Good Times at Family Mart

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.

Smuggler’s Blues

Written last week on the plane ride back to sweet, sweet shopping freedom…

Will one day be used for blackmail...

Will one day be used for blackmail…

We’re on our way back to the USA for the summer. This year has been a little light on postings. I apologize. Apparently, working full time means less time to get finished things onto the blog. I do have quite a few things started and abandoned that could perhaps still make an appearance. I have big writing goals for the summer. I always have these, of course. Maybe this year I will be able to meet some of them! Keep your fingers crossed.

But for now, an answer to a burning question! People often want to know what we bring home in the summer and the kinds of things we smuggle back in our suitcases to Shanghai. Maybe “smuggle” is the wrong word since China has never really bothered to investigate our suitcases in all the times we have gone back and forth. When we lived in Australia, I used to get stopped all the time and have things confiscated. Ranch dressing mix never made it in. It has dried milk powder in it and for the Aussies milk products of any kind were a no-no. My bags always got a thorough search.  Going from the USA to China, TSA always goes through the bags as well.  We get those nice little notes that inform us someone has looked through our stuff.  I am sure they wonder what the hell we are doing, bringing what must look like a crazy amount of Target with us as we head to the Middle Kingdom.  The Chinese probably care about some things coming in, but my ever-growing list of must haves isn’t anything they are interested in wasting their time finding. China is a busy, busy place. China has no time to worry about my suitcases full of contraband.  They wave us through every single time.

To get ready for vacation, I always calculate my bags and their weight. But let’s be honest, I am only really concerned with weight on the trip back to Shanghai. I can bring home three 70 pound bags and so can Mark. The kids only get one 50 pound bag each, but still this means I can bring back 9 bags! So what do I bring from China to the USA? Empty suitcases, of course! I put bags inside bags to be sure I have enough of them for the return journey to Shanghai. I should also add that on the way back to China, those bags are filled to within half a pound of their maximum weight. Sometimes the agent checking us in will clap in appreciation.  My skills are that impressive.  So what’s in the bags?  All this…

Things I Bring Back from the United States in No Particular Order:

  1. Peanut Butter
  2. Breakfast Cereal!
  3. Oatmeal
  4. Vitamins
  5. Any and all over the counter medicine
  6. Crackers and Triscuits
  7. Rotel
  8. Lotion
  9. Shampoo
  10. Dog Treats
  11. Granola Bars, Nutragrain Bars, Luna Bars
  12. Dry Onion Soup Mix
  13. Dry Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing Mix
  14. Mayonnaise
  15. Electronic Components for Mark
  16. Spices
  17. Vanilla Extract
  18. Laundry detergent
  19. Chocolate Chips
  20. Shoes that fit for me
  21. Cheap clothes for the kids
  22. Shoes for the kids
  23. Make up
  24. Knitting Supplies
  25. Protein Powder
  26. Mio Drink Drops
  27. Cocoa (for baking)
  28. Cocoa Mix (for the kids to drink)
  29. Panko Bread Crumbs
  30. Cornmeal
  31. Grits
  32. Dog Toys and Bones
  33. Ingredients for anything I want to make for Thanksgiving
  34. American Halloween candy
  35. Halloween costumes
  36. Dog medicine (Heartworm and Flea and Tick)
  37. Cat stuff
  38. Asthma medication
  39. Toothpaste
  40. Tampons
  41. Books for the school’s library
  42. Magic Erasers
  43. Dishwashing detergent
  44. BBQ Sauce (Sweet Baby Ray’s)

Yes, I know that many of these things are MADE IN CHINA.  The dirty little secret here is that those things are made for export.  You cannot buy them in China.  Many of the other things I am hauling internationally are available in China.  In order to buy them, however, I need to get a second job or take out a loan.  It is very hard to just let that go when you are standing in Target and see something priced at $3 knowing that in Shanghai I would pay so so so much more.  IMG_1398

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

Before you judge, I would like to mention that people we know bring in much crazier things.  Entire blocks of cheddar cheese, for example.  Not the small ones, mind you, but the ones from the deli. They buy the entire block and shove it in their suitcases. Someone else we know brought in a WHOLE LAMB. Yes, that’s what I said. They like lamb and they don’t trust the meat in China. While I was surprised that this managed to be something one could bring in a suitcase, I was also a little jealous that I hadn’t thought of it first. Sometimes desperation will do that to you. If you have a baby you will certainly smuggle baby formula and diapers. Luckily, I am past that stage so instead I have considered bringing back Maryland crab cakes, frozen veggie sausage, and frozen biscuits. What is left of my good sense stops me. For now. But you never know. If you happen to see us in the airport and we have a suitcase that looks a little, um, leaky, please just ignore us.

 

 

Pet Zoo

In Shanghai we keep accumulating more pets.  First there was Ming Ming the street kitten, adopted under duress.  Lucas had been begging for a cat and so China obliged by letting a stray have a litter of kittens in our utility closet.  For once I was ahead of the game and after I encouraged all the neighborhood kids to peek at the kittens over and over, the mama cat finally wised up and moved them all as far away from Team Erickson as possible.  But China is not easily outsmarted; so early in the spring another brand new kitten appeared, crying and helpless on our neighbors’ sidewalk.  Lucas was loading the poor thing into a box before any of the other neighborhood kids even had an idea that there might be an available kitten.  I will admit that I went soft.  She really was cute—so tiny and helpless.  Even once she started growing like crazy she was still pretty adorable.  Evidence:

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And now?

Cat Yoga

Cat Yoga

Mean as a snake.  Oh, Ming Ming is still cute, but after we left her with only the dog and the ayi for company all summer long she has developed some issues.  She loves the dog with an unnatural passion, for one, and she barely tolerates people.  Her favorite activity is hiding in random shopping bags and launching herself at unsuspecting children.  After Ming Ming the Terrible, I vowed that we were done with pets.  This, of course, is like daring the universe to drop something in your lap.  And being in China, you know it won’t be your ordinary kind of thing, right?  The kids were begging for a rabbit so what did China decide to let loose all over the neighborhood?  Bunnies, of course! Well played, China.  Well played.

The specifics aren’t important, but let’s just say they involved Chinese New Year fireworks, multiple neighbors chasing rabbits, and, ultimately, the Erickson children bringing one of the escapees into our house.  This time I stood firm.  No rabbit.  Mark was less steadfast.  We now have a bunny.

The important thing here is for us all to realize the ultimate silver lining.  Yes, I have an extra pet to house and feed.  Yes, I am yelling constantly about the care of the rabbit.  But without the rabbit I would never have had the need to go to a Chinese pet supply store!  I would never been able to compare the ease and reliability of yet another American institution to the haphazard unpredictability of a Chinese one!

Yes, over the Chinese New Year holiday I found myself trekking across the river to go to one of the bigger pet supply stores in Shanghai.  I would love to say it came highly recommended, but a tepid and reserved recommendation was enough for me.  Rabbits need stuff, apparently, and our local pet shop did not have anything even resembling rabbit supplies.  No matter!  There are other places with the things we need!  And so off I went to Pet Zoo.

I can see why you might be thinking that Shanghai’s Pet Zoo is like Pet Smart or PetCo in the United States.  You would be wrong to think this.  Does Pet Smart feature disco lighting?  I think not.  Does PetCo have the feel of a post apocalyptic 7-11?  No, it does not.  Only Pet Zoo can achieve these things.  Only Pet Zoo.

Upon arrival I was surprised that I needed to take an elevator up to the store.  I was even more surprised to see this sign in the elevator:IMG_0803

Points for honesty, I suppose. Do not bring your exotic pet for boarding at Pet Zoo if you expect it to be alive when you come to pick it back up.  Consider yourself warned.

There are pets for sale at Pet Zoo in case you want to pick up something to replace the iguana they were unable to keep alive for you during your trip to Thailand.  I thought about taking a few photos of the cats they had labeled “Garfield” except the amount of cat snot on the plexiglass obscured their snarling little faces.  I also refrained from photographing the various rodents and such they had in open bins at the back of the store.  The rabbit food and hay was back there, so I looked around as I picked up my things.  The hamsters, guinea pigs, and rabbits are all in these plastic enclosures.   I assume this encourages lots of little hands to sample the merchandise.  As I passed the guinea pigs, they all began making a horrible racket and only stopped their squeaking when I clucked my tongue and shushed them.  I am the guinea pig whisperer!  My elation at my new found powers did not last long, however.  I turned my attention to the hamsters and discovered a terrifying truth about PetZoo.  The hamsters were all burrowed into the cedar shavings when I looked into their little cage.  You know how sometimes it looks like animals are dead but they are really just sleeping?  This is not always the case at Pet Zoo.   Sometimes they are really just dead.  Sometimes you can be sure of this because their front end is missing.

I would like to take a moment now to remind you that all the things on this blog ACTUALLY HAPPEN.  I wish I was making this part up, but Pet Zoo had only the back end of a hamster in one of those cages.  How he got that way I am not sure, but I am pretty confident that the other hamsters knew something about it.  He had been there for a while—long enough for his pitiful little rib bones to be dry and for there to be no sign of anything bloody.  The kids were appalled that I didn’t make a huge scene in the store, but come on!  No matter what the staff said it wouldn’t have made a difference.  Either they knew about the hamster murder and ignored it or they didn’t have any idea about their cannibal hamsters.  Six of one, half a dozen of the other.  You say potato…  Sometimes you decide to just pay for your rabbit food and get out while the getting’s good.  On the up side, I am pretty sure Pet Zoo would be willing to sell you a half price hamster.  (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

IMG_0870

Revisiting the Meat Section of Carrefour (Or Why We Don’t Buy Much Meat in China)

Remember when I described the meat section of Carrefour? How the meat is in these big open bins and you choose the pieces you want? Here is more proof that I am not crazy and that Chinese shoppers value “creative” solutions to problems. Enjoy!

Pick A Winner

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.

Hoarding, Shanghai Style

Over the summer, a family friend asked about my daily routine.  How had I been filling my time in Shanghai, particularly since all three kids were in school most of the day?  I know most people expect an exotic answer.  I should have been doing things that one can only do here in China, right?  I should have spent my time doing things that make my old American life seem boring.  Sorry folks, my answer sounded surprisingly mundane.  My days last spring could have passed for those of your typical American housewife.  I got the kids up and hustled them off to the bus stop.  I went to the gym.  I thought about what to make for dinner.  It sounds boring.  Believe me, I know.  All these things might have been the same even if we had never decided to move to China.  But being in China adds an element that is difficult to really convey when I explain my life to people who don’t live here.  Even the most mundane tasks become special challenges.  And these challenges have begun to make crazy things seem totally reasonable.

I know some of you have seen the American tv show “Hoarders.”  Of course you have!  You can go ahead and admit it.  Everyone loves to see all the ridiculous or disgusting things the people on that show have packed into their houses.  They always have reasonable explanations for how things got so out of control, how “collecting” became something bigger or saving for a rainy day turned into being unable to open your front door.  They all had perfectly good reasons to start accumulating cats or to begin carpeting their floors with dirty laundry.  So how did they all end up with a house full of crazy?  And how does this apply to Team Erickson?  Well, apparently Shanghai has turned me into a hoarder.

Currently I am hoarding cheese.  Yes, cheese.  Specifically, I am hoarding that orange colored cheddar cheese.  I no longer care if it is mild or sharp.  It just has to be orange.  I know that cheddar cheese should not really be orange.  I know that white cheddar cheese tastes just as good, maybe better.  This means nothing to me.  What matters to me now is one simple fact: Blocks of orange cheddar cheese used to be available everywhere here.  Now, they are impossible to find.  Predictably, we now cannot possibly live without this cheese.  We need, need, need this cheese so when I find a store selling a few blocks, I buy them all.  Every. Single. Package.  I am not exaggerating for effect here.  I clear the entire shelf.  I leave a gaping hole where the cheese used to be.  I have no remorse.  I don’t think of the other expat moms also on the hunt for this cheese.  I don’t feel sorry that I have most likely ruined their attempts at taco night.  Sometimes I cackle as I haul my groceries home.  Cheese!  Orange cheese!

There have been other things I have had to hoard: sour cream, Progresso minestrone soup, our favorite kind of granola.  I made Mark clear the shelves of Pimm’s in anticipation of summer.  Other Shanghai moms have expressed their frustration when something we have all come to expect will always be around suddenly—inexplicably—disappears.  Multiple ladies are currently searching Shanghai stores for the orange cheddar cheese.  We share recent sightings, gloat over our prize catches.  Not everyone leaves a bare shelf, but most come very, very close.  During the sour cream shortage of 2012, one friend filled her freezer with the containers she found.  She created such an impressive stockpile that her husband became alarmed when he realized there was no room for any other food.  They had a freezer full of sour cream. She needed the sour cream, but was quick to explain herself to me.  “You’re from the South!  You understand.  How am I supposed to cook without sour cream?”  Oh, I understood.  I have filled Henry’s closet with cans of soup, organic long life milk and imported peanut butter.  I am in no position to judge.

 

Hang Loose (Otherwise Known as Six)

Along with the language, there have been a few other things that cause miscommunication here for me in China.  I do an obscene amount of shopping here.  Sometimes, I am in a nice Western style store with set prices, English speaking staff, and blasting air conditioning in the summer.  Sometimes, however, I am in a market or a warehouse, or on the street with vendors who might know a little bit of English, but not enough for me to get by with my extremely imperfect Chinese.  I am getting better at communicating, of course, and I am frequently amazed by how much I understand.  But the important thing to remember here is that these things are in context.  No one ever calls me on the phone to randomly start talking about prices and no one in the markets ever tries to start a conversation with me about things outside the realm of buying and selling.  This makes it easier.  There is no scrambling around in my brain searching for the few words I know in a sentence to try to guess at meanings.  When I am in a restaurant, people talk to me about what I want to order almost as if we were following a lesson in a textbook.  When I am buying clothes at the fabric market, people talk prices and quality.  I don’t always get it, but I can get by.  One thing I didn’t anticipate (an unfortunate theme thus far here in Shanghai for me) is the differences in hand signals and symbols.

I should have seen this coming, of course.  As an English teacher I have taught this lesson myself a million times.  I choose to focus on all of the vulgar symbols and gestures because those tend to be the ones my students need to know.  In Sydney the foreign students were always amazed that gestures they thought were harmless were actually the reason they were getting into so many fist fights.  Who knew?  Luckily, I have managed to steer clear of accidentally offending anyone (as far as I know!), but I have discovered that my ability to communicate with my Chinese salespeople and taxi drivers has been less than successful because of the way I count on my fingers.  I don’t know how to count correctly!

The first time it happened, I was at the flower market and arguing over prices with one of the vendors.  I was having trouble understanding her, and she didn’t have a calculator or pen and paper to help clarify things.  She kept putting her two pointer fingers together in the shape of a cross as she repeated the same information over and over.  Fingers in a cross?  What did that mean?  The same thing happened a few minutes later when a vendor gave me what I thought was the symbol for  “hang loose.”  It seemed a little out of place for what we were talking about. Hang loose?!  Sure, but how much were the flowers?

Later, my Chinese teacher cleared things up for me.  Apparently the Chinese use specific hand symbols for numbers.  Symbols that I was seeing, but not understanding.  One through five were the same, but I could start with the pointer or the pinky.  Once we got to six, things got crazy.  There was the hang loose.  Seven was like a shadow puppet.  Eight was what I would think was air guns.  Nine was scrunched fingers that I had a hard time replicating.  And ten?  There were three possibilities for ten, one of which was the crossing fingers using the pointers from both hands.  Or you could cross your first two fingers on one hand.  Or you could make a fist.  Which one was more common?   It depends, apparently.  So you might see any of them.   Three lukewarm cheers for variety!

So you want to know how to count like a pro in Mandarin?  Want to add those quirky hand signals?

Screen-Shot-2012-08-02-at-8.44.03-PM-640x289

You are welcome.

When Worlds Collide

Mornings for me are always the worst.  I will confess that I am not a morning person.  Surprise!  Getting the kids up and out the door doesn’t usually help my morning brighten up much.  Lucas is a morning person and loves to be up before the sun has even considered rising.  Ava and Henry, well, they have been known to huddle under the covers for as long as possible on school days.  This morning was no exception as we organized ourselves to make the mighty lurch out the door.  I deliberately “forgot” to remind the kids that this was technically Super Bowl Sunday in the United States.  No need to upset the little Ravens fans any more than usual on a Monday.  Henry was dragging and then spit toothpaste down the front of his only clean PE sweatshirt.  As usual the uniform doesn’t really help us when we need to decide between two equally dirty options. We settled on the toothpaste.  It was less offensive than the lunch remnants clinging to Henry’s next cleanest shirt.  Luckily, for Henry cleanliness isn’t something he worries about so he was out the door and into the school building with little fuss.

Next on the agenda: a brisk walk up the street to City Shop—one of my disappointing and overpriced expat grocery stores.  We are dangerously close to running out of all sorts of things as I scramble to finish my dissertation.  I had planned on giving the ayi the day off so that I could work in peace and avoid doing any shopping.  Alas, getting in touch with her proved impossible and then there was nothing left to do but head to the store.  I could have gone to our trusty Carrefour or Metro, but I am still somewhat wedded to the American brands for our cleaning supplies.  Sometimes I strike out if I don’t go to the expat grocery.  Our ayi has enough experience that she is beyond using only water to clean everything (something other expats warned me about with looks of grave danger on their faces), but the Chinese stuff has proven to be mostly water anyway.  One bottle of bleach smelled suspiciously like rainwater and not in a pleasant way.  Other things have worked fine but lack the scents that my American brain has come to recognize as clean.  So rather than deal with melon and aloe scented toilets, I am still paying a million dollars to have my bathroom smell like lemons.  Please try to keep your snickering to a minimum.

Today walking to the store involved more face to face encounters with Shanghai.  Every few steps here can bring a new assault on your senses.  Yes, it is dirty.  There was more stuff on the sidewalk today that needed to be avoided both with my eyes and with my feet.  There is plenty to see.  Everyone has laundry out or meat hanging from window sills to cure.  Today though it was more about smells.   Sometimes Shanghai smells wonderful.  For a whole block you can sometimes get a whiff of what your neighbor is making for dinner or you might pass by some particularly fragrant plant.  Other times, just a few steps away, you get hit full in the face with the smell of Shanghai sewer.  Sometimes Shanghai stinks.   Combine that with the throat burning pollution and it can make for one exciting stroll.

And while I was concentrating on the smells I happened to overhear something from my past.  As I was walking along I could hear one of the dialogues from a textbook I used to teach getting louder and louder.  Ah, Headway Intermediate.  The British version, not the American.  The dialogue with the man and the woman discussing what they like to do “at the weekend.”  And I remembered every line of that ridiculous dialogue although it took me a minute to discover where the sound was coming from.  Finally, a tiny Chinese woman passed me, listening to her phone.  She wasn’t wearing headphones and had the volume cranked up so that she could hear the conversation as she held the phone under her chin.  We didn’t make eye contact, but I am sure I looked ridiculous as a giant grin spread across my face.  And I wore that secret smile all the way down the street.