Dirty, Dirty Country

The water's not running; hasn't been since yesterday morning. Apparently one can't count on even contaminated water to be in sufficient supply. Though I think the problem is just in our building. Alison tells me the last time this happened it took three days to come back on, so this has her more determined that we should find a new apartment for the fall. Alison bought two jugs of water to wash her hair with during this crisis. I think I might just head to the pool today - it's been a few days since I last swam, anyway. And besides, the pool showers have complimentary shampoo.

The other night I went out for dinner with Joe at a restaurant near his place. Joe doesn't really like much Chinese food, and I was happy for a break from it. The place is called Tabasco (and does actually have Tabasco on the tables, in two varieties). Apparently it is run by Germans, and it has something of an "internatial" décor - lots of countries' flags and such, intermingled with some Chinese lanterns. Joe points out that most Western restaurants with such a theme probably wouldn't include the North Korean flag in it. Anyway, they serve a number of Southwest dishes, though the overall selection is pretty broad. They took our drink order and I figured I'd take it easy and just have tea (which in most places here is just brought to the table by default). I'm glad they came back a few minutes later to confirm which kind of tea I wanted because in the interim I had come across the tea in the menu - green tea was sixty or seventy yuan for a pot (about six yuan to the dollar). So I asked for a beer instead, which was five. The waitress's English was pretty good, though it's comical how little phrases can be mis- or overused. She would say "please wait a moment" after every visit to the table. I also got a kick out of her serving my beer. First, it was a wine glass that she poured it into - and she seemed to have mastered a technique to maximize the head. Once she'd filled the glass, she made a little gesture and said, "Sir, please," as might be more typical after being served in a finer, Frencher locale. Oh yeah, and everything was "sir." It all seemed a little ironic as most Mexican-type restaurants I've been to previously aren't exactly high-brow.

Then last night, I was walking to meet up with Alison and gang at a restaurant many foreigners frequent for the two-for-one beer on Fridays. On my way I encountered my first Chinese motorcycle gang. Or at least a procession of somewhere between twelve and twenty two-wheeled vehicles. I use that description because some were scooters. And as if that didn't make it lacking enough in hardcoredom to be denied the title of "gang," many of the bikes were blaring bad pop music, and all were decked out in bright flashing lights.

On Unpleasant Shirtlessness and Swimming Patterns

So Alison went the other day and got us a membership at a local hotel's health club, which includes a pool. So I went swimming for my first time in China. The pool is about 15 metres square, I would venture, so it's hard to know how far I was going. But it was nice to be in the water nonetheless, though a couple of elements kept it from being the ideal aquatic experience: Firstly they forced me to wear a cap. Well first I just refused, saying "wo bu yao" ("I no want") to the guy who offered the cap to me, and getting in the water. Then he sent in a colleague the next time I was stopped at the wall, and she was more insistent, clarifying (after a fashion) that it wasn't a courtesy offer for my comfort. I don't know what they were worried about, what ill effect my hair was expected to have on their pristine (have I noted how much Chinese people like to spit yet? No? Well it's quite a lot) water. Anyway, no matter. Of more annoyance were the fellow pool users who thought it more pleasant to swim around the perimeter of the pool rather than back and forth in a lane. Oh well, I could just use the gogglelessness-induced blindness as an excuse if I ever ran into one of them. Sadly I didn't (me having about twice their speed and twice their weight I'd have had eight times the energy going into such a collision).

This brings me to courtesy in fitness facilities in general. We had previously been attending (and I still will be, when I don't want to use the pool) another, cheaper (about $1 a visit, rather than $3) gym which enlightened me to the differing standards involved in the exercise experience one might encounter from country to country. Here are some elements of etiquette people might be used to in a weight room in the West:
- Wearing a shirt (especially amongst those with no visible muscles and possibly some extra padding) is generally expected.
- Weights should typically be returned to their rack in some semblance of order. Even if not, it is reasonable to expect a given pair of dumbbells to be found in the approximate vicinity of each other.
- One typically doesn't snack on a loaf of bread whilst sitting on the equipment.
- When you're done your workout, you usually go home, as opposed to sitting on benches (which may be in demand) and chatting with your friends (who are also probably not exercising) indefinitely.

While I'm on a rant, I'll throw out some questions that have come to me in this first month, regarding this country:
- Is it crazy to expect to find toilet paper in any stall, even in nice restaurant?
- What's up with plumbing that doesn't allow you to flush said paper, necessitating a garbage can next to any and every toilet?
- Is the concept of a separate shower stall in an apartment bathroom so difficult to grasp? Or do people like having their whole toilet area soaked in such away that requires shoes in that room all the time?
- What do people think to gain from ogling and shouting "hello" at any foreigner they see in the street?
- Is it too much to as for a waiter to leave give you time to peruse the menu after giving it to you, without standing over you awaiting your order right away?

Okay, that's enough complaining, methinks.

Tune in next time, when I promise to positate the negatory.

Oh, and I've had one request so far to receive these postings by e-mail, so if anyone else wants to get on that list, saving the hassle of checking back here for updates (or learning how to use some newfangled RSS or Atom technology hoo-hah), lemme know.

plus fifteen hours

Well, never really saw any reason to join this blog trend before... but for my own convenience I figure I can write stuff here and avoid having to go over the same things with everyone I end up talking to. So I've been out of Canada for a little over a month now. Let's start from the beginning.

I left Canada in too much of a rush, always figuring in the months leading up that I'd have more time than I did. So a huge thank-you to my parents, and especially Alison's mom Brenda for all the help packing and moving, as well as storing (!) all my stuff, then for the extensive cleaning of the apartment that managed to get virtually all our deposit (something I never thought possible). Thanks also to Ryan for dealing with the sale of my car.

Anyway, China... To cover the bases for those with whom I haven't spoken or written lately, I came here to join Alison, who's teaching English in a city called Changchun. Last year she spent six months doing the same in Chengdu (other corner of the country). I'm thankful to my company for being open to me continuing my job from here, which I have just got pretty much back to full speed on, after some time working out the kinks in this Great Firewalled Internet connection.

I don't want to load all the first month into one posting and put anyone who drops by off ever coming back, so I'll go with one story for now.

I was out for dinner about three weeks ago with Joe, one of Alison's coworkers. Neither of us being great at knowing what things on the menu are, it was fortunately a place with pictures so I just picked something at random that appeared passable. Although it looked a little odd on arrival (not quite what I thought I had pointed at in the menu), it turned out to be very tasty, and I thought what I was eating to be some variety of small, curiously coloured and textured potatoes. It actually wasn't until a couple of days ago in another restaurant that I was convinced otherwise, when I saw the uncooked primary ingredient of what I had had, in a large dish, some of them moving slightly: silkworms.