ALL THE RIGHT NOTES

Last week’s Thursday (9/7) was a bit rough. I had to spend the morning getting my physical done in order to prove that I’m not carrying anything problematic (ie. HIV, worms, TB, and, I kid you not, “mental confusion”) for the general population. It involved a lung X-ray, a core/trunk sonogram, blood work, height/weight measurement, blood pressure and an EKG. What I did not know what that it involved getting many levels of undressed in front of a room full of other (many male) patients. Patient privacy doesn’t really exist here in China, so as they pulled my shirt up to take the EKG, the other male patients helped themselves to an eyeful of my (apparently) large breasts and made no secret of looking. It actually was like a Vaudeville skit watching the men pile on top of each other to peer around the half wall offering me a smidgeon of privacy. (Though, if you go with a male, they avert their eyes.)

And then the final meeting piece of the exam was a brief meeting with a doctor where he takes your blood pressure. Now, I’m a fainter around needles but I managed to stay conscious as my blood was taken. I’m not ashamed of my body but I’m certainly no exhibitionist. And, unfortunately, I don’t speak Chinese. It’s safe to say that I was stressed. So, my first blood pressure reading was 140/90 while normally it’s something like 120/60. The doctor who was taking my blood pressure looked at my chart and said, “No, no, my diagnosis is that you too fat. Too fat.” He looked up at my blood pressure reading and shook his head in disgust. “You must calm down,” he snipped at me. “Push button again. My diagnosis, too fat.”

I pushed the button again and discovered my conundrum. How does one relax enough lower their blood pressure to “reasonable” levels while being yelled at, ogled and medically examined in the few seconds it takes for the blood pressure cuff to retest you? All I could do was resort to my yoga training. I took a deep breath, went to a serene place and tried to imagine all the tension melting out of my body. The second reading was 130/70 which was apparently low enough to let me go, however the doctor kept repeating his “diagnosis” was that I am “too fat.”

Now, I come from a medical family. For a long time, I thought I was going to be a doctor. I have heard many a discussion of “diagnoses” and “too fat” was never one of them. “Morbidly obese,” “over fat” and “weight problem” are all terms I have heard in conjunction with or as diagnoses but “too fat” is not what I might categorize as a “medical term” much less a “diagnosis.” So, I smiled, nodded and left. My body is what it is, I work out, I watch what I eat and I’m in a country where the normal body type is Kate-Moss. I am a broad shouldered, well-muscled, well-rounded tall woman. My body type does not exist here.

And then a colleague was nice enough to take me out to dinner and we discussed working out. I told her I enjoy yoga and she happened to have a card for 10 free lessons at the yoga studio in my building. After dinner, we went to the yoga studio and immediately I was informed that I was “too fat” and that I “must” attend the gym with a trainer three times a week, “at least.” “Please, you are too fat. You must, MUST come at least, AT LEAST three times a week to the gym.” The personal trainer was brought to meet me and everyone started gasping and chatting about my “fat” body and how it definitely needed to be fixed immediately. The colleague who was kind enough to offer me the ticket simply rolled her eyes and we left rather quickly as I promised to go for Saturday and Tuesday yoga classes.

The overwhelming nature of Thursday left me vaguely aware of the fact that on Wednesday, there had been talk of “Teacher’s Day” performances. There was something about singing or dancing and me being involved but I was too wrapped up in the chaos to remember clearly.

However, Friday morning I was handed the lyrics to Auld Lange Syne when I got in to work at 8am and told to start studying it. Turns out, I had been volunteered to sing a solo at this “Teacher’s Day” thing on Sunday. I had no idea what “Teacher’s Day” was and the last time I sung in front of people, I was in the 3rd grade, sick and auditioning for a singing group in front of my whole grade. My voice cracked but I sung as hard as I could. All the students auditioning were then sent back into the 3rd grade chorus. One by one, our teacher asked everyone who auditioned to come back up to the front. He called everyone but me and then said, “Is there anyone else I missed?”

I raised my hand and said, “Me!”

The teacher looked straight at me, started laughing and said, “YOU? You’re not getting in!” and kept laughing. The entire grade turned around, looked at me and laughed.

It’s safe to say my urge to become the next rockstar died then and there and I never looked back.

Nevertheless, I was volunteered for this singing and there was nothing I could do about it. So, I took the lyrics and started studying. The fact that I’ve never known the lyrics and certainly never attempted to sing Auld Lange Syne sober was not lost on me. In other words, I could not read the lyrics to Auld Lange Syne and not get the “church giggles” (you know, the really inappropriately timed laughter that only gets worse as people stare in shock at your inappropriate behavior) as I thought about all the scandalous and dirty things that are initiated during Auld Lange Syne. Frankly, I couldn’t stop giggling at the thought of all the drunken asses in Times Square singing, “May auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to..hmmm… da da da da da dum…”

“There’s no way this is really going to happen.” I thought.

“Do you want to come with us?” One of the teachers asked me kindly.

“To where?” I asked.

“For some exercise.”

I shrugged and followed. Exercise class wasn’t then so I figured that perhaps there was a special teacher’s exercise class.

I followed her to the dance studio on the second floor and as I approach the room, I see several of the female teachers doing deep bends at the barre in their jeans (always glittery, by the way) and heels (like country where everyone has Carrie’s shoe closet from Sex and the City). It looked like a full on dance class.
Now, I’m a team sports girl. You hand me a basketball, a volleyball or a bat and I’m your lady. I’m not a dancer. I used to dance and it’s just not for me anymore. There’s too much focus on form and not enough organic decision-making. I get bored with repetition very quickly and so I’m usually sick of the routine before I’m anywhere near good at it.

I tried to beg off but they wouldn’t let me. So, I decided to be a good sport about it and I went into the dance studio to try and learn their routine.

Which is when I discovered that I live in a country of boy-band backup dancers. The leader (and only male) called out “One, two, three, four” in Chinese and the hands were flashing, the butts were shaking, the legs were flying and every once and a while they would clap in unison to a rhythm I was having trouble following. It was like cheerleading on crack.

And not a one of them was anything short of “really good.”

I spent an hour trying to get any good at the dance and just could not. I felt like I had wandered into the advanced dance class in Fame when all I wanted was water ballet. Frankly, I couldn’t understand what the guy leading the class was saying or the tips he was giving, so I had no guide other than (poorly) mimicking his movements.

And then the dance turned in to something entirely more serious as they spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out what formation to leap from and dance into as they twirled around on the hypothetical stage.

Which is when I wished them well and left to mentally prepare for class and was left to wonder why (in my home country of boring, angry women phys ed teachers and gross older male phys ed teachers) my education in the “Hot Gym Teacher” class was so lacking. There is not an unattractive phys ed teacher amongst ‘em here. There’s four phys ed teachers in the grade and middle schools and they are all fierce, take-me-home-and-do-as-you-must hot men with a great passion for all things physical.
Nonetheless, on Fridays I spend five hours trying to get the attention of students, which means a lot of loud talking. It also means that starting at 8 am, I am working on the whole school’s English (not just my students’). It is very taxing on the voice. And, I was coming down with a cold.

By 5pm, my voice was tired, my throat was raw (from the speaking and the cold) and I had to return to practice Auld Lange Syne. We practiced for two hours and worked out a routine that revolved around me coming out and singing the opening solo.

Good times.

We practice for two hours, the whole time I was fighting the church giggles and being prodded to sing louder as my voice (which I know should be coming from my diaphragm and was; thank god for the voice training I’ve had as it’s the only reason I’m able to teach English and be this hard on my voice) was beginning to really give out. At the end of two hours, I was just about to say, “That’s it ladies, my voice is gone and I’m exhausted. I gotta go,” when the principal’s secretary came in and said he’d be meeting us for the audition in twenty minutes.

Apparently, we had to audition our routine in the gym momentarily. Mind you, I now sound like Barry White with a cold no matter how hard I exhale to make a sound. So, I chugged tea like it was going out of style in an attempt to soothe my overworked vocal cords and refused to speak until we were singing. I watched the backup dancers do their routine for the principal and we all applauded. Then it was my turn.

I sang my part and simply could not get much sound out as my vocal cords were busy going “Hey! We’ve had ENOUGH for one day!” Ultimately, I sounded so quiet it sounded like I was singing to myself. But, I got through it and tried to keep a smile on my face as best I could.

We then wrapped, much was discussed with the principal about routines and then I was given my “notes” as it were. I was told I was too quiet and too shy and I must look proud and happy to be a part of the school. I tried to explain that I was proud to be a part of the school but by that point I had laryngitis and decided to call it a day.

I went home, had lots of hot tea and went to bed.

I spent Saturday morning on voice rest and took a long, hot shower in order to soothe my chords. I use the free time to work on my lesson plans and surf the net. In the afternoon, I tried to find my way downtown but went to the wrong bus depot and ended up not finding the right bus (the number 36). After an hour of not seeing the right bus, I just went shopping locally for fruit and decided to hole up in my apartment for the remainder of the day. After all, Sunday looked like it was going to be a big day.

Sunday morning, I had to be at the bus on the other side of the compound in “jeans and a white t-shirt” by 8am. So I was.

I show up and everyone is very nicely dressed and has many bags of changes of clothes. The men are in ties and the women are in skirts. And there I am in my jeans and a white t-shirt while my formal/nice collared white shirts are resting comfortably in my closet at home. One of the other English teachers (a Chinese woman who speaks a little English) from the grade school was kind enough to come and sit by me to explain what was going on. She told me that we were going to a hotel by a nice park where we would spend the day in the hotel celebrating “Teacher’s Day” and then we would go walk in the park in the afternoon and into the evening.

We were driven to the hotel in a very nice bus. I was told how much the bus costs (I think something like 600,000 yuan but I’m not sure; everyone here knows how much everything costs and has no problem divulging that to you at a moment’s notice) and I was told how the constant army/pop music videos that were playing were truly inspirational. It is interesting to be in a country where the order and discipline of the army is pervasive. My guide spoke to me about how she became a Christian and I found myself being curious as to how communism would inspire religion.

After a half hour, we reached our hotel and we were taken into a third floor conference room. We practiced our routines (their dancing and my singing) and were applauded upon each performance by any stragglers who happened to be about. Then we took photos in the beautifully landscaped garden. It was just as you would imagine a Chinese garden to be; pagoda-esque gazebo, winding path, weeping trees, ducks, lake and random little muses. Everyone flocked to get their photo taken with me and I must have had thirty some-odd photos taken of myself with other teachers. The more photos that were taken of me, the more teachers that showed up to have their photo taken.

Eventually the photo portion of the morning ended and we returned to the third floor conference room for the morning lectures to begin. Though scheduled to begin at 10, it did not begin until 11 because, as I was told, it is the Chinese custom is to start all meetings late. We began with introductions and of course I was applauded upon introduction because, apparently, speaking English without an accent is a great feat. To be honest, I feel utterly ridiculous being exalted for simply having existed until now when the other people be applauded are the heads of the province’s educational departments and the founder of the university system. Nonetheless, they find equal value in me and the least I can do is offer my partnership, so I stand and gratefully accept the applause with a bow.

We had tea while awards for excellence were handed out, then the officials spoke and then we broke for lunch. Lunch was a wild experience.

The Chinese do not drink with meals. At most they sip tea. However, the caveat to that is when it is a banquet. Everyone is given a glass, a teacup and a small fluted shot glass that holds about a fourth the amount of an American shot. The glass is filled to the top with beer and the shot glass is filled with hard liquor. The food is placed on the lazy Susan before you and the food is selected by turning the lazy Susan clockwise until you reach the dish you want.

While I was going to take a seat with my friends at their table, it was insisted upon that (in a room full of close to three hundred people) I sit with the officials at the most important table of about 10 people. And that is when I learned about the toasting.

You must stand next to the individual you wish to toast, say your toast and if it is a toast of great importance, you must finish everything in your glass. When you clink your glasses, the subordinate clinks their rim lower on the glass; it’s apparently the equivalent of bowing. The more important the toast, the harder the alcohol. So, being considered one of the most important people in the banquet, I was toasted repeatedly with the hard liquor. I literally drank close to twenty of those shots. (Think 5 shots of grain alcohol.) Now, I’m not a drinker to begin with and I’ve dropped a fair amount of weight, so after each shot, I would immediately eat the closest, fattiest food on the lazy Susan I could reach. (Starch doesn’t actually do much to help sobriety. In fact, I’ve been told by doctors starch actually aids with the absorption rate. Fatty foods do the most efficient job of keeping your head clear by slowing the absorption rate.) And, this is not even considering all the beer toasts we had.

At one point, I was given my “Teacher’s Day” bonus of 500 yuan. Not too shabby when you consider that the buying power of one yuan in China is equivalent to (if not a little stronger than) the buying power of a dollar in New York City, even though there is about 8 yuan in a dollar. However, if you were to ask me when, things were a little too fuzzy to say for sure.

Toasting aside, I somehow managed to stay relatively sober (I certainly would not have driven but I could walk a straight line) and we had to return to the third floor conference room for the entertainment portion of the afternoon. I watched the traditional Chinese dance with sleeves (the name of which I cannot remember; watch the dance scene at the beginning of House of Flying Daggers to see what I mean) and it was breathtaking. The women entered the stage wearing sky blue dresses trimmed with gold and had white sleeves that dropped to the floor. In various formations, they whipped themselves around the stage and used their sleeves to articulate their gesture. I think that is one dance I could definitely enjoy studying.

And then, as Xi’An was the last stop on the Silk Route, there was a modified belly-dancing troupe dressed in bright gold with puffy genie pants (forgive my lack of PC terms but I don’t know the real name for those pants). It was very sweet to watch such a modest belly dance troupe. As I used to belly dance a bit in college, I’ve seen some truly “gesture” filled dancing but this was the most modest hip shaking I’ve ever seen. It was truly sweet. Then there was some opera singing (the talent of the “hobby” singers is staggering here) and some choral singing.

And then it was my group’s turn to dance. They got up and did their amazingly well-synched dance and the adult in me was amazed that their talent while the 14 year old in me couldn’t stop giggling at the fact that the (really hot) phys ed teacher was wearing black stretch pants, a black headband and wristbands, a bright red clingy top and a slash of red lipstick across his cheekbone. It was a little too 80’s-meets-West-Side-Story. The church giggles hit and I had to bite my lip hard (enough that it started bleeding) to not lose it.

And for the grand finale was me, singing Auld Lange Syne. Another moment for church giggles. Everyone in the group was really supportive and raised fists in solidarity. I went out, sang my solo (poorly but I did it) and was quickly joined by my backup singers. We sang our piece and then Auld Lange Syne was repeated for all the performers to join us on stage and sing along. It was very nice.

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After our performances, we crossed the road to one of the most famous lakes in Xi’An (and of course I’ve forgotten the name) for a walk in the lake’s park. Once the fee to enter the park was paid, we were all free to roam. Around the lake is a bit of an amusement park, complete with bumper cars, roller skating rink, bungee jumping over the lake and archery. We strolled around the lake for the rest of the afternoon and watched the men try their hand at a variety of macho sports. It was truly lovely to stroll and chat with my colleagues outside of work and under such mellow conditions. They helped me with my Chinese and I helped them with their English.

It occurred to me while I was strolling with the women, watching the men try their hand at macho sports that I’ve never been comfortable with the sisterhood of my peers before. In America, women don’t need each other quite the way they do here in China and so they can afford to be more fickle and duplicitous. In China, a woman is still directly linked to her family’s honor in a way that she can really only wound it but never add to it, so with other women comes the preservation of her good name and therefore her family’s honor. That’s not to say there isn’t duplicitous or fickle behavior, it’s just to say that movie “Mean Girls” or “Heathers” has no real place here because women can’t afford it. Case in point, when the women were putting on their makeup, they offered to do mine for me and had a good time each providing something new to my look. It was earnest sisterhood. Also, it was revealed to me that one of the earlier male English teachers had “taken” a woman from the area “away” from her family. Women in America are empowered enough that that decision would be seen as her own choice and nothing particularly interesting, whereas in China that sort of behavior is seen as something HE inflicted on her FAMILY. Sisterhood is the only thing that can protect against such maligning if it ever came down to her word against his.