Tag Archives: not fun Shanghai

Good Times at Family Mart

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At the end of the month I always have the horrible realization that it is time to pay the bills. Everyone has this feeling I suppose—the dread of parting with your hard earned money, the hope that it won’t take up too much of your time. In the United States, I used to have things organized so that I did most of it online. The mortgage gets paid automatically; the other things have scheduled payments. Aside from forgetting to put money in the account, my worst fear was forgetting my password or my user name for the gas company. For those few bills that still required a check to be written, I took care of that with my handy dandy checkbook. I could buy stamps and then put the bill in my mailbox for the mailman to pick up. If I was feeling like taking a little walk I could saunter down Roland Avenue, get a coffee at my Starbucks, chat with my friendly lady at the Deepdene Post Office (also named Gwen!), and then shop at the Children’s Bookstore after I had mailed my letter. So civilized when you think about it. And, I must add, so easy. So easy, in fact that I assumed China would be similar. Doesn’t everyone do things this way?

Oh, you all know by now what to expect here! The answer is no. No way. Paying my bills in Shanghai is nothing like doing this in the United States. China runs on cash. I do have what is essentially a debit card, but I can’t use anything resembling online banking because I can’t read characters. I apologize if all the native Mandarin speakers would scoff at my description of how things get done around here, but for an English-speaking White lady getting the bills paid ain’t easy!

Mark had been living in Shanghai for a while before the rest of us arrived, so he had managed to figure out a few things. Unfortunately, his apartment was serviced and so some of the things that became important for me were new for him as well. We set up the bank accounts (a story of epic hilarity and frustration as well), but couldn’t do much more than get money from an ATM or pay for groceries at places that accept Union Pay. This is basically the only type of card you can use in many places. Occasionally my AMEX or US bankcards will work, but sometimes it is Union Pay or the highway so it is helpful to have a Chinese bank account. However, most of the time I need to pay for things in cash and especially in the beginning this was frustrating. In the US, I carry very little cash. This keeps me from spending it. Here I need cash to pay for everything, which brings us to my bill paying dilemma.

In Shanghai I need to pay my bills in cash. Mark handles the rent and a few other things. Some of that is cash and some of that is wired directly. The utilities—phone, gas, electric—I pay and I do it all in cash. This is a multistep process that usually goes something like this:

  1. The bills arrive in the mail. The ayi checks the mail and then hides the bills for me to find somewhere around the house.
  2. I find the bills! I can’t read what they say, of course, so I must blindly accept that they are correct. Sometimes I get a bill or a note that I have never seen before. Guess what I do then? I either find someone to help me translate or I just pay it to avoid the hassle of human contact. Wheee!
  3. I go to an ATM to get money to pay the bills. To give you an idea of the ridiculousness of this, our electric bill is usually more than 2000 rmb a month. Most ATMs only let you get out 2000rmb at a time. To pay the bills and then also hand our ayi her wad of money at the end of the month, I stand at the machine asking it to give me 2000 rmb multiple times. I then stuff what looks like an obscene amount of money in my bag.
  4. Next I do something crazy! Most people send their ayi or driver to pay the bills for them, but because getting all this cash means I am already out, I just go ahead and pay them myself at Family Mart. What is Family Mart, you ask? This is basically 7-11. In Shanghai I pay my bills at 7-11, which, obviously, is weird.

Paying bills at the convenience store takes some getting used to. Family Mart is not a welcoming place. It is bright and smells like the crazy mystery meat that is sold there on sticks in these gross little cups of liquid. Is it broth? Is it water? I will never find out because I will never, ever buy this. There is the discomfort of pulling out a wad of cash in front of a dozen Chinese customers. This never gets easier as everyone here is in everyone else’s business pretty much all the time. No one averts their eyes. No one gives you a little space to spill the contents of your wallet on the counter and then proceed to count to a million. People sometimes see me and then deliberately cut in front of me because, hey this is how we do it in China, and I also look too White to cuss at anyone in Mandarin. My stack of bills is also a hint that I will be camped out for a bit with the cashier so they are willing to knock me over to avoid spending that quality time with me.

Late bills cannot be paid at Family Mart, those have to be paid somewhere else. I have no idea where that is, of course, so it is of the utmost importance that I make my trek to Family Mart before the end of the month. Handing the cashier a late bill requires more Mandarin than I can manage and the extra ire of my fellow customers.

Often either the cashier or another customer will comment on my expensive bills. They make noises and discuss amongst themselves. Watching an expat spend some of what most Chinese assume is an endless supply of money is fascinating. It requires comment. I understand this. It costs more money than it should to heat and cool our house. We should all just put on a jacket in the winter and get used to being sweaty in the summer. We won’t do this, of course, and so I keep being the object of opinions in Family Mart.

Mark contends that it is not the amount of money that I am spending that garners so much attention, but rather, the fact that I am spending this money myself. The combination of expat utility bills and the actual expat paying them is the part that is blowing people’s minds. You have the money to pay those bills but not the sense to hire someone else to do that for you? What are you, insane? I think we all know the answer to this question. Of course I am insane! I moved my family to China and now I am paying bills in Family Mart! That is all the proof you need.

Parenting Fail

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There are limits to my patience. I know this surprises you. After all my previous blog posts concerning my inability to just “let it go,” I am sure you were thinking that eventually I would be full of vanilla cupcakes and rainbows. While I am pretty certain no one was expecting sunshine from over here, I have found it hard to put up new posts because I am feeling so negative about China. And that isn’t really fair to China. While my rants about Shanghai are often funny, sometimes I can’t seem to see the humor in certain situations. When I get to that point, there is no turning back and my mood tends to poison the whole house.

I didn’t want to come back to Shanghai after this summer and was finding it hard to motivate to pack and organize all the things we would need and want once my direct access to Target was cut off. A few days before our departure I found myself waking up in the wee hours to obsess over all the things about China that drive me crazy. That state of mind has lifted a bit since the end of July, but not much. This wouldn’t be a problem if I were here in Shanghai alone or just with my husband, but I am here with those wonderfully impressionable children that I decided to drag along for this adventure. Part of my job as a parent living abroad is to make the experience as enriching for them as possible. This does not mean that I make everything easy or that I keep them from having those difficult moments, but it does mean that I try to keep my feelings to myself when I am particularly venomous about our host culture. Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a poker face. I am also (surprise!) a notorious complainer. These two things combined with our general lack of privacy here in our cramped living space means I have been doing a terrible job of focusing on the positive.

This brings us to a few nights ago when my unhappiness was really ticking along. One of the boys was also having a ShangLow day and was railing against the table manners of the Chinese. This is certainly something that you will never hear me defending, particularly as my Southern roots tend to make themselves apparent when it comes to moments like these. That said, I know it isn’t up to me to decide what is and what isn’t polite here in China. If you want to know about how to behave in the United States, feel free to ask. If you want to see me volunteer this information as we sit with a table full of Chinese nationals eating dinner, good luck. You won’t hear a peep out of me. This means my house is often ground zero for heated discussions concerning manners and what is and isn’t acceptable. Inside our house, the US rules apply although Mark has taken to slurping his soup and drinks as if he grew up in Puxi. The kids ride the line sometimes, but they are well aware of the limits of cultural exchange here at Chez Erickson. The child in question was furious, and deservedly so, at having witnessed what they thought were atrocious manners. Of course, the other individual in this scenario might have seen things differently, but I was trying to provide some good mama vibes. I held my own until faced with, “Name one good thing about Chinese culture!”

Ouch. And here is where I drop the ball both as a parent and as a guest in a country that is not my own. For all the things I complain about, there have been some wonderful things that have happened here in China. I have some fabulous Chinese colleagues and friends who have opened their hearts to me and have helped me when there was no reason to do so. There are many things about Chinese culture that I respect and admire. I may not always understand China, but I can respect history. I can see the good in individuals even when the overall picture frustrates me. But do I say this? Do I volunteer this information to my child as he shakes his fist at the sky? No. I hesitate. And this is just enough time for his eyes to grow wide and his mouth to harden and for him to spit out, “See! Even you can’t think of one positive thing!” And I stammer and stall as I try to push down the part of me that is angry and annoyed and remember the part of me that can see the shiny happy stuff. But the moment is already gone and I have missed the chance to say what needs to be said, to put the train back on the track and convince my child to give things some time. I have done the thing I have tried so hard not to do and let my feelings become the conversation here at home.

 

(Don’t) Breathe (Very) Deeply

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*Note:  This post was written before we left Shanghai for our holiday break.  I was just too overcome by the smog to actually post it.

The pollution in Shanghai has been out of control.  Maybe you have heard?  Maybe you have Facebook friends constantly posting photos of the hazy view outside their living room windows?  No?  We obviously don’t have the same taste in friends then, because many of mine have been dedicating their time and attention to posting shots of what looks like San Francisco fog but is, in fact, horrible smog.  The pollution has always been something we complain about.  There are rules about when the kids are allowed outside and there is that nifty little scale that tells you how close you are to cheating death by breathing more of the Shanghai air.  Of course, we have never had it as bad as Beijing.  Remember last year when the poor, poor people of Beijing couldn’t even see a few feet in front of them because the pollution was so horrible?  Ahem.

IMG_0686 No, that isn’t fog.  And even worse, it isn’t even close to sunset.  That is a photo of my children waiting at the bus stop in the morning.  Waiting and poisoning their tiny little lungs as they gulp down toxic air!  It was predictable, I suppose.  This is the kind of thing that always happens just when I think I have settled in here.  Just when I have made my peace with China and we have eased into some sort of tenuous ceasefire, things fall apart.  I apologize to all the other people unfortunate enough to live with us in Shanghai during this trying time.  I am sorry you have been drug into this never ending fight between China and myself.  Who knew it would get this ugly?  Who could have anticipated that China would literally fight dirty?

Normally right about now you would be looking at the Peal Tower. 4pm, by the way.

Normally right about now you would be looking at the Peal Tower. 4pm, by the way.

I have actually been having a few good months over here.  I know I shouldn’t say this out loud, but I have been finding my groove.  I finished my dissertation and, after banging my head against the wall for a few weeks, I decided to go back to work.  There was an opening at the kids’ school in the Admission Office and since I’ve been going to work every day things have really evened out.  It turns out being at home with the ayi all day is a little hazardous to my mental health.  It probably helps that once you are inside the school you feel like you could be in the United States.  Well, almost.

Being at school is most likely the only reason we will survive living in Shanghai if the pollution levels stay as high as they have been.  The school has an excellent filtration system.  This is lucky for Team Erickson because, you see, I have been living in denial.  Despite everyone’s dire warnings about the air quality in general and Lucas’ asthma in particular, I have refused to plan ahead.  This is how I deal with the things I cannot change in China.  In a place where you get an email from one of the local grocery stores with the title, “2013’s Food Safety Scandals Reviewed (& some festive cheer!),” living in denial becomes the most reasonable option.  When everyone else was buying air filters for their houses and stocking up on N95 surgical masks I was apparently focusing on other things.  Admittedly, I was most likely arm wrestling Sally the ayi for ultimate control of my household, but I certainly could have taken a break to check into some of the safety issues that are now front and center.  Now as the pollution levels have gotten ridiculously high, I find myself having panic attacks on the way to work.

Talking to my colleagues doesn’t make things better.  They are shocked at my lack of planning.  One of the school nurses took pity on me and gave me a handful of surgical masks for the kids.  A fellow parent left another few on my desk.  Everyone is encouraging me to get air filters for the house.  Of course, those are the things everyone else has been stockpiling.  The things that are now impossible to buy! Lucas asked for a respirator for Christmas.  A respirator!  One evening when the air inside the house began looking like we had a something burning in the kitchen, Mark commented, “We have got to get the hell out of here.”

Which isn’t going to happen any time soon, of course.  So I added some extra things to our “bring back from the USA” list.  I am hoping that this ensures that the air stays breathable once we get back from our winter break.  Like the lice shampoo I buy every vacation as a talisman to prevent the children from getting lice (successful thus far!), maybe a huge stack of masks to keep out the dangerous pollution particles will appease my arch nemesis.  China, this time you’ve gone too far.

IMG_0695

*Also would like to mention here that the air has been relatively clean since we arrived back with my excessive number of surgical masks.  You are welcome, Shanghai.

Pick A Winner

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In China there are plenty of interesting things to see.  Shanghai itself has no shortage of big name attractions and local color.  Before the move, I was looking forward to seeing some of this first hand.  I had been warned that sometimes living in China would be uncomfortable, but I was sure that living in Shanghai would provide opportunities that overshadowed any of this discomfort.  For a Westerner, the city can seem crowded and dirty, but once again I credited my previous experiences living abroad with preparing me to live outside my comfort zone.  I tried to arm myself with the knowledge that would have me ready to hit the ground running once we arrived.  But as always, the Grumpy Laowai found out the hard way that there is no way to adequately prepare yourself for the day-to-day experience of living in China.  I knew about the spitting and I soon learned about the public urination, but no one thought to warn me about one of the most common sights here in Shanghai: nose picking.

Since the big move two years ago, I have witnessed many, many incidents involving strangers and their boogers.  I have children, so I am not going to pretend that nose picking is something I have never seen.  I have spent a fair amount of my time discouraging people from sticking their fingers up their noses.  I have taught elementary school so you know I have been given many opportunities to encourage the use of tissues and to discuss the merits of hand washing.  Elementary school kids pick their noses and they tend to do it with little thought about those around them.  After a few years of teaching combined with parenting toddlers I was fairly certain there were few surprises left for me when it came to boogers. I should never have underestimated the power of China.

Naturally, China cannot ignore the opportunity for a challenge.  When I arrive confident in having seen it all, China loves to kick me in the face.  China plays to win, and, let me tell you, elementary school has nothing on China when it comes to nose picking.  No sir.  China has made picking your nose into a sport and the local citizens here in Shanghai are professionals.

Let me clarify by saying that I understand people sometimes need to pick their noses.  I myself am in possession of a nose that I have occasionally felt the need to pick.  I am not putting myself on a pedestal here.  But for most people, myself included, this is one of those needs that is best taken care of quickly and in private followed by a good hand washing.  Not so for my friendly fellow subway goers and supermarket shoppers, apparently.

Here the picking is done in public and with an obscene amount of booger contemplation.  The kind of activity that if I were to observe it from a person in the United States I would also hope was coming accompanied by an adult diaper.  At the most ridiculous times people will stick their fingers up their noses and begin a thorough investigation.  Conversation never skips a beat, people never blink, and the results are then produced as if in the privacy of one’s own home.  Usually the nose picker will then continue using that hand to hold the middle bar in our subway car to steady himself or go on pushing her shopping cart.  It is communal living at its best, folks.

Observing this behavior has begun to severely limit my enjoyment of many of the small pleasures I had once enjoyed in Shanghai.  I am not proud to confess that I used to love going to IKEA here.  It is still Chinese, but there is something comforting about the similarities you find in any IKEA around the world.  When people aren’t tucking themselves into the display bed to take a nap you can pretend you are in some American city or Sweden or France.

As you do

As you do

http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/07/photos-ikeas-customers-in-china-make-themselves-very-much-at-home/260417/

One of my favorite things about the IKEA here is the fact that you can buy an ice cream cone for one rmb.  That is like getting an ice cream for free!  If I had one of my kids with me, we would each enjoy a super cheap nondairy ice cream cone after our time shopping in what could have been an IKEA anywhere in the world.  But China can’t let me have these little moments forever and you know it wasn’t long before something came along to ruin these outings.  And so here’s where we see the nice young man who usually makes our ice cream cones with his index finger shoved up his nose all the way to the second knuckle.  This is, of course, followed by him examining the results of this treasure hunt before turning to grab a cone and filling it with ice cream.  Suffice it to say Team Erickson’s IKEA ice cream days were over.   Oh, China.  You don’t play fair.

China Crazy

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I will admit to always feeling a little frantic when it comes time to leave the US and return to China.  There are always things that needed to be done that never got checked off our list, people we wanted to see who we weren’t able to connect with, places we wanted to go that never quite worked out.  There is the sadness at leaving behind family and friends.  The last day or so I start to feel panicky.  The last few times it has been very, very hard to organize myself to actually get on that plane.  I don’t want to be dramatic, it isn’t like that scene from Dead Man Walking, but those last few steps onto the plane seem to happen in slow motion.  I’m not the only one who feels this way.  I won’t name any names, but other expats have mentioned feeling their hearts constrict in those minutes before the plane takes off.  I am usually the lady wrangling her kids while taking deep breaths and hoping they start drink service ASAP so I can get a glass of wine.  Yes, even on the morning flights.

So imagine my surprise when people posted this on their Facebook pages:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2399317/Alaska-diversion-Delta-New-York-Shanghai-flight-passenger-Stephanie-Heizmann-Auerbach-charged.html

No, that wasn’t me. We were on a different flight, silly.  And we were in economy.

Of course, people began commenting on how sad it was and how there must have been something else happening.  Maybe she had taken some medication that interacted with the alcohol or maybe she had been drinking profusely in the lounge before she boarded the flight.  I don’t know, of course, and it is horrible that they needed to divert the flight and that she was arrested, but the overwhelming feeling that washed over me after reading the article was relief.  There, I said it, I was relieved.  Relieved that I wasn’t the only crazy one, the only one who occasionally thinks about flipping out on that return flight to Shanghai.  Even better, I am not the one who let the crazy out on the return flight to Shanghai.  Success!  Let’s all consider this a triumph.  Because there is crazy and there is China crazy.  I think we all know which kind of crazy I am.  (I am hoping you all thought “China crazy.”  You did, right?)  China makes you crazy.  You need evidence?  I submit the best comments concerning this incident gathered from friends and acquaintances:

“That’s what 9 years in Shanghai will do to you.”

“She must have been drinking that fake Chinese wine made with turpentine.”

“And they were in first class.  Those seats lay all the way flat!“

“Some people just can’t handle Shanghai.”

“China DOES make you crazy.”

And last but not least: “At least she ended up in an American prison.”

So now when we make the trip back and forth from China to the United States, I will have even more reason to try to keep my crazy to myself.  I certainly don’t want to follow in the footsteps of this trailblazer.   No copycat crime for me– no matter how much I might sometimes dread returning to Shanghai. Of course, if we are in economy then all bets are off.

Hulk Smash!

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Frustration.  It is a common element in my dealings here in China.  It isn’t surprising, really.  I speak very little Chinese.  I can’t read characters.  I spend my time muddling through.  This requires me to be patient—patient with my children, patient with my neighbors, patient with myself.  But it turns out I am not a patient person.  I have limited patience especially in the face of constant frustration.   Which brings me to my newest Shanghai emotion: impotent rage.

Oh yes, the worst kind of anger is the kind you can do nothing to remedy.  In an ideal world, I would be able to fix the thing that is driving me crazy, but China is hardly an ideal world—at least not for me.  Here I can’t always change the thing that is causing me to get angry.  So I have two choices: let it all out in a fantastic show of emotion or tamp it down and try to contain it.  Out in public I usually choose to keep the anger in.  While I am sure many Shanghainese would love for me to pitch a screaming stomping fit, my pride keeps me from doing this.  Most of the time.  At least some of the time.   But the anger containment isn’t working so well, either.

My body is notorious for responding to stress that my brain thinks we have well under control.  The results are always spectacular.  Like the time my neck refused to work while I waited to see if I had been accepted to graduate school, for example.  While my sister found it hilarious that I needed to hold my head up using my hands as a brace, it wasn’t very convenient.  The result of my new anger management issues here in Shanghai is equally debilitating.  I have started to get migraine headaches.

At first I thought it was the pollution or the fact that I am probably not drinking enough of our frequently delivered bottled water, but now I am beginning to see the connections.  I start to get frustrated—about the crowds, or not being able to get a taxi when I need one, or about something simple taking all day—and I can feel the headache starting.  If I have had a few frustrating days in a row then there will be no escaping the migraine.  I try to do things to alleviate the stress.  But China is the stress.  And here even my stress relievers can be stressful.  You know when Bruce Banner is about to turn into the Hulk? That is me in Shanghai.  Which means summer vacation can’t come fast enough.

My Lungs Feel Better Already!

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Remember the Air Quality Index?  The wonderful way of telling everyone just how bad the air we are breathing today might be?  It just got more wonderful!  Check out this new idea– cute little pixies to tell you the air is so very gross you should just stay inside!  Who can feel bad about pollution when confronted with this?

I particularly like how when the pollution gets serious the tears really start to flow.  So sad, but still so cute!  Horrible.

 

Shoulder to Shoulder

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One of the things that still always surprises me about China is the lack of personal space.  By now it should be commonplace to spend most of the day shoulder to shoulder with a million other people, but I am still using my Lamaze breathing at the grocery store.  It requires deep breathing for me to hold it together when the person behind me in line has their chest completely pressed against my back.  This is especially irritating when they have chosen to position themselves as close as possible merely to belabor the point that they think the line is moving too slowly.  As if getting extremely close to me will persuade me to speed things up.  The subway is crowded to the point that on more than one occasion someone has sneezed on my back and been so close that my hair flew forward as if a stiff breeze had blown through the car. And, yes, that experience is as horrifying as you imagine.

This lack of personal space also means there is a general lack of privacy about almost everything.  There are plenty of things you aren’t supposed to talk about in China, but apparently very few things you wouldn’t do in public.  Children, especially the potty training ones, are frequently seen relieving themselves over trashcans and in the gutter.  People loudly spit.  I saw more men peeing in the bushes here in our first week than I did during an entire semester of wilderness education in college.  Noses and ears get picked and the findings closely examined in plain view of everyone.  Some of these things are cultural, but many of them are just the result of living shoulder to shoulder every day, all day.  When you want to see something special and everyone else wants to see it too, you all go together and stand shoulder to shoulder there.  You want to see the lanterns at Yu Gardens?  So does everyone else in Shanghai.  Should we all go on Sunday?  Of course!  As my neighbor says, “That’s China.”  But he is Chinese so his shoulder shrug is really just my signal to get over it.

As someone who loves to have alone time, China can be disconcerting.  For me there is too much closeness—too much bumping and pushing—and not any of the things that I am used to happening with so much touching.  There is never the “excuse me” or the “sorry,” only more jostling.  My Chinese teacher admits that hugging and touching like the Americans or the Europeans do makes him uncomfortable.  It is too familiar.  Which makes it impossible for me to understand how he can be fine with the familiarity of having your entire body squashed between two complete strangers and not feel the need to mumble some sort of apology when your elbow whacks one of them in the stomach.  Apparently, those are two very different situations.

A few days ago, I was planting primroses in the containers out in front of the house.  As I worked, one of the guys who cleans up around the compound kept inching closer and closer.  When we were shoulder to shoulder he asked me why I wasn’t pulling out all the old flowers.  They were “bu hao”—not good.  He pretended to sweep my front steps as he stalked me around the planters giving me advice.  I am actually pretty sure they are “bu hao,” but having him insert himself into the situation made me determined to ignore his advice.  Why so close?  Why so intrusive?  I am sure he just thought he was helping the crazy lady who wasn’t smart enough to hire someone to take care of her planters for her.  The poor, poor lady who doesn’t know dead flowers when she sees them.  “No, no,” I had insisted and made him get even closer to show him the buds and the green leaves coming in on the old plants.  “Look here.  This is good.”  And what could he do but press his face close to mine and examine the evidence.  In an effort to have him give me my space I had invited him to get nearly cheek to cheek.  “Ok,” he had shrugged, obviously not convinced, but mercifully pretending to sweep away toward the street.

And so it goes here in China.  As I push back harder and harder, people get closer and closer.   The more I howl and shake my fist, the more China leans in and breathes down my neck.   But apparently “that’s China” and China doesn’t mind making me uncomfortable.

An Open Letter to the Eastern European Caricature at My International Gym

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Dear Fellow Gym User,

Please accept my sincere congratulations on becoming a member of this gym.  I think you will enjoy your time here.  The facilities really are second to none.  I am certain you will come to appreciate the abundance of clean towels in the locker room and the varied selections at the juice bar.

Now that we are on friendly terms, I hope you will forgive me if I admit that originally I had hoped you were just a hotel guest.  This is, after all, a hotel gym and plenty of people are here only for a few days and then they disappear never to been seen again.  So that first morning when you showed up, monopolizing several machines at once, I was hopeful that you were just passing through.  Normally, I try not to notice other gym patrons.  I try to concentrate on my workout with as little social interaction as possible.  But you managed to force me out of my routine.  From the moment you arrived on the scene my time at the gym was forever changed.

That unitard you were wearing was definitely a bold choice.  I have seen many things here in China, but a large Eastern European man in a tiny unitard is a first.  I was half expecting to see some amateur wresting break out on the mats over by the punching bags.  Imagine my disappointment when you merely paced around while the rest of us made use of the treadmills.  It takes cajones to pull that look off.  And you certainly have those.  That was difficult to ignore.  That outfit was tight.  And while I know there are many things in this country that involve extra services and hidden meanings, this is not a “gym” in the way that many of the places you might have recently visited might be “massage parlors.”  So those two beautiful Chinese girls?  Yeah, they are actually trying to work out.  I don’t think they were hoping you would come over to watch the trainer put them through their paces.  And the grunting?  You weren’t even exercising!   That was truly unnecessary.  But, to each his own!  I hope you didn’t catch the particularly sour look I shot you from over by the elliptical machines.  We didn’t know each other then and I had not yet come to understand your special charms.

After that performance, I wasn’t expecting to have you turn up the next morning with an even more impressive outfit!  That tracksuit was a thing of beauty—shiny and tight with elastic at both the wrists and the ankles.  Amazing, really.  Was it waterproof?  It was the kind of thing only Borat would wear, but there you were, rocking that outfit like no one’s business.  I was hoping you might actually work out.  There are weights here, you know.  You could lift some, if the mood struck you.  Or you could take a class.  I hear spinning is popular here.  Just a suggestion.  It might help with some of what I can only assume is an excess of pent up energy.  Or a serious mental disorder.  Why else would you have ignored all those fancy machines in favor of standing in that corner panting and sweating?  Yes, I noticed you had fixated on some more of those lovely Chinese ladies.  They do seem to be everywhere here!  Of course, they didn’t give you the opportunity to introduce yourself, what with all that exercising they were doing!  But don’t worry!  With your new gym membership you will have plenty of chances to bond with them over by the water dispenser.

So let me just close by welcoming you once again.  Asia is always in need of more men making confident fashion choices in unexpected places.  You are certainly a trendsetter in that area.  While I have been less than impressed with your exercise regimen, there are plenty of trainers here that can help you with that!  Just make an appointment.  And I am sure those ladies you fancy will soon come around to your unique way of presenting yourself.  How will they be able to resist your bravado?  Your steely gaze?  Your sweaty but silent advances?  If you keep coming back, again and again, eventually they will get used to you.  I am certain the same will be true for me.  I am positive it is only a matter of time before you and I become fast friends.

Yours in fitness,

Gwen

 

Bad Air

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Lately here in Shanghai we have had quite a few days where the air quality has been labeled “red.”  We look at the AQI, the Air Quality Index, to see if the air is too dangerous to breathe.  Red means it is “unhealthy” and the recommendation is to keep kids and the elderly inside.  If you have “sensitivities” or heart or lung disease then you should plan to stay inside too.  This means that on red air days I get an email from Henry’s school informing me that there will be no outside recess.  The same usually goes for the older kids even though their school is closer to the ocean and allegedly has “better air.”  You hear that here constantly.  Pudong has “fresher” air than Puxi because of the trees.  When the Chinese go on vacation they comment on the quality of the air and the “freshness” of the breezes.  This seemed strange to me at first, but now I can see why.  When you live with pollution constantly, clear skies can be shocking.  You gape at fluffy clouds and stars at night.  You forget what they look like after you live without them for a while.

When we first arrived, I had no idea that the air quality was a big deal.  I thought of the AQI the same way I think of that terror threat scale in the United States.  It is good to know that it is around, but I never pay any attention to it.  It stayed at red for so long that red ceased to mean anything at all.  For me the air quality idea was the same.  Does it ever get to purple?  Or to that brownish color that indicates we should all stay inside and remain perfectly still?  Once when one of Lucas’ friends didn’t come over on his bike as planned, we were all surprised to learn that his mother had refused to let him out of the house due to the air quality.  What?  It had been a lovely day—one of the few with blue skies and mild temperatures—and I had let my kids run around outside all afternoon.  Parenting fail, apparently.  I knew Shanghai had pollution, but I had been expecting something like those cartoon factories with black smoke billowing for everyone to see.  I hadn’t realized that a beautiful day could still be a heavily polluted one.

The past few days, however, you can really see the pollution.  My brain still tricks me into thinking it is just fog, or that it might rain, but really it is just pollution.  Pollution so thick that you can’t see through it sometimes.  Inexplicably, my Chinese teacher prefers the pollution to rain.  He would rather have the gray hazy pollution than drizzle.  I counter that at least the rain washes the place clean, but he disagrees.  Then the pollution is just in the water and the soil, he says, but that is the price for Chinese development.  Just wait, he says, the factories are slowly moving.  They are going to Cambodia, Thailand, and Vietnam.  Soon tourists will stop talking about their beautiful blue skies and their fresh, clean air.  Then they will pay the price for developing and China can clean up a little bit.  But for now, the haze continues and China’s progress marches on.