooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnk . . . beeeep fucking beeeeeeeeeeeeep honk honk hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk  honk hooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnkkk= you mother fucker!  I saw the effing parking spot first and I’m not going to stop honking until you move your damn car and I don’t give a shit if it is 2:45 in the morning and we are right outside of an apartment complex.  I want my damn spot so I can go inside and go to bed, and I’m gonna make damn sure nobody else can sleep until you move your mother fucking car A HOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLE!!!!!!!!!!!!

How did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Ignoring all the Signs

How do they do it?  How do those massive flocks of birds fly as a single unit and make it look so easy?  How do they become this whimsical black cloud that twists, turns, veers and converges without so much as a hint of hesitation?  How do they dive, soar, spin, separate and rejoin without even the slightest suggestion of a collision?  How do they do it?

How do schools of fish move as a solid block of shimmering color and make it look like a preplanned, choreographed routine?  How do they glide, dip, rotate, reverse direction and resume their path when there is no apparent road to follow?  How do they zoom, dash, dart and dance in unison under the waves and manage to stay out of each other’s way?  How do they do it?

How do the drivers in China all cram onto the same roads, drive like banshees wearing blindfolds and come out of it alive?  How do they navigate, merge, about face, break, accelerate arbitrarily only to break again and still manage to get where they are going?  How can they ignore all road rules, and disregard all traffic signs and signals?  How can they sway and swerve wildly from lane to lane, turn in front of cars, stop for no apparent reason and drive the wrong way into oncoming traffic and still manage to avoid getting into an accident?  How do they do it?

There are certain beautiful anomalies and inexplicable truths about nature, and I’ve concluded that driving in China is one of them.  It’s the ultimate example of wrong being right.  Back in America we are such sticklers for rules on the road that we become complacent and depend on them.  We are surprised and outraged when someone doesn’t follow them.  And yet, with all these rules to make the road a safer place, I see more accidents back home than I do here in China. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not advocating we do away with rules and start driving the way they do here, I’m merely sharing an observation that still amazes and entertains me every time I get sandwiched between a bus and some massive truck while crossing the road.  (Yes, in America this would be suicide, but in China this is normal). 

Summary:  If you ever hit the road in China, hold on tight and enjoy the ride.  Remember, chickens don’t cross the road here; you have grow a pair and go for it.  Trust the system and respect that though it’s very different than home, that’s ok.  There is no rhyme or reason for why it works, it simply does.  Again, enjoy the ride.

Friendly reminder, next time you judge any “Asian driver” give them a break and understand that they are probably doing a much better job adapting to driving in the States than any of us would ever do driving over here.  It took me a good couple of weeks just to figure out how to cross the road without causing a major traffic incident.  That said, I can’t wait to be back home where a crosswalk and a walk signal actually means it’s safe to cross the street.

Say What?

Learn Chinese!

Easier said than done.  Before leaving the States I arrogantly assumed that after one year in China I would come back conversational in Mandarin at the very least.  It’s been seven months now and I still have trouble pronouncing my Chinese name correctly. 

It seemed like it would be so easy; I would be in a country where everyone spoke Chinese, all the signs would be in Chinese and I was guaranteed Chinese lessons in my Aston contract.  One of the things I quickly learned about China is that things seldom turn out as planned.  I didn’t get Chinese lessons as promised in my contract.  The bulk of my time was spent at the school where everyone spoke English, and what little spare time I had was generally spent in front of the TV watching movies and programs in English or hanging out with my English speaking roomies.

That’s not to say I haven’t tried.  I bought a book before I left home entitled “Chinese in 10 minutes a day.”  The book is roughly 100 pages long; if I had simply opened the book for 10 minutes each day since I’ve been here I could’ve read it twice by now.  I am currently on page 40.  At my request my mom has generously sent me a plethora of books on learning Chinese.  I wish I could say I’ve made good use of them.  A friend got me a book from Shanghai on teaching yourself how to speak Chinese; this one claims it will only take me three months.  My employers here in Huangshan bought me two children’s books on Pinyin and on learning characters; I have yet to open either of those.  I had a friend in Hefei who ran a kindergarten, and much to the delight of the little kiddos I even sat in on a few of their Chinese lessons.  I also recently got Rosetta Stone on my computer and still haven’t tried using it.  Moral of the story?  Teachers are there for a reason; if you want to learn something they are the ones who not only guide you down the easiest path, but they also stand behind you and make sure your feet keep moving when you can’t seem to get yourself to take another step.

Summary: If you come to China and you want to learn Mandarin, get yourself a tutor.  Also, remember to cut yourself some slack; learning to speak Chinese and learning the characters is like learning two languages at the same time.  On top of that, though Mandarin is the official language of China there are more than 20 dialects of Mandarin alone, and more than 200 different languages and dialects spoken in China today.  Hence, when you travel about, what little Chinese you think you may have learned is pretty much useless anyway because wherever you’re going probably uses a different dialect or language than the one you learned or are currently learning.  On the up-side, no matter where you go you will get the joys of encountering the unofficial second language of this great nation: Chinglish. 

• For your reading pleasure: the Chinglish I've encountered

March in Review

THINGS I LOVE: MARCH

1.       My new home in Huangshan (Tunxi)

2.       My new employers, Moon and Mr. Wong (they consider me part of their family now and they always leave decisions up to me and say “you’re the boss.”)

3.       The new school and the eager, enthusiastic new students

4.       Mao Doufu, also called Hairy Tofu (an incredibly delicious type of tofu I’m told is found only in Huangshan)

5.       Mts., hiking paths, river paths and nature in general

6.       Flowers blooming

7.       Having four days off a week

8.       Old Street

9.       Living alone for the first time ever in an awesome apartment

10.   My new camera!

THINGS I MISS

1.       Springtime in the PacNorthwest

2.       Cadburry minis (thankfully mom sent some in a care package – awesome surprise!)

3.       Wireless internet in the apartment

4.       The smell of sweet box and daphnia at the end of winter

5.       St. Patrick’s day dash, green beer, Irish Car Bombs and the following memorable (or forgettable depending on how much you drink)debauchery

6.       The variety of supermarkets and various products Hefei had to offer

7.       My roomies and foreign amigos from Hefei

8.       All the running paths and routes I had back home

9.       The cabin

10.   My friends and family

China: A Fashionating Study

Grin and Wear It!

When packing a suitcase, the main question that pops up in most people’s heads is “What will I need or want to wear?”  Guidelines when packing for China are simply that anything goes.  As far as fashion is concerned in the Orient all bets are off and the rules are: there are no rules. 

Fifty years ago people in China didn’t have the option to express themselves through their choice in clothing (or virtually anything else for that matter), so I suppose their overcompensation these days is justified to a certain degree.  The fact that there are roughly 1.3 billion people in China means there’s some fierce competition to stand out in the crowd.  And believe me, plenty of people try their damndest to do anything but blend in.  The Chinese people are the epitome of overzealousness in nearly everything: they have an insane work ethic, they have some of the worlds’ highest test scores and most notable engineering achievements, they embrace an aggressive take-no-prisoner style of driving, and these attitudes are enthusiastically reflected in their attire.

The best way I can describe the way the majority of women (and quite a few men) dress is with serious reckless abandon and zero self-restraint.  It’s as though their closet or dresser was alive and puked out whatever combo it wanted and the wearer simply said, “ok, but let me add a couple frilly bows to my hair, pin a mini-stuffed animal to my sweater and put three more pairs of bright, sparkly colored socks on to pad my tiny feet from my excessively bejeweled, furry hooker heels.”

Sometimes it feels like I just walked off of what I picture the set of Mariah Carey’s movie Glitter would look like.  I can imagine every person was handed a Bedazzle machine and a bag full of rhinestones and was told to cram on as many as humanly possible.  Thus, you see women walking around in baggy sweatshirts with gigantic, blindingly sparkly Mickey Mouse heads (or Winnie the Pooh, or any other Disney character for that matter) plastered to the front, and guys with shirts that are pin striped in glitter. 

Besides Disney and glitter, other common themes in clothing include animal print (the more different types one can fit into one outfit the better, and bonus points if real fur is included somewhere as well), cheesy English phrases (they absolutely do NOT have to make sense, nobody here cares that much about what it actually says), and a wide range of knock-off luxury brand name clothing, bags and sunglasses.  I’ve also seen children dressed like adults, adults like children and babies like little emperors.    

As with everything in China, there is a balance in what people wear.  Though many dress over the top, the others simply go out in their tacky fleece or luxury silk pajamas and Croc sandals and don’t give a damn to what they look like while venturing out in public.  And to be honest, the public doesn’t much care either. 

Summary: To blend in try to stand out, chances are you’ll look just like every other over-adorned person on the street.  If you are a foreigner it really doesn’t matter what you wear, you will get blatantly stared and pointed at no matter where you go.

Six Month Summary

Mid-term Review

Good things come to those who wait.  No pain no gain.  Or as Mother Teresa said, “Let nothing perturb you, nothing frighten you.  All things pass.  God does not change.  Patience achieves everything.”  My first six months in China were full of change, chaos, anxiety and a certain amount of suffering.  This was my Yin.  Patience paid off though and I am now in Huangshan and entering what is shaping up to be a much brighter chapter of my life in China.  This will be my Yang.  Since being here I have had time to reflect on the lessons I have learned thus far.  Being away from Hefei has allowed me a sense of perspective, and it is time that we review as a class the most important things one should know about China through my point of view.

China Stinks.  Literally.  Since the majority of their bathrooms are squat pots there is nothing to contain the aromas of the raw sewage hanging out in the bottom of the pipes.  But these odors also apply to various random locations on the side of the street.  With the prevalence of Buttless Baby Breeches there are little puddles of piss everywhere. 

And men have a much lower level of modesty here and can often be found taking a leak against whatever very public wall or shrub is nearest.  Other common odors include paint and random toxic fumes from the myriad of construction sites, carbon monoxide being coughed out from the thousands upon thousands of cars, busses, trucks and tractors choking up the roads, and the indescribable and innumerable stenches that waft from the piles of garbage that loiter wherever they damn well feel like it. 

But not everything one smells in China is bad.  I will always love catching an enticing whiff of the street vendor foods (except for stinky tofu . . . that’s its actual name for a reason), and I know that for the rest of my life, whenever I smell freshly lit fireworks or incense, I will be able to close my eyes and be transported back to China for that fleeting moment.  

China is crazy.  There are certain unavoidable and asinine truths about China.  It doesn’t matter where you go, you will always hear the incessant honking of horns.  It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night it is, you are bound to hear the random, cackling and crackling and sometimes the heartier booming and popping of various fireworks.  It doesn’t matter how well you think you have adjusted, there will still be things that will take you by surprise on a regular basis.  It’s as though every aspect of the country was on a heavy dose of syrup that induces panicky hyperactivity.  People work like bees wearing blindfolds, frantically darting to and fro but often without being able to see the bigger, brighter picture.  In short, they work ridiculously hard and ridiculously inefficiently.  Nothing is built to last; new buildings are torn down to be replaced by newer ones.  People dress with a wild lack of self-restraint and rather than picking one look to wear often opt to put all of their favorites on at the same time.  And when dogs aren’t on the dinner menu, they tend to be dressed just as extravagantly as their owners. 

If you’ve seen the movie Moulin Rouge and recall the first half hour as being nothing but an onslaught of crazy flashing images and neon colors with a dash of lucid storytelling somewhere in there, that’s pretty much China in a nutshell.

China is beautiful.  Sunrises in Hefei were truly memorable.  At times it looked as though the burning orb of the rising sun had ignited the skies by setting the smog aflame.  This of course applied to many sunsets as well and made them particularly exciting to view near a body of water.  The evening sky would be heavy with vibrant colors that stuck to all the particles in the air, and the water would give the illusion of being molten lava.  Though the sun could make the sky beautiful, sometimes it was simply being able to see the blue sky at all that would put a smile on my face and fill me with calm.  And viewing the infinite pale indigo from atop Jiuhuashan took my breath away.  The Rockies, the Cascades and the Olympics are savage in their appeal, they are wild and untamed.  The Alps resonate strength, power and a certain hint of opulence and grandeur.  But the mountains in the Anhui province of China emit pure, simple and ancient majesty.  It’s as though wisdom seeps from the rocks and the trees and flows down the hillsides and into springs for monks to sip on with their tea. 

Aside from the visual beauty of China, I have had the privilege of observing and learning about the beauty of the culture as well.  It was hard for me to see at first, but again, time and patience were required.  To me China is like a man standing out in the rain with his face painted in the sinister and extravagant Peking Opera style.  He is intimidating and off-putting to say the least, but the longer he stands there, the more the rain washes off the thick paint.  And eventually, if you stand in front of him and watch long enough, you will see the soft features hidden underneath.  I’m still watching and I don’t know what the steady drips of water will ultimately reveal, but I don’t intend to walk away anytime soon. 

Summary: China doesn’t half-ass anything.  They have the biggest dam in the world, the longest wall in the world and roughly a quarter of all the people in the world.  When things are bad, they’re really bad.  And when things are good they defy both expectations and words to describe them by.  And remember, if you come to China you will learn as much about yourself as you will about this freakishly fascinating nation.