Coming to the rescue

Today in class, I received this text message from Shelley:

"Do you have plans for lunch tomorrow? That girl texting me is a boy! Again!"

It is not unusual for students to get our phone numbers and text us to ask if we can teach them English. We typically try to hang out with same-gender students to avoid "sending the wrong message" which is more important at this stage in our lives (married) than ever before. Today, Shelley was fooled by the asexual nature of text messaging in a second language. This is the second time in 2 weeks that this has happened to her. This is the downside of being the only blonde head in a sea of black. Students see her, find someone whom she has met before, and get her number because they want a foreign friend or want to practice their English. Last week, Shelley was texting a student. They had been texting back and forth for a few days. Finally they found a mutual time to meet up, and Shelley told her she would call when she got out of class. When she called and he answered, she did what all rational people do, promptly hung up. It then dawned on her that even if she wanted to avoid this student, she couldn't because she sticks out on campus like Kim Jong Il at a United Nations summit. So, she promptly called me and asked if I would join her, then called the student back and set up a meeting time. Some guys dream of rescuing their wives from imminent danger. I actually get to live that out. If you consider awkwardness to be imminent danger.

This week, a student starting texting Shelley in English telling her that they got her number from a friend. The student wanted to get together after class for lunch to meet a foreigner. Shelley was really excited, even telling me about her new friend. They were to meet soon for lunch, and then she received this message:

"I must tell you I am a boy and not handsome. It is very kind of you to eat with me. It is very cold outside so wear more clothes and pay attention to winter protection to avoid having a cold!"

This is a very humble culture. You generally don't accept complements here. If someone says "your language is so good", you respond by saying "no, it isn't very good." If they say "you are too kind" you say "no no, it is my duty." Sometimes this cultural humility doesn't translate well. This text message would be one of those situations. Imagine if you introduced yourself to someone like this in America:

"Hey, apparently the boss wants us working together on this national account. Let's meet for coffee tomorrow. The Starbucks on Main Street. I'll bring my notes. Oh by the way, I'm a guy, and I'm pretty ugly. Yeah, that's how you'll know me. I'll be the ugly guy waiting at Starbucks. Oh yeah, and be careful... it's pretty chilly outside."

So my wife has been duped into meeting with dudes for 2 straight weeks. At least this week he made it clear that he carried a Y chromosome, and I'll be joining them for lunch in a few days. Jarred to the rescue again.

fall (and winter) in asia

yesterday afternoon i made homemade pumpkin butter. and this morning i sat in our living room sipping pumpkin spiced coffee as i read. i am 25, caucasian, female, and american. i fit the stereotype. i love fall. however, that is american fall. and i clearly don't live in america. however, i also really love fall in asia. we don't have leaves that change color, we don't have fireplaces that crackle, and we don't have scarecrows that hang in corn mazes. but we do have these:
and let me tell you, these little things about make up for everything else. these little mandarin oranges (known as "baby oranges" around our house) are the most delicious fruit i have ever tasted. i came home screaming in mid-October when i started seeing them at the market. once they were out in full force, jarred told me to buy them every time i went to the market for the next 3 months. don't look to see if we already have some. no need to put them on the list. just buy them. every time. and i do. i have my baby orange lady who sees me every monday now and usually gives me a good price. i always say i want a kilogram. surely 2.2 pounds of oranges is enough for 2 people for a week. but without fail she always gives me more than a kilogram. i think i got like 3 pounds yesterday. (this is pretty common: yesterday i handed a man the 2 bunches of spinach i wanted and he added 2 more before weighing them, and when i told the banana man i wanted 3 he gave me 5.) but anyways, as you can clearly tell, just a day later, there aren't close to 3 pounds in our fruit basket (which since october has only held our baby oranges and i have another bowl for the rest of our fruit). we are seriously obsessed. potentially addicted. and very, very happy! i, who would normally take vegetables over fruit any day, could truly live on these things alone. i mean, who can name a bad time of the day to eat a delicious orange? i dreamed about them in america last fall and i will probably cry come the end of january when the baby oranges boxes at the market begin to dwindle. oh, the fall in asia is wonderful.

however, today is not fall. i am not sure when winter actually begins here, but in my book it started today. every evening i get a text message with the next day's weather report on it because with our phone contract we had to sign up for some daily text message and this seemed the most practical. i actually think this text message is an ingenious idea and think america should have it because it would save my mom a lot of time waiting for the "local on the 8's." and so every day when i get the message, my eyes usually drop straight to the temperature (i mean, it is the easiest thing to read on it). and yesterday evening, i about fell out of my seat when i read a low of 5 and a high of 9. luckily this is celsius. but still, a high of 49 degrees?! so last night we plugged in our space heater. and this morning when i got dressed, i pulled out my long underwear, under armor, and thorlos wool socks. i was taking no chances sitting in concrete buildings with no insulation or heat. on campus, hats, scarfs, and throwback ear muffs were out in full force. people on their scooters looked like they were in siberia. and my teacher for tomorrow called me to see about changing class because it will be even colder tomorrow. winter came in 1 night! it isn't even 8 o'clock and jarred and i are already under the covers working (though both still in our long underwear!), the rest of the house shut down for the night except our bedroom with the heater. it was painful to take my winter jacket off for the first time all day. i am still holding out hopes that this is just a spell and fall will be back in a few days, at least for a brief encore. i will be sure to keep you posted. nonetheless, there are many things that make me excited for this weather: hot chocolate and chili to name a couple. i am sure i will drink countless cups over the coming months, and tomorrow night we are having chili for the first time of the season. and snuggling with jarred, but he would probably be embarrassed if i wrote that on our blog. seriously, who doesn't look cute in long underwear? just kidding. welcome, winter. just don't stay too long.

Sales Pitches

I want to share with you 2 sales pitches I have recieved in the past 2 days, East Asian style.

Sales Pitch #1- It was 8:30 PM on a Monday evening. Shelley and I were relaxing and reading, when someone rang the doorbell to get into our apartment building. We have several migrant workers living in a vacant unfinished apartment below us. Because they don't own the apartment, or rent it, they don't have a key to get into the building, and they often ring up to our apartment to let them in because they know that strange white foreigners live in 502. So, it is not unusual for me to answer the bell and hear someone speaking the local dialect which I don't understand, to which I push the button to let them in. So I didn't expect this particular "ring up" to be any different. When I answered the door, a lady yelled in the microphone and I couldn't understand a word she was saying, so I just pushed the button to let her in assuming that she was headed up to 401 and went back to reading. A few minutes later, she knocked on our door. I answered the door to which she immediately yelled "HELLO, I WANT TO LOOK INSIDE! OH, YOU ALL ARE WESTERNERS! WHERE ARE THE TOWELS? I AM GOING TO CLEAN." She then proceeded to invite herself in, walk right by me, put her shiny pleather purse on our table and pull out a spray. I was stunned, like that scene in Saving Private Ryan at Normandy where everything slows down into slow motion and he can't do anything. Finally everything sped back up to normal time and I realized she had grabbed our dish towel and was spraying spray on our oven hood. Shelley wandered out and looked at me and I looked at her, not knowing what was happening. I told her to get the camera, I wanted video of this. And here is what happened:

In the beginning of the video, she is saying "its simple and convenient!" as she proceeds to disassemble our oven vent. She then asks "Do you have a plastic bag used for purchasing vegetables?" Still stunned, I hesitate to answer to which she yells at me "DO YOU HAVE A PLASTIC BAG USED FOR PURCHASING VEGETABLES" In a daze, I still couldn't believe what was happening, and couldn't process East Asian in my brain, so I just said "No, no I don't have a plastic bag for purchasing vegetables." I honestly at the time had no idea what she wanted, but I wasn't giving it to her. It turns out that she was going "door to door" selling a spray used for cleaning oven vents, and was demonstrating this to us. We politely told her we didn't care to purchase any, and then gave her a mini loaf from our current pumpkin bread surplus and sent her on her way. She should work for Kirby or Rainbow. Forget the appointments, she'll just vacuum your whole house whether you want her to or not.

Sales pitch #2- A couple of weeks ago, I received a phone call from a student at the school where I study. He said that he saw me in the cafeteria, and wanted to meet with me. I said sure, but I was busy, and when I had more time, we could eat together. He then asked me if I liked rock music, which was strange, but I replied that I did. Throughout the next week and a half, he proceeded to text and call on a daily basis and would ask me "where are you now?" "I'm at home." "Come to the cafeteria." "I live off campus, I'm far away from the cafeteria." "Ok, if you have time call me and we will eat together." He did this at least 4 times and all 4 times I had to remind him that I live off campus far away from the cafeteria and couldn't come right now. He called on Sunday and I finally set up a time to meet. So, Tuesday after class, I went to the cafeteria to meet him. He had 2 friends, and was wearing tight jeans, a tank top with an unzipped leather jacket and thick black framed glasses, looking very much like a rock star. He proceeded to treat me to a fine lunch of unidentifiable meats and vegetables while directing this conversation:

"Jierui (my East Asian name, which I still don't know how he got), we love rock music." "Yes, you look like a rock star." "Yes I do. Jierui, what instrument do you play?" "I don't play an instrument." "But you said you liked rock music." "Well I do like rock music, but I don't play an instrument." (Confused look on rock star's face) "So you sing." "Yes, I can sing, but not well." "But you said... you like rock music." "I do like rock music." "Well our band cannot attract people because we are all East Asian. We need a foreigner, and we want you to join our rock band." "But I don't play any instrument or sing well." "Jierui, you should join us. We will be more popular." "I'm sorry, but I don't have the time to be in a rock band." "But you said you liked rock music." "I do like... okay, when you ask a foreigner if they like something, and they say they do, it doesn't mean that it is their hobby." "But you said..." (At this point he looks really really sad.) "I'm afraid I have a different lifestyle than college students. I am 27. I'm married. I have a wife and responsibilities. I don't have the time to join a rock band." "But it is only a few hours a week." "I understand, but I just don't have the time." "Jierui, do you have children?" "No." "Will you have children?" (Really confused as to where this is going) "We would like to someday." "Well you should learn to play an instrument so you can be in our band. Then you can teach your children to play music." (I am picturing my future child dressed like this guy...) "I am afraid I don't have time to be in your rock band. I am so sorry." "But you said you liked rock music."

East Asia has very pushy salespeople. Usually they just follow you around a store asking you what you need every 5 seconds. Sometimes they approach you on the street. Sometimes they play really loud music outside of their store and stand and clap as if that makes you want to buy their shoes. Sometimes they push a cart around and play a really fuzzy recording really loud over and over again, or bang 2 pieces of metal together repetitively to attract attention to their tofu (anyone who has lived here for an extended period of time knows what I am talking about). These sales methods would never work in America, but then again I don't live in America. There is a good chance that this lady sold a number of bottles of cleaner spray, and that if I was East Asian, the student would have convinced me to join his rock band, despite having no rock music talent whatsoever. It just goes to show how different this place is, and how much I still have left to understand.

my crazy teacher

with a title about a crazy teacher, it is probably surprising that this is by shelley, not jarred. apparently, crazy teacher stories are in no short supply here. a week ago one of my teachers called me and asked me if i could change my class time from 8:30 in the morning to an afternoon sometime. since our class time had worked for a couple months now and she comes all the way out here for the whole day everyday anyways, i was a little confused by this sudden need to change. she clarified that she finds it extremely important to change our class time because she assures me that if i ride my scooter all the way to class that early in the morning, i will surely become very sick. granted, the mornings and evenings here are cold in the winter, freezing cruising down the road on a mini-motorcycle. this morning, i wore a 3/4 length shirt, a sweater, a sweatshirt, a fleece, gloves, and a winter hat ("tobOggan" for you southerners; "tOboggan" for my husband) to class; and this afternoon when the sun was beating down on us at 6,000 ft i delayered down to just my 3/4 length shirt. however, it's not snowing and i am pretty sure it won't make me sick. but i politely told her that i would consider and talk to my husband about it.
and i did. but we decided it just wouldn't work- we share a scooter, have things in the afternoon, etc. so monday i texted my teacher to tell her that it just wasn't convenient to switch classes. and while this may seem strange, this is a perfectly acceptable answer here. anything can be done or not done simply because it is "not convenient." also a perfectly good response is "no solution." throw a "i'm sorry/embarrassed" in there and you are good to go. so when my teacher countered my message with "but it is so cold in the mornings, you will certainly become sick," i pressed my luck and threw in all 3 of these sayings and replied. "i know, but it's not convenient, i'm sorry/embarrassed, no solution." after multiple more messages, she relented, and we kept our class time the same.
and let me explain that the rest of the world operates here on a normal schedule no matter the season. all students have class every morning, including my husband who has class the same time as me. people go to work early in the morning, many on scooters, and the majority aren't hacking as they scoot down the road or pulling over to throw up. and in a place where myths spread like wildfire and hold more weight than they should, if this cold 8 am weather would make the whole world sick, people would definitely change. i decided that my teacher just thinks i have a completely defective immune system.
so i got to class yesterday morning and began to climb the 5 flights to the dorm room where we study. as i trudged up the last flight i heard my teacher call out my name, only to look up to find her sitting in a chair drinking tea on the open-air landing with a comforter spread out over the balcony railing (still not sure what that was actually doing). she informed me that she thought it would be better for us to study not at the desk in the room, but sitting in chairs next to each other out on the landing where we could maybe get a little more sunlight. really? this had gone to far. so i went and got a chair and lugged it back to where she had constructed a make-shift classroom, curious why she thought sitting in a place where the cold wind blew through, people walked through, and a roach was crawling around, could possibly be our best possible solution? i then decided that i think she just didn't want to have class in the mornings, despite the fact that she is at campus anyways. i shall keep you posted on our classroom changes. no solution.

the market

Living in Asia before, I didn't really plan dinners farther ahead that the morning of bc 1. I was single and it didn't affect anyone else and 2. right next to our apartment complex was a little market that didn't have much of a selection but could provide everything I needed. Moving out here, I now have a HUGE market, however it is a scooter ride away. This does not bode well for me, the queen of always needing a last-minute ingredient. So I have gotten really good at spending time on Mondays planning meals for the week and heading to the market. For the last month I have thought about how I needed to take pictures of our market to share with those that have never been here, and so today I enlisted my personal photographer to come with me and capture the experience.

The first pictures are pretty self-explanatory. A whole heck of a lot of vegetables, with my favorite tomato lady, red pepper lady, the only yellow onion man, and my baking-potato lady spread among them. And, in the bottom right, more garlic and ginger than our whole town should use in a week.

Next come the eggs, which they hand me in a thin plastic bag as if getting them all home in one piece along with the rest of my food on my scooter is some kind of game. Today, I was 5 for 6. I love seafood. I grew up on the coast. Now we live nowhere near any coast. In a country lacking credible refrigerated transportation, and the nearest body of water being a lake widely considered to be the most polluted in the country, I have never ventured to buy one of these fish flopping around on the tarp. Maybe one day I'll have either the courage or the stupidity. The bottom left is my flour, tomato paste, frozen chicken lady. I must say that she is the most diverse market entrepreneur I have ever come across. We're becoming friends. Then the hanging ducks. And lastly, my new favorite, the pumpkin garage, home of my now famous pumpkin!

WARNING! These next pictures aren't for the faint of heart. Or weak of stomach. Or PETA members.










Usually I buy pork at the market when I need a ground meat because it is cheaper here, but a couple weeks ago I was making mexican pizzas and you just can't do that with pork. So I made it my goal to figure out getting beef at our market. It was kind of a process with everyone I asked in the meat section replying "No, just pork, beef over there" and waving their hand in a general direction towards the other side of the market where all of the stands just seemed to be empty. Danielle and I finally figured it out and found 1 lady that day that had beef. She cut me off a chunk and I trucked back over to the pork section to find the meat grinders. However, over the past couple weeks, I have made it to the market earlier, in time to find multiple more beef sellers, and other meats as well (as you will soon see). I'll preface this story saying that Jarred has fallen in love with yang rou since living in Asia. Yang means sheep. Rou means meat. He often gets yang rou on a stick on the street. Last week I came home talking about how our new market has so many slaughtered goats strung up everywhere, to which Josh (of "Josh and Danielle," some of our good friends and neighbors here) said "of course, yang rou." Jarred was a little perterbed to discover he had been eating goat instead of lamb the whole time! And after thinking about it for a minute he just said, "well, turns out goat meat is really good." My husband, the goat-eater. Anyways, check out our awesome meat section, where I tell them how much I want, they hack me off a chunk from the slab sitting on the table, and I head to get it rinsed and ground. We'll be eating some tonight...

American white women and the fall season

I always thought that Spring was the season of love and romance, and maybe it is for animals, but I have discovered that when autumn arrives, it is as if every 20 something American white woman comes out of hibernation and is dancing in the clouds. It really makes no sense to me why they love autumn so much, but I know that they all get excited like sorority girls on bid day. This excitement generally is centered around the availability of seasonal consumer products. Here are some things I noticed they get excited for in the fall:

1. Scented candles- mostly those that smell like apples

2. Colored leaves- in the Summer, when it makes sense to be oustide, they complain about bugs and sweat and nature. But in the fall, they have no problem walking around picking dead rotting leaves to decorate your house with.

3. Cold weather- Women who usually complain about being cold suddenly love it when that cold is associated with the arrival of fall. Forget that this change of weather also brings about the flu virus, they get to wear sweaters!

4. Christmas- I love Christmas... in December. These women turn Advent into a 3 month event and Target takes full advantage.

5. Pumpkin Spice ______ (you fill in the blank). The thing I find the most intriguing, more than anything else, is young American white women's obsession with pumpkin spiced everything. Candles, pies, lattes, fruit dip, toilet paper, beer. I am convinced that if McDonald's could make a pumpkin spiced McRib, 20 something white women everywhere would leave their hummus, run to the Golden Arches, and there would be a national shortage on whatever animal product that thing is made of and Diet Coke fountain syrup. If you hear that some company is thinking of making a pumpkin spice variety of whatever product they sell, buy stock... and futures for that matter.

I recently married a 20 something American white woman, so my life is no longer immuned to the love of fall. We cannot buy canned pumpkin here in East Asia, nor can we get lattes, so I thought I would have a free pass on this gourd obsession. However, my wife lives very close to another 20 something American white woman who told her where she could buy a pumpkin and how she could mine said pumpkin for its precious pumpkin meat and proceed I guess to "spice" it for whatever fall delight she desires. These women are like South Carolinians in deer season! Thus, I received a text message from Shelley on Monday that said "can you come downstairs and help me carry the pumpkin upstairs. It is too heavy for me." And this is what we ended up with:

Now it doesn't look like a pumpkin you would carve for Halloween, but who cares about pagan holidays when your pumpkin yields this much precious pumpkin meat? And by the way, we paid about $1.75 for this baby:

But in order to use the pumpkin meat for pumpkin spiced stuff, you first have to "roast" the pumpkin, which involves slapping it onto a baking sheet and putting it in the oven. This is the face of one very happy 20-something American white woman:

Our oven barely held the pumpkin. You literally just put it in the oven until the meat is soft, just like a baked potato. And come to think of it, this thing is about the same size as one of those baked potatoes at McAlister's:

And the result... let's just say its a good thing they don't sell Eggos here because our freezer now looks like this- those are bags and bags of frozen pumpkin:

Whoever is going to eat this much pie is beyond me, and the idea of putting that in your 4 dollar coffee is gross, but to my wife, it is downright delicious. One piece of advice I received from my old man before I was married that I have always strived to keep since being married: happy wife, happy life, and nothing says lovin to a 20 something American white woman like 20 pounds of fall obsession.

Sick days

The past almost 8 months with Shelley have been a blast. Sharing life with someone is better than I ever could have imagined it being. Among the things I love sharing are our hopes and dreams for the future, an apartment, a bed, theological musings, a love for dogs, an electric moped, and her dessert. However, I have learned that you don't always get to be selective about what you share. For example, I have to share sins and struggles, my plans for each day (basically meaning I have to have plans for each day... this is difficult for me as I don't like having many plans on my days off), the comforter on our bed, my dessert, and as of this past week, sickness. A couple of weeks ago I caught a cold. Now East Asia, there are several things that can cause a cold- cold weather, cold floors, cold water, or not eating enough vegetables are all reasons that people in this country believe you catch colds, or get diarrhea, or H1N1. For whatever reason, I caught a cold, which means that I gave a cold to the beautiful blonde woman with whom I share everything. Last Monday, Shel woke up complaining that she had gunk in her throat, and I had given her my cold. Then later that afternoon, she complained that her body started hurting, and then Monday night she threw up her dinner as soon as she was done eating it, leaving me thinking "well I sure didn't give her THAT." She was in bed shivering, her forehead and skin were burning up, and I was preparing for my first night sleeping on our guest bed. Tuesday morning came, she threw up again, and I was thinking that I would stay as far away from possible because it was obvious that she had somehow contracted the flu, and I didn't want it for fear that we would both be quarantined by the government and forced into hard labor on a pig farm for bringing the plague into their country.

Finally on Tuesday night after taking Tylenol, her fever broke, and she was feeling much better. Better safe than sorry, I proceeded to retire again to the guest bed, when 2 hours into the night I was woken up by Shelley throwing up again. And then 30 minutes later again. And then again and again and again. By 5:45, she couldn't hold down any fluids, and I was very concerned. So I called our emergency insurance, who advised me if she couldn't hold down fluids to take her to the hospital to get some fluids in her. In our little town, lets just say the hospital isn't of the quality or cleanliness that lead to healing, and the doctors are of the type that believe her throwing up is because we didn't eat a certain type of pork on such and such a day, which of course everyone knows causes vomiting, and diagnosis are based on old wives' tales and superstitions such as these. So, I opted to take her into the big city to the international hospital there, where trained, English speaking doctors could get her back on her feet. So at 7AM, I called teacher and told her student wouldn't be coming to class today, called Shelley's teacher and told her she wouldn't be in class, and called our driver, Mr. Jiang, to wake him up and ask if he could drive us into the city to the hospital. He of course obliged, and after throwing up one last time, Shelley made the brave trip in Mr. Jiang's van. When we got there, a doctor listened to her symptoms and then took a blood test which showed that it wasn't the flu after all, but a serious infection. Aparently the cold I gave her caused some kind of infection that made her very sick. He then prescribed a course of treatment that included IV antibiotics and fluids, and anitbiotic pills to kill whatever was infecting my poor wife.

Now intravaneous treatment is generally seen as appropriate for more serious situations in America, and it probably costs $800 for the antibitoic, $400 for the hospital's precious saline, $278 to see the doctor, $93 because they have to change the bed sheets for you, and $56 for the delicious meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, jello, and ginger ale, of which your insurance will cover approximately $43.46 of the total, unless of course you are seeking treatment out of network in which they will generously cover $2.35, leaving you wondering what they do with the other $1100 a month you pay them. However, in East Asia, the IV is the primary course of administering medicine for common colds, flus, and stomach illnesses, and the whole process costs anywhere from $10-$50 depending on how serious the illness and how much money they suspect you have. When someone here finds out you have a cold, they always say "Have you been to the hospital? You should go to the hospital. You can get the injection there." So, after 2 nights of throwing up and running a fever, a 1 hour bumpy van ride into town, and complaining that "they stuck me with a needle and you weren't here" because I ran to the bathroom, my wife was finally sleeping soundly in a hospital bed as a machine gently pumped fluids and medicine into her veins. It was peaceful and serene, and I felt like for the first time in 2 days I could rest. The nurse, upon hearing that I hadn't eaten breakfast, even brought me something to eat. It really was a great hospital experience. We went home, changed the sheets, and crawled into bed and each of us slept through the afternoon, and then after a dinner of chicken noodle soup which Danielle brought over for us, slept again through the night. It was great to share a comforter with her again. I didn't like having my own that much anyways.

We returned the next day for another round of IV antibiotic treatment, this time Shelley feeling significantly better. I have to admit that I actually looked forward to going back the second day and having 2 hours to read and recooperate myself while she got an IV. She rested at home for the next couple of days, and is now back on her feet again. To celebrate, we went on a date last night where I gladly shared my rasberry cheesecake. Praise God for driver Jiang, IVs, and getting to share life with my healthy wife and best friend in the world.