Most of us had never visited Shanghai, the modern city of 20 million where we would spend nine weeks learning Mandarin Chinese. But we were prepared for the worst.
In the months before our May departure, the American media had not painted a flattering portrait of China.
Athletes were warned of smog in Beijing, journalists feared censorship and protesters called for a boycott of the Olympic Games in response to a history of human rights violations.
So before visiting China, we knew the news reports. We knew the history, the travel guides. But we had yet to know the Chinese people.
Culture shock
The University’s intensive Chinese language program was held at East China Normal University, a leafy green campus with packed basketball courts beside bridge-topped lotus ponds. In the morning, old men and women practiced tai chi by the water as students hung laundry from the windows of their ancient-looking apartments.
Girls teetered across campus in frilly dresses and high heels, carrying parasols to protect their white skin. Or they balanced sideways on the back of their boyfriend’s bicycles, barely wobbling as they passed over speed bumps.
The outdoor track was filled as late as midnight, but without street lamps, the area was pitch black. Some men jogged in khakis and polo shirts, others chatted on their cell phones — some smoked. One student regularly practiced opera.
And at the back gate, there was a feast alternately mouth-watering or gag-inducing: Crawfish, octopus balls, fried dumplings, noodles, meat sticks and more. These cheap, unregulated food stands were staples of the student diet — when not periodically cleared out by police.
Men in rolled-up tank tops hacked and spit. Stray dogs roamed the street, and old women rooted through trash to find bottles to turn in for cash. Late-night revelers shimmied under the locked bars through foul-smelling puddles or climbed over the gate’s spiked top.
These were our first impressions of China: chaotic, unfamiliar and, frankly, dirty. In those early days, we only saw China for how it differed from the United States.
Then we grew close with our teachers, female students in their early 20s. We befriended meat stick vendors, a 9-year old boy on the train, desk attendants and bartenders. With these interactions, slowly we learned to understand, if only slightly, the Chinese.
Lost in translation
It may come as no surprise that, in a land of karaoke parlors on every corner, the concept of awkward does not seem to exist. No question is too personal, and no interaction is off-limits, especially when speaking with a foreigner.
This could be flattering — to a fault. At a popular tourist destination in Chengdu, a city in southwestern China, we were swarmed by a tour bus of rural Chinese and asked to pose for pictures. We needed only say “ni hao” and were enthusiastically complimented on our — admittedly pathetic — accents.
It could also be uncomfortable. My roommate and I were accosted by a teenage girl in a convenience store, who complimented the roundness of our eyes and demanded our phone numbers so she could visit us in America. Many students were in aggressive pursuit of “foreign friends.”
One afternoon, a few of us nervously approached a group of Chinese students at a basketball court. We were dressed in orange and blue mesh shorts and T-shirts. They wore cool shoes, tight jeans and complicated hair cuts.
The Chinese students were a little taken aback — it was not every day that sweaty foreigners approached them, miming and fumbling the words for “want to play?” But a friendly game developed, and exclamations in Chinglish accented every shot.
I leaned against the metal fence and watched. A Chinese man hovered nearby. At a pre-departure orientation, we were warned not to discuss politics, but I was eager to practice my Chinese.
First, he asked whether I thought China was safer than America. Didn’t all Americans own guns? he asked.
I had a similarly illuminating conversation with one of our teachers. She told me that the Chinese prefer Hillary Clinton. I told her Barack Obama had won the Democratic nomination.
“Ah, so Americans think black is better than woman?”
I was startled, searched for the word for “issues” or “platform,” and had to settle for “We think both are OK!” Then I thought — well, that wasn’t too far from how the American media portrayed the election, was it?
Racism certainly exists in China and does not carry the same taboo as in the United States. Yet this is also a nation obsessed with American basketball players, particularly Kobe Bryant. There may have been posters of gold medalist Liu Xiang across campus, but the students were wearing LeBron James jerseys.
In fact, in conversations with younger students, perceptions of the United States were overwhelmingly positive. Middle school students I interviewed described Americans as “independent,” “free” and “open.” They were also fluent in American pop music and TV.
Still, many Chinese we spoke with were hyper-sensitive to perceived slights against their country. An icy glare met the Korean student who joked about toxic Chinese products in one classroom activity.
Whether it was salary, weight, marital status, nationality or the quality of our Chinese, all were game for discussion. But we learned to avoid anything approaching criticism of the Chinese government. For most of us, raised with political satire and overuse of the word “awkward,” this was a cultural reverse.
Spitting, staring and standing in line
One of the first phrases we learned in class was “I did not expect Shanghai to be such a modern, globalized city!” Shanghai is an increasingly popular spot for tourists, with clubs and restaurants that rival any in New York City. It is the commercial center of China and it will host a world exposition in 2010 to show off its transformation.
On weekends, we would often visit the French Concession, an area in Shanghai once designed for French inhabitants, or the Bund, a street filled with colonial-era buildings. Foreigners abounded in these areas, and we found Indian food, Mexican bars and an English pub where a Chinese band played hits by the Who and the bartender looked at us blankly when we ordered in Chinese.
But just when we wanted to throw up our hands and curse globalization, a trip to the Shanghai Zoo would put things back in perspective.
An American-born Chinese friend explained it to me like this: Americans visit zoos in awe of the animals, not daring to disturb them in their natural habitats. The Chinese are merely amused by their presence.
I watched visitors pour water bottles on a bear in order to make it move. Children hopped over fences and picked weeds to feed deer as their parents snapped photos. Many of the animals lived in concrete enclosures, within reach of curious onlookers.
No matter how modern and globalized Shanghai has become, distinctly Chinese habits remain. Traffic is terrifying. Bikes and motorcycles weave in and out of lanes — in fact, stoplights, lane markers and crosswalks are more like suggestions than the law. Buses approach within inches of each other — and pedestrians — and horns blare day and night. Yet it was rare to ever see an accident.
Before the Olympics, China issued rules to the citizens of Beijing: No spitting, no staring, stand in line and don’t curse.
No doubt, these customs might appall an American tourist in town to watch beach volleyball. But we were not so eager to see them go.
The spitting, staring and mis-translated signs were just as much China to us as the Pearl Tower, Forbidden City or Great Wall. And if the Chinese government someday succeeds in wiping them out, well, I might just feel a little regret.
Coming home
After nine weeks and visits to Beijing, Chengdu, Hangzhou and Shanghai, we returned home.
We watched on TV as China delivered a stunning, glittering Olympic opening ceremony on a scale unlike anything the world has seen, or is likely to see again. The Chinese audiences were gracious and polite. We also watched as China blatantly lied about the age of its gymnasts, despite clear evidence.
In a way, the Olympics summarized my experiences in trying to understand China. Wherever I went, I encountered helpful, friendly people and beautiful scenery. But the reality of the Chinese government was always in the back of my mind.
I still cannot hope to fully understand China, for all of its contradictions, thousands of years of history and billion people. But at least I found stories of my own, beyond the newspaper headlines.
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