Im going through the change

I have once again come down with a temporary illness of some sort and had to cancel the one class that was scheduled for this morning. A mixture of over doing it and adjustment makes me a prime candidate for getting ill now and again as my body makes an adjustment for a different lifestyle—one that I do believe will be more healthy and active that what I was doing the last several years in Washington. It would seem that my body is in the stage where it is wondering where all the drinks and bad food have gone, why the belly is being filled with things like stir-fried vegetables, rice and tea. Gone are the days of Starbucks, and quick on the go foods. There is no glorious rum here, just beer and this rancid rice wine that is like everclear—totally undrinkable at this point in my life. The thing that is strange is that I do not miss these things at all and I am just waiting for my body to finish its cleansing process—I just hope it is not too late and that my liver can go back to normal size and the resistance does not continue. It is hard to say at this point—I could just be continuing to get a few bugs here and there, but it seems much more rational that these differences are because of the adjustment in diet. Each day I seem to feel stronger and more fatigued at the same time. My leg muscles are coming back stronger than they have been since the accident which left me with a fused ankle several years ago. I am walking and sweating in the humid Southeast Asian climate and it feels so good to have this much sweat trickling all over my body.
If this is the cost for the transition back to a healthy lifestyle, then so be it.
In other angles of life:
Things are settling in nicely. This is the second week of class and my literature class went very well for the week as we discussed the different theories of who the real Shakespeare might be as we begin to go into his works. It was an interesting and somewhat lively discussion with most of the students taking the side that Shakespeare is the work of several different people—which goes to show that they either didn’t pay attention to the material that I sent them or they didn’t understand it, which is good to know so early in the term. I sent the materials out to check over the web and I think that a good deal of them do not have direct access to the net, which makes sense. At times it is hard to remember what the average Chinese lives like here on campus because we English teachers have it so well.
Speaking of which, I have moved into a new flat. The other one was quite unsatisfactory in its condition (It seemed fine until these new ones opened up). So I have a new flat now and everything, including this computer, is brand new. It is the same size as the old flat, but everything is new and has been repaired according to standard. The old place had not been deep cleaned in at least a year or two and the person who last lived there was much messier than I could ever be…. (I know what you’re thinking!!)
So I finally feel as though everything is finally in its right place and it is time to start focusing on my desire to get some works published. I have found that I do indeed have a lot of time in which to work on projects and do not feel stressed like I did in Seattle. I am making a salary which is comfortable here and most of the bills for the place are taken care of, leaving me time to work on the craft of writing a lot more than if I lived in Seattle. Most of the money that I earn is going to be directly earmarked for seeing this amazing country—not drinking or fuel for the Volvo or rent or utilities, but leisure. It is such a liberating feeling to be able to make so little and save so much money.
More on the Mid-Autumn Festivus….
Before the festival was here, I had made a vow that I would never eat another mooncake for as long as I lived. This was due to the fact that I went to the store and purchased my parents a very nice mooncake package to give to them, along with a very nice dish set. I went to China Post to mail all of these things off to them and immediately China Post informed me that the government forbids sending mooncakes to America, so there was no way that they would send them!!!! Since these things are marketed as gifts to send to people, I was furious—why are they packaged in such beautiful packaging? They don’t even taste as good as the packages make them look! It didn’t matter though. They weren’t having any of it.
Then, to add insult to injury, I was also informed that to send the dish set which I had earmarked for my family, it would be about 1000rmb to send the dishes to them. Over $100! So, thanks, but I’ll stick to smaller items in the future. They are nice dishes, but not worth 100 bucks in shipping costs to get them there in a couple of weeks. It was 300rmb to have them sent over on a boat, which would take two months—which is still $35bucks and the woman said that there is no way to know if it would actually arrive!! This is simply insane, but there isn’t much you can do—it is run by the state and there is no bartering on this issue. So, it looks like sending things home for keeps isn’t going to happen. When I book my ticket back to the US I am just going to have to buy an extra baggage fee and be done with it. Perhaps a trip to Guanzhou and putting it on a plane myself if a better idea….
Anyway, I was invited by Julian, a new teacher and a colleague of mine, to go to his families place for the holiday. I agreed to do so, not really knowing or caring what I was getting myself into. I thought that he was from the same town that Mao was from and I was curious to go to the town where the famous Mao was from. It turns out that is where he went to University and was from a town nearby, so there would be no long busride to take in the countryside, no train which I am most eager to experience, but rather a short bus ride followed by a hired motorbike to get to the farm where he lived. I have been a frequent rider of motorbikes during my time here as the majority of for hire transport is on a motorbike and it is super cheap, costing about 2-3rmb per kilometer. We use them often for short treks that are too long or too dangerous to go on foot, so I was prepared.
Or so I thought.
When we arrived at the stop where the motorbikes would be, it was in the middle of nowhere. Think of the area on the way to Pullman past Washtucna—nothing but the occasional farmhouse. As we crossed the road, two motorbikes sprang into action, I was motioned to get on the larger one (people are always concerned by my size—like I am going to break a motorbike) and we sped off into a red clay dirt road that appears to have only seen motorbike usage in its time because it was full of boulders and crags that would make it nearly impossible to clear by a car. I was watching carefully as this man to whom my life was in his hands was flying along as faster speeds that most would feel comfortable in, but I couldn’t tell him to slow the fuck down because he wouldn’t have any idea what the hell I was saying whatsoever, so I just hung on and hoped. As the road got further away from the paved one, the conditions got much worse and muddier. We continued to ride through it all, Julian behind me on another bike, yelling at the drivers in what seemed to be commands to speed it up. My driver obliged by gunning his motorbike even faster and soon enough we were finally at our destination. 15 minutes of a fun filled journey through the best muckity muck China has to offer for a grand total of 5rmb (which is about .68cents).
Upon my arrival at Julian’s grandmother’s house, which is a set of concrete buildings next to rice fields the size of some of the farms in the Palouse, members of his family begin the Chinese art of foreign staring as they give me a once over look. It would seem that Julian did not take the time to tell these people that a westerner was going to attend his families dinner, but I knew better.
Within a few moments, the stares turn into smiles as they slowly approach me to greet me, welcome me. The men each offer me a cigarette, a gesture that must not be ignored (I managed to accept all the cigarettes, but left many of them on various tables throughout the place as I cannot smoke like these people do, but you must smoke with the man of the house if he offers, they do not understand or accept any reasoning) After our first cigarette together, his grandmother approaches—a beautifully old and wrinkled woman in a housecoat, showing her old teeth in a wide smile. She extends her aged yet smooth hand toward me and I shake it in immediate appreciation of her. There are times where you can just look at certain people and see that they have seen so much in their lives that is different than yours—the eyes are very telling in this sense, and she certainly had that look about her.
I was told immediately to take a seat in the only room in the entire place with a fan and watch some tv. I haven’t really talked about it in great detail, but people here are obsessed with television and it is terrible. The channels here that people watch is the equivalent of Star Search Chinese style and all the people are trying to be the Asian Britney Spears—it is just that crazy. If its not that, then its game shows where everyone acts as though they have been freebasing Ridilin before filming.
So we sit and watch the television as people begin to trickle in to see the Westerner. I manage to scare small children, who run, wondering what the hell I am doing in grandmother’s house. I manage to keep a perma smile on my face as these people trickle in, offering me cigarettes which I am already not wanting, but this is China.
We are brought a bowl of noodles, which I am immediately suspect of, this being the country and all. Chinese people just have a different style of eating than us westerners do. They like to make everything spicy and I don’t mean spicy like Hooters wings, but spicy like your face should just burn off it would be much easier that way spicy. The thought on the spiciness is simple, the more the spicy, the less you want to eat and since there didn’t used to be a lot of food in China…..
But this was not spicy at all, just the opposite actually. It was bland but tasty and the meat appeared to be pork, which is just fine. As long as I think I know what I am eating, its all good.
I must go for now, but I will continue this story later on tonight, with pictures… So, if you happen to see this entry with pictures, than the content has been added.

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I am struggling with how much oil is in the diet here as well as how little diary there is available. With so much meat, one would think that there is ample diary, but this is not the case. People find milk to be lovely and they tend to drink evaporated milk, which I happen to find repulsive. When I get back to the west, the first thing I think I will have is a nice glass of milk, even if it turns out I am lactose intolerant. After tasting nothing but powdered milk and evaporated milk in everything, I must tell you that I am ready. I will also cook more with oil than with butter or any other substitute, even though I think the Chinese in this area tend to use it a bit much, I can appreciate it. Sunflower oil is the best. It frys fast and a little goes a long way.
Okay, so I am off in a tangent. Back to the farm. After eating a nice lunch with noodles, meat and beans, we spent most of the rest of the afternoon walking around the farming compound touring the various aspects of farm life. Farming tools and equipment are quite archaic, no green John Deere here, just concrete and wooden tools that you would expect to see in a museum that displayed an exhibit on ancient farming equiptment. I have included some pictures here…
The most fascinating was the device used to mash the rice into patties and molds—it was two pieces of concrete attached to one another with a small slit in the side to insert the rice, which then seals and you grind the rice while adding a little water to the mixture. It was something to think about the laborious task of doing this all day, yet most of Julian’s clan had done this their entire lives for several generations.
Julian told me sometime later that only three boys from the village had gone off to college—most will stay here in the fields and work the same crops that their parents did. I thought about the industrialization periods in history and wondered if they really would stay and maintain the work or if the advent of machines more modern would force them to find other work in the ever growing city centers.
We decided to take a walk out to the famous lake of the area. I was curious of the lake as it was talked about in some of the information that I had read and wondered if it was the same lake. We were given straw hats for the walk and told to stick to the path because there were a number of dogs along the way and most would be suspicious of the westerner. These here parts don’t get no strangers, you see…
We walked along the fields, beautiful green fields with slightly rolling terrain, not as dense as where I attended University, but equally as breathtaking with the mountain ranges in the background. After some time, we reached a stairway that led to the levee that kept the plain from flooding until it was harvest time, when they would then lower the levee and allow the fields to flood, making harvest easier. We walked along the pathway, sweat dripping from my shorts, but the asian men are sweating slightly. I chuckle to myself as I wipe my forehead for the fourth time, the sweat stings my eyes as I wipe it off. When we reach the top, I see the lake for the first time—and I cannot see the end of it. It would seem that we are in just one small pocket of what appears to be a huge lake. I stand there moments longer than my companions expect, taking in the scene, taking it in, an attempt to remember it when I am old and gray, one of those snapshots of your life where you remember being at peace for very little reasoning. This was one of those moments.
After a few moments we continue onwards, Julian’s uncle is pleased that I seem to enjoy the countryside so much. He doesn’t say anything, which is fine because I wouldn’t understand, but the human smile stretches beyond language and I know why he is happy and he knows why I stood there at the base of the lake for a moment longer.
As we continue our journey, Julian’s uncle picks up the pace and Julian tells me to hold back for a moment, his uncle is going ahead on a recon mission of sorts. He grabs a long bamboo stick on the side of the trail and begins to forge ahead. We follow him and I think to ask Julian what we are getting ourselves into, but I don’t care. I am here for the adventure and asking would ruin the fun. I know that if I were to be mauled by a tiger Julian would be in some deep shit and so I just continue onwards, sweat covered, heart beating slightly faster than normal.
It’s the dogs. We hear them almost immediately, but we do not see them. A few seconds later the first one comes out and it looks more like a wolf than any dog. I am slightly paranoid about doggies here because when I went in for my travel consult in the US, the woman was insistent that wild dogs were the worst problem in Asia, so every time I see a dog I think of that 80’s movie “An American Werewolf in London” and get a little concerned.
These dogs are freaking out. Julian laughs and says nervously, don’t aggravate them and we will be fine. I laugh at this statement. Don’t provoke the wild dogs. After another hundred feet or so we come to a house, so it appears that the wild dogs of China live in a home. The owner of the property does not notice me right away and he looks over at the uncle and says something in Chinese but stops and begins to stare at me. He then looks to the Uncle and changes his tone completely. They both laugh and look at me. I don’t want Julian to translate and he doesn’t offer, but he is also laughing. The man wanders over quickly and pauses in front of me, gives me the once over and says, “Hello!”
I do the same thing to him, giving him the once over and he laughs. We shake hands and he begins to speak to Julian, a perma-grin spreading across his face. He speaks to Julian in Chinese.
“He says that he has never seen such a big man before.” I have heard this several times and it no longer offends me. If anything the common China man has not a mean spirited bone in his body. He invited into his less than modest home, one that I fear must be simply dreadful in the wintertime, when temperatures here range below freezing for weeks at a time. The house has no insulation and many holes in the crumbling foundation. He has four kids, a wife and a couple of family members who are visiting for the holiday and as we walk in, they stare in amazement of my presence. The stares turn to smiles as soon as they realize who I am with and I am encouraged to sit down—everyone wants me to sit when I enter their homes, surely being so large I must be tired!
I take a seat and look at the children—asian kids are so cute and shy that I always find them to be the most interesting thing to look at in a room.
Moments later, his wife comes into the main room with a tray of peanuts, sunflower seeds and puffed rice pieces that taste like a weird Funion. I feel bad for eating these peoples food—they are very poor and I am over nourished, but Julian and his uncle are peeling the seeds and spitting them on the ground and I think of my mother and how she would absolutely shit her pants at the site of someone spitting seeds in someone elses home. I decline that urge to do it.
Julian explains that this man is a duck farmer. He points across the lake and there is quite a large grouping of ducks on the other side of the lake, just in my sight of view. There is easily a couple of hundred of them and I smile back at the man, he is delighted. “He just calls to them and they come in, but only at night.” He says matter of factly. I find this also amusing. I ask him to tell the man to call the ducks in.
“I don’t think they will come, they will think we are going to kill them off.”
“Just ask him. I want to see how one calls a herd of ducks.”
“As you wish.” Julian asks the man to call them. He protests, seemingly saying the same thing Julian told me, but Julian corrects him and everyone starts laughing and then he lets out a loud wok-wok-woo sound.
I look over at Julian and repeat the sound. The duck herder looks at me and laughs.
“No. Wack wok woo woo”
I nod. “Wock Wack Woo Woo.” I say loudly. The ducks move. Away.
Everyone laughs. Again the duck farmer calls to the ducks, this time I memorize it and repeat it back like a tape recorder. I begin to feel bad for the ducks. They might not come home tonight.
“So why do they come at night? Why come at all?”
“Ducks are very lazy. This man feeds them and gives them shelter in that shed. The dogs protect the ducks from other predators.”
“Wait, your telling me these dogs take care of the ducks?”
Julian appears confused by my question.
“Of course.”
“And these dogs don’t ever come to the conclusion that ducks are actually meat?”
He doesn’t have an answer and he asks the herder who responds in a brash tone.
“He says that usually they do not kill the ducks, however one of them has killed two in the past week, which means that he needs to watch the dogs and find out which one is killing the ducks and he will have to kill that dog.”
I cannot help but wonder if they will then eat the dog, but I do not want to ask. He goes on to say that he thinks it is the dog that looks the most like a wolf. This dog has been not behaving very well and he almost killed a wild goat yesterday.
“A wild goat?” Julian translates.
“Yes, there is a wild goat that had to be put in the shed because it is very afraid of the dogs.”
` We walk over to the shed and sure enough, there is a small black goat there, covered in sweat and looking frightened. I ask the duck herder why he doesn’t kill the animal and eat it on this fine holiday. He laughs at my suggestion and says that he is waiting for someone to come and claim it. I look at him and tell him that he should just be rid of the evidence that there ever was a goat here and simply eat it as a Mid-Autumn Day celebration! We all laugh together.

I want to continue on in my journey. It is getting close to dinner time and we need to be heading back and so I motion to Julian that perhaps it is time. The man picks up on my gesture and asks us to stay for dinner. Julian looks in my direction and I immediately decline the offer, we have many others waiting for us at his home. The man understands and bids us farewell. We begin to wander back after a few photos with the Duck Herder and his family.
We arrive back at Julian’s place 15 minutes later and the place has managed to double since we went off on our journey. Even Julian is surprised at the number of people that have arrived. We head directly to the kitchen area to see how much of the dinner is prepared. The kitchen area is a large room off to the side of the house. There is one large prep area where the food is cut and prepped for the woks, were in another corner. Two woks, the biggest ones I have ever seen are built into a concrete fireplace—which is full of firewood. The cook is working both of the enormous woks and the fire is heating them to the right temperature for frying. The heat is intense, but the cook is focused and keeps cooking each dish, one after the other. We are asked to go and have a beer as dinner is almost ready. At this point, Julian’s brother asks me if I like beer. I look to my stomach and nod, they understand what I am getting at.
“My brother would like to know how many beer you can drink.” Julian asks.
“I can hold my own, as we say. I can drink several if the moment is right.”
He translates this. His brother smiles.
The food begins to arrive and the women begin to shout at each other. The men begin to arrive as well. They all gather around me.
“You are the guest of honor tonight Mr. Tim. That man across from you is the mayor of this town. He is most honored to be sitting with you to have a meal.”
I nod to him and lean over to shake his hand. His face beams widely toward me. I wait for him to take his seat, but he is waiting for me.
“Mr. Tim, no one will sit until you do so. You are sitting facing the door, you are the guest of honor.” He is very proud, I am very nervous.
I take my seat and then men follow suit. I am not sure what is customary to do next, but I signal to the men to eat and they wait for me to dip my chopsticks into a dish. I will admit that most of it did not look overly appealing to me at that moment, with all the duck and chicken heads looking dazed in the various pots, so I played the western pussy and went for the familiar green beans dish.
Then the beer breaks out…..
More on this later…. Its time for bed.