Please read this post in black & white, as it was written in the past.
A very nice guy named Brent visited us during our USAC program orientation. This took place over the first weekend our group arrived in Chengdu, and so naturally I brought with me a short-circuited brain and the silent desperation of one searching for stability & reassurance in any form. Written advice? Perfect. Auditory? I have great ears. Mathematical? That's actually one of my catalogued weaknesses but nono, keep going. In jello form, with specks of glitter and a tiny diorama of Stonehenge? Well, that sounds beautiful.
Enter Brent. Even though he didn't bring glittery gelatin snacks (don’t think I’ll forget, buddy), he did have a lot of valuable advice to dispense. One of the first things he shared with us was a quote, and it went something like this:
"After a week in China, you can write a novel. After a month, you can write a paragraph. After a year, you can't even write a sentence."
a few important things to keep in mind:
1. In essence, this quote speaks to the incredible complexity and diversity of modern China. That after spending a substantial amount of time here, it's near impossible to sum up what China is and encompasses in a way that feels truly complete.
2. Google and I have tried so hard to figure out this quote’s source and we keep coming up empty-handed. Really. Nothing. Either this is the witness protection program at work or I'm just very bad at internet searches.
After just a few weeks in China I'm already beginning to understand how neat and true this mystery statement is. And so I should probably write down a couple solid paragraphs before I become incapable.
With this in mind, a disclaimer: These observations aren't intended to exoticize or generalize any element of Chinese culture. Coming here has already been incredibly humbling, and if I emphasize the absurdity of a situation please know that it's at my own expense. I am the foreigner here, and am reminded of that almost constantly, even as I fall more in love with Chengdu every day.
China is different from the West in many ways. It's these differences that stand out in sharpest relief as I go about the process of getting my bearings, and so it's these differences I most often write down. Just as the SuperSecretIncognito quote reminds us, I'm sure the details I gravitate towards will shift with every passing week. I can already feel it happening.
But I wrote these stories in my first couple days here, when I didn't own a trashcan yet and rarely brushed my hair. Keep that in mind.
Carrefour: A Journey Through Time & Personal Space & The Bedding Aisle
My first shopping experience in China went down at Carrefour, a giant multilevel superstore we were driven to just 45 minutes after meeting our dorm rooms. In that time we were told to make a quick list of things we might need. Mine included, but was not limited to:
- wifi router
- sheets
- water kettle
- heated blanket
- floors that were not made of large ice tiles that
- were hell-bent on triggering my fight or flight response upon contact in order to
- water kettle
- heated blanket
- floors that were not made of large ice tiles that
- were hell-bent on triggering my fight or flight response upon contact in order to
- kill me
So I was feeling nervous, but excited.
10 minutes in and that excitement had morphed into a new feeling—one kind of like Hysterical Laughter and Pure Terror had a small, squishy baby whom they cherished and co-parented despite being ultimately incompatible. Because here’s the thing about mainland China, when you’re not in Shanghai or Hong Kong or one of those other touristy westernized hotspots. Next to nothing is labeled in English—and why would it be?
Chengdu is not Shanghai or Hong Kong or another such touristy hotspot. For that same practical reason, essentially nobody shopping here speaks English, and neither do the store employees.
But does that stop them from grabbing you by the arm and leading you to the item they're sure you need?
Does that prevent them from talking to you the whole time, unperturbed by your blank expression, possibly sharing helpful facts or telling you about the strange allure of the plum-headed parakeet while encouraging you to rub a certain fabric between your fingers or poke a pillow? Do they waver in the face of your apparent confusion? Do they fall back? Of course not, because this is their damn job, and maybe they’re also working on commission (I need to google this when my wifi is working faster).
And so you rub the fabric. You poke the pillow. They will nod frenetically while you do this as if to say, "I know you understand."
And you, silly, shell-shocked, linguistically incapable you, wish more than anything that you knew how to say, "I really don't."
The depth of my naiveté was driven home around minute 16, when I was the last USAC student still in the sheets aisle. But I wasn't alone!
I was being helped by Caitlyn, a fellow USAC student and resident angel, Jia Jing, the assistant director, and three very determined store employees who were both agile and attentive. I stood there, my eyes fixed on the bedding options, surrounded by a small ring of women speaking to me mostly in mandarin. Most likely letting me know that the plum-headed parakeet goes through a "bluffing phase" during adolescence that's strictly hormone related and should not be taken as an indication of the bird's personality once mature. And while we were on the subject, why couldn’t I just pick a pattern already?
My reason: they were all really, truly ugly.
My internal monologue: why was I being so picky? Why couldn’t I just pick a set and get over it? Why do my limbs stop working when I'm being stared at so intently?
The truth: I’m very aesthetically oriented and affected by my environment. Or: I just like things to look nice, okay?? And these sheets would make me so sad.
(the limb question goes unanswered)
I started to tilt the boxes forward in order to see the patterns housed further back on the shelf and one of the women immediately stepped in, taking them all down and stacking them before me like a tiny wall of internal distress. Then she looked at me expectantly. I picked a set.
They made me so sad.
Soon after, I stood staring up at the wall of comforters. The woman just inches to my right suggested one that cost 120 yuan, but I began examining a 88 yuan specimen (I try to be thrifty, even when half of my brain is melted and sloshing). She began pointing between the two and opening her eyes very wide. She nodded twice as fast. I gazed at her imploringly, nodding too while shrugging and gently weeping(nope) until she turned and full on sprinted down the aisle, yelling at the top of her lungs(absolutely) and dragging Jia Jing back down to where I stood. Jia Jing listened to the woman for a moment and then turned to me.
“This one won’t fit the sheets you have.”
oh YEs, right. The sheets that I hated.
I finally pulled it together enough to go back and switch them out for a set that (I think) I'd been told were less pleasing to the touch, but (I know) came in a respectable plaid pattern.
I bought the wifi router that haunts my every waking moment. I did something silly at checkout. Rinse. Repeat.
Walmart:
If I was searching for some sense of familiarity, I did not find it in the hallowed halls of Walmart—a store I have entered once in America on account of I needed cake, now.
No, here I would find the same small army of employees I met at Carrefour, sporting red aprons and stationed what felt to me like every few yards and also in front of every important item a bewildered college student could want. But this time I was “smarter.” That’s right, you heard me! A damn genius! By using the two-part strategy of Walking Briskly and with Misplaced Purpose, I may have felt just as clueless, but at least I was evading eye contact with anybody who wanted to help stoke the flames of capitalism. There was a close call in the hair products aisle, but I escaped thanks to the split second decision, "I don’t need shampoo right now. Right now or ever. Nihao."
It’s all about pragmatism.
Here's a couple other things Walmart has:
-Live toads larger than your fist
-Raw meat sitting in exposed bins
-Many kinds of yogurt made with many kinds of beans
-Stuffed animals that you're forced to buy at least 2 of for comfort reasons
Here's a couple other things Walmart has:
-Live toads larger than your fist
-Raw meat sitting in exposed bins
-Many kinds of yogurt made with many kinds of beans
-Stuffed animals that you're forced to buy at least 2 of for comfort reasons
So the trip went pretty well. There was an iffy period near the end when I wasn’t quite sure where to pay. I assumed check-out would be downstairs but also experienced a very vivid waking fever dream that involved me heading for the downward moving sidewalk only to have twenty store employees converge on me for trying to steal valuable Walmart goods. They would make lots of noise, loudly. They would do it in a language I couldn’t understand. They would do it in front of the fifteen customers crowded just feet away at the info desk.
I stood nearby for about a minute, trying to look busy doing nothing until I spotted him.
“do you speak English?” I ask. The man is in his early forties and wears his hair parted down the middle. I am positive he can tell I am searching for a miracle. A pale, bespectacled miracle.
“yes,” he smiles and is able to tell me that yes, I need to go downstairs to pay, and yes, he does mean that moving sidewalk over there, and also yes, you’re welcome. In America, I would have experienced anxiety about approaching a stranger and asking for help. Here I do it without thinking. Everything is relative! Including the fear of accidental stealing! Additionally, public humiliation. That’s kind of nice.
I'm happy to report that since the writing of this encounter, I've been back to Walmart at least 4* times and can now walk at a leisurely pace and get all the things I need. It's good for my lungs if not my wallet.
*23
To end things on a really uplifting note, here's a photo of bread filled to the brim with custard, not cheese. Custard! It came with a tiny spoon!
