In China, every foreigner will encounter a common phenomenon
called “The China Moment”. This is when everything you find odd, strange or
amusing about China contrives to ruin your week. What might have been mildly
amusing before- an “only-in-China-would-you-see-that” chuckle- actually and
literally bites you from behind when you’re not looking. A simple example is
the food: we might laugh when we see prawn heads tossed in wan celery, but when
it makes you sick later that evening you’re no finding it funny. China gets the
last laugh. So I am having one of those weeks where everything that could go
wrong in China, is going wrong. But, what a perfect opportunity to blog; at
least from this week’s events comes comedy.
So, “only-in-China-do-you-see” these little fellas:
They are dogs everyone. Little fluffy things that are bred
to look like teddy bears (or Barbie) and, as a result, they can barely walk,
bark or breath especially in the heat we are having. Watching these rats
scuttle along the pavement is a daily amusement. Except that.......one chinese
dog owner decided to buy a wolf. A real, actual wolf (there is probably a
market for them somewhere in China) And when the wolf decided that I was a
threat, it tried to attack me. I can only imagine that as I was lying down on
the grass at the time it spotted me, my rug of blonde hair might’ve resembled
this, a potential enemy:
Except that, I am a human and in this situation I was preeeetty
scared when this huge animal began to stalk me. Typically the owner was no
where to be seen. It’s China. Of course you would let a wolf off its leash. Well,
it is obvious what followed. It went for me and I, panicking (obviously) ran
away and left my iPhone on the park bench. By the time I remembered it had gone,
someone had stolen it. To the thief that took my iPhone, a couple of notes: the
screen is completely broken, but don’t worry it does work; the main button is
also broken but if you unlock the phone you’ll see i’ve added a new on-screen
button.....wait, my iPhone is hardly a catch, and yet we all say “this is China”:
the Chinese can make a use for anything, renovate anything, copy anything and
use anything.
In fact, a good example of that was the other night: some
friends and I were having a beer by ‘the garden’. Finishing my can I was pretty
darn chuffed to be able to throw it, and get it in the bin. Before I had even begun
to celebrate, a small Chinese man scuttled out of the bushes, ferreted through
the bin, plucked my can out, squashed it then packed it in his sack and ran
off. Where.did.he.come.from? Where.did.he.go? Who are you little man? And what
am I doing in China?
As I said, we can’t laugh too much at the strange things
that happen in China, because these things will- in one go- team up and get you
back. So, nightmare number two of the week is this: my sheet has a stain on it
because someone dropped their drink on it. The cleaner found this not enormous
stain and immediately started shaking it at me and clucking in Chinese. In
these situations all you usually have to do is this:
“wo bu zhi dao; wo ting bu dong; bu hao yisi; ni hao; ni hao
ma; wo bu hui shuo hanyu...”
In other words: “ I don’t
understand; i didn’t get you; I’m afraid; I’m sorry; hello: how are you?; I don’t
speak Chinese.”
Said in quick succession, this will usually make the cleaner
go away. Today however she wouldn’t let it go. And she asked me, after my
performance, whether I could speak Chinese.
“No” is the simple answer.
She eyed me very carefully.
“What nationality are you?”
Did she suspect that I was just putting it on? That under my
white hair wig was a crop of Chinese black hair? Yes, a very cunning disguise
to escape blame for the dirty sheets.
Well she settled to let me clean the sheets myself. Great.
Except that there is no hot water to wash clothes so her solution was
(intentionally) pretty limited. I mean OBVIOUSLY there is no hot water to wash
your clothes with, it’s China! So the next day she was back to check my sheets.
Unsurprisingly the stain had still not gone. And the day after that she came
back again, this time pulling apart my bed to discover the stain had gone right
the way through the pitiful excuse for a mattress.
“Can you speak Chinese?” she asked again.
Nope, nope I’m really sorry. Funnily enough, I STILL can’t
speak Chinese.
“Are you English?”
Why? WHY? Do I look Chinese?
Well the battle of minds and languages rages on, not least
because they now want to charge me an extortionate amount for grotty sheets,
but also because they have just replaced my old sheets with dirty ‘new’ ones.
And everyday the cleaner comes in, stares at me, chats Chinese at me for about
ten minutes, and then, when its clear that I still can’t speak Chinese, that I
still am really English, she leaves me in an angry huff. I sense this episode
is not over.
(...and as I type there is a knock at my door....the usual
script- “I still don’t speak Chinese; I am still English”- but today, the
cleaner comes armed with half the inhabitants of my corridor. So five of us stand
in my room and she asks them all “do you speak English?”. They all do, but here’s
the thing she hasn’t yet grasped we need an English-Chinese speaker. So I have
a collection of internationals standing in my room- which has underwear and
general mess sprawled all over the floor, unideal- whilst she goes through her
usual protocol: “what nationality are you?” She’s a curious creature. Oh and fuwuyuan (cleaner) I’m still English.)
So the prospect of replacing iPhones, sheets, and more is
not exactly delightful, I am indeed having a China moment this week.
