Beijing Shamrocks

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It finally happened. After over a year and a half of living in China, after countless sunrises and sunsets, after thousands of piles of tofu, it got me. I let myself relax, thinking it could never happen to me. But it did.

Today I planted my shoe directly on top of a freshly hawked loogie.

It was an accident. It's not as though I go skipping around Beijing, following old men who unceasingly clear their throats in preparation for 'the big one'. In fact, I usually keep my eyes on the pavement, desperate to avoid them. But I was running late for class, fumbling through my bag, not watching where I was going. It happened as if in slow motion. Activity around me ceased. There was a ringing in my ears. My foot came down, heel first, toes following as a nearly inaudible "squelch" was emitted from the sole of my shoe. I could feel my face scrunching up into a look of disgust as I lowered my head to assess the damage. It was truly one of the most disgusting things that has ever happened to me.

Things could only get better.

Before coming back to Beijing, I'd envisioned myself tutoring English on the side to earn some extra money. It never occurred to me to dream bigger than that. A stroke of Irish luck (and knowing the right people) landed me an interview with a representative of the publishing department of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. A manuscript about recent developments in Chinese law had just been translated into English and the CASS was looking for an English editor to proofread the book and make any necessary grammatical or syntax-related changes before it went to press. I'd done similar work for some of my students last year, and so a friend of mine recommended me to an employee of the publishing department when they met in Nanjing. I submitted a sample, we negotiated a salary and I was hired.

I wish the job itself were that easy.

The project I'm working on is a 237-page manuscript about changes in Chinese law for the past few decades. I have a deadline of 6 weeks in which to finish my editing. Sounds simple, right? I thought so too, until I took a closer look at what I was dealing with. Here is a sample sentence from an unedited portion of the book:

"They called the meeting for curative treatment summary and field exchange of experience, and carried on training to the narcotics control department of public security in the area experiment site successively twice"

My job is not easy. However, there are many merits to taking on this project as well. The manuscript is a reference book that will be distributed to libraries around the world. Smack-dab in the middle of the acknowledgments page will be the name "Merritt Wilson". Additionally, due to the poor English of the translated copy, I am essentially doing a bare-bones translation from the Chinese version, which is excellent practice for me and will look great on my resume.

In other news, Beijing has been swept up in Irish Fever. Today marked the kickoff of "Irish Week"; I went to a parade on Wangfujing Street that was advertised to sound like a big festival with floats, bagpipe players, Celtic music, face-painting, beer-swigging, the works.

Not so much.

I forgot that China is.....well....China, and things are usually not as they seem. After my exciting hour-and-a-half subway ride (more on that later), I finally arrived at Wangfujing Street and began wandering the thoroughfare in search of anything Irish-related. I passed small crowds of sparkly, green Irish tourists (why the heck they decided to spend one of their major holidays in Beijing, I'll never know) and a couple of exemplary booths such as one with the banner proclaiming: "Be Irish for a day...Drink Bailey's". I'll give them credit for an eye-catching advertisement of their product and grammatically correct English.

Finally, as I was nearing the end of the street, I caught sight of the Irish entertainment. A lone bagpiper was tooting along before an enormous crowd of confused and disoriented Chinese. As for me, I was ecstatic. Finally, some of my own culture! Despite having cousins with the last name of O'Leary, I'd never really celebrated my Irish heritage before. And what better place to do that than in China?

A mere twenty-five minutes late (which is early in China-time), the parade began. Disorganized at best and chaotic at worst, it was a hoot. Picture this: Uniformed Chinese policemen are pushing back a crowd of Chinese who are pushing forward in attempt to, I can only guess, play a game of chicken with the parade marchers. People are pushing and shoving to be in front while the people actually in the parade are pushing back on the crowd in an attempt to get through. Children marching have been given whistles (God only knows why), which they are blowing as loudly as their little lungs can handle. A foreigner dressed as St. Patrick strides in front, with a Chinese baby in a sparkly green hat riding on his shoulders. Bring up the rear of the "parade" is a dragon, accompanied by gongs and cymbals. As the end of the parade is passing by, the front has doubled back and is marching past on the other side. Since the crowd of onlookers insists on pushing forward, the two directions of marchers are bumping into each other, banging signs and dropping banners. Only in China.

Grand total: thirty-nine minutes, including the twenty-five minute delay. My hour-and-a-half of misery on the subway was definitely worth it.
Somewhere along the way, I acquired a small plastic Irish flag, which I didn't really want to take back with me, but felt it too disrespectful to simply toss in the trash, so I carried it with me. It was only after I'd reached the entrance to the subway that I realized why I was being stared at more than usual. I was walking the streets of Beijing, waving the flag of a country that is not China. I began to feel uncomfortable, but my purse was too small to stash the flag in, and I couldn't bear to throw it away, so I soldiered on. I was beginning to realize how lucky we are in the United States, in that we can carry flags of any nationality and not think twice about it. Here, in China, as I passed uniformed policemen who looked pointedly at my pathetic little flag, I couldn't wait to get back to my apartment and get rid of the thing. But first, I had to ride the subway.

The first leg of my journey back home wasn't too bad. I rode through four stops, got off, made my transfer and rode another four stops until my second transfer. It was at Xizhimen station that I realized this wouldn't be an ordinary ride. By the time I reached the platform, there were so many people waiting for the next train that I had to wait outside in the corridor. I didn't make the first car and barely made the second. The station security guards were literally stuffing people into the cars in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of passengers. I found myself wedged against the back wall, squished behind the only tall guy in China aside from Yao Ming. At the next station, more people than I thought possible wedged into the already packed car. No one got off. It was at this point that I realized I could truly die in the back of the subway car, smashed against the wall, the fabric of a stranger's coat going up my nostrils. I began to gasp for air and flail my arms in the air. A couple people across the car waved back. I was doomed. Then, suddenly, I could breathe. I opened my eyes and discovered that people were pouring out of the car. It was my stop.

After the lackluster parade and my near-death experience on the subway, I was dreading the additional twenty-five minute walk from the subway to my apartment. I decided to cut through the campus of my school and enjoy the trees that are just beginning to sport spring blossoms. As I was sauntering along, taking in great gulps of the putrid Beijing air, a car pulled up next to me and a man rolled down the window. I looked left, then right, then behind me. It was, indeed, me he wanted to talk to. He asked me for directions to the foreign student dormitories and I directed him as best I could, given that I live off campus. He thanked me and drove away.

I couldn't believe it. Out of the swarms of Chinese people around me, this man had decided to ask me, clearly a foreigner, for directions in Chinese. And, even better, I was able to answer him in fluent, and perfect, Chinese. That small exchange made everything about my long day worth it. I skipped home with renewed energy and vigor.

If there's one thing I've learned from living in China, it's that the small things are so much more important than the big things. That small exchange on campus kept a smile on my face all evening and well into the next morning. Once I appreciated one small thing in my day, I found another and then another. Pretty soon, they all added up and I began to feel happy just waking up in the morning. As clichéd as it may sound, it is true what they say: it's the little things in life that count.

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Photos

Parade Participants Warming Up Before the Big Event
See all the green finery?

The Beginning of the Parade
The banner reads "BN Charity Choir" and in Chinese, it says "bai nian ai xin he chang tuan" ...most of the name was translated into English, except for "bai nian" (which means 100 years). Instead, it was translated as BN...Bai Nian....get it? Oh, China

Who wants to go to Ireland?
Or, as we say in Chinese, Ai Er Lan. It's a phonetic translation.

Wangfujing Catholic Church
It's even more breathtaking in person

Comments

[Thai]

First of all, you're a great writer who gives your readers great images of what you're trying to portray...sometimes too good. I'm referring to the "squelch". Oh man I can just picture in my head and actually know how it would feel under my shoe. Second, the fabric up the nostrils is a hilarious and perfect description of how bad the crowds are in China...I feel bad that you had to endure that ride. When you're done with the project, I'll get a copy and need you to autograph it for me. And I bet the guy was blown away by your Chinese as I am too :-) By the way...I liked your closing here...well said.

[cara]

lol@flag. should have just thrown it away, europeans aren't so fussy about flags like americans are. Enjoying your blog.