Adventure man starts today's quest with leftover espresso preserved overnight in the fridge. At JCM International we call this cold brew. 

So adventure man opens his door into the internet universe peeks in (command q) and opens the door to a run through the great outside. 

First steps on streets Mountain, Cherry, Spring, and Santa Rita. Each road becomes the title of  another exploration for Adventure man. Plowing pathways in her head, several stories left unsaid, adventure woman discovers boxes at the park packed with picture books. Moldy pages new chapters in motion as seasons glow 

Mountains on the horizon, cactuses here and ow! Sweeting off stress soaking in sun. Today's working journey has begun, creating portals of wonder and allowing adventure person to build their own delightfully designed path to explore today

 I hope more will come to play 

 

On finding a blog from 12 years ago

 I stumbled across this blog from my first adventures in China. In the course of the last decade very little has changed in my life. Here are some thoughts that I'll share with John Murray teacher at Southwest University: 

You clever bastard I appreciate the foresight to begin posts with:  What in the hell have I gotten myself into? 

Your favorite activity (drinking) will cease to bring you any joy and your least favorite thing (running) will fill you with greater pleasure than drinking ever did 

I'm guessing the last post was made from your apartment in Beibei while this one is made from your current residence in Tucson Arizona. On this very day there is a group of Mexican men on your roof. Their drilling, footsteps, and music are quite loud- thankfully this doesn't bother you. 

The most recent brain scans are stable- you are in great health! 

你先学习汉字，可以继续学拼音，估计学语言就需要过程。

You have lived a life of grand adventures and sitting here at the start of 2023 you will be pondering  what's next. There will be moments of frustration and confusion including this very moment. That's ok I suppose you were, are, and will always be on a journey. 

For the last week you've been working on a song: 

"What's mugi even mean I don't really know

I'm mugi, mugi, mugi"

In summary get ready for one wild ride. Enjoy buddy-boy you've just finished a morning run that included a street called Manlove I'd say the doors to the future continue to swing open 

Pictures From My Class's Christmas Party

Final Exams at Southwest

Last week I gave a final exam for my Oral English classes. The exam
was really just a discussion with each student individually (5
minutes) or with a partner (10 minutes). I met with 210 students, and
each student actually talked from 7-20 minutes. I hate math, so you
calculate the time or just imagine long and often repetitive
conversations. Apparently the students are not nearly as shy when they
do not have to worry about “losing face” in front of their classmates.

This would be hell to many people. I got a kick out of it. As
students, some are great while others are sub-par, but as people they
are genuine, caring, and fun. As the semester comes to a close,
I must say that have grown to love teaching them. There is no doubt
that I am completely unqualified to be a teacher, let alone a
professor, but I have had some classes go incredibly well- others, not
so much.

Here is where I’ll get a little sentimental.

The best part of the job is that I know I am making a difference. I
try to be respectful, open, and friendly to all of my students. They
appreciate this not because I am a teacher, but I am often their first
foreign friend. After I finished chatting with one student for her
final exam, she asked to take a picture with me (about 35 other
students also asked). She said she was from a small village, where
most older people had never seen a foreigner before. As a result of
propaganda and general ignorance of the outside world, the villagers
dislike foreigners. This student said she wanted to take this picture
so she could show her village that she made a foreign friend, and he
was nice, and (most importantly) loved China. When all is said and
done, I know that I have changed a long held mindset, possibly 5000
years old, in a village in rural China.

Imagine the job satisfaction if this happened everyday. It does here
at Southwest. A variation of the situation I described above happens
to me nearly every class. All you have to do is try to be a good
person, and it is reciprocated 10 times over.

Three Chinese Families

I have been tutoring three children outside of my professorship. This
technically violates my contract, so forgive my hush hush nature.
Recently I have discovered that nearly everyone tutors outside of the
contract, and that my boss was the one that set me up with my “first
Chinese family”. The “first Chinese family” is a husband and wife who
are also both English professors at Southwest University, and I teach
their (surprise, one) child English. His English is quite impressive
because the family has just returned from a year in Wales. We read “A
Diary of a Wimpy Kid” together, which is really fun.

This family introduced me to two other families, and I agreed to tutor
another boy and a girl. Tutoring was overwhelming at first. I still
hadn’t figured out China, and I had to travel to the homes of complete
strangers to teach. I forgot to mention the parents of the other two
children speak little, sometimes no English.

When you enter a Chinese home, which is always an apartment, you must
take off your shoes and put on a pair of slippers. No family had a
pair of slippers that I could even fit my toes in. For a relative
comparison, Google image search Shaq+ shoe and then look at your own
two feet. The families, in absolute shock and confusion, found plastic
grocery bags that they covered my shoes with, which forced me to walk
through their house in a sloshing shuffle.

Their homes are modest in size, but pretty nice. They have hardwood
floors, iPads, flat screen TVs, a couple of Chinese paintings or jade
sculptures, and about any toy a western child would have. Life for a
family of three is quite comfortable, and increasing rapidly. The
family’s that I teach are middle class, maybe even upper-middle class,
and epitomize the average Beibei family. It is rumored that there are
more than 300 million Chinese people living the same life of comfort
and modest material success, which is about the population of the US.

Chinese grandparents basically raise the children, while both their
parents work full time jobs to provide more opportunities for their
one child. Critics of the One Child Policy often argue that today’s
Chinese youth will have the financial burden of two parents, and any
surviving grandparents. The reality is, at least for now, the families
are building small fortunates at an alarming rate, and the quality of
life is far better than my pre-conceived notions.

So every Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday from 6-8 I am with one of my
Chinese families. What was once overwhelming has become an absolute
blessing. Immediately upon my arrival, I am seated and eat with the
family. The food is remarkable, but tastes even better when eaten with
a family. All dishes are served family style. The women are always
concerned that I don’t like the food, and I insist (好吃 hao chi) that
the food is delicious, so they shovel even more food into my bowl.
Their faces light up when they realize I am not being polite, but
really love the food.

I haven’t seen a fork or knife since being in China, but they do use
spoons sometimes. My chopstick ability is ok. If you come across
bones, which is very likely, you just spit them freely anywhere on the
table. Loud eating is not rude, but complementary. I have been scolded
for eating to quietly. Chinese people don’t drink anything when they
eat. If full, simply get up from the table and go to the living room,
no need to say anything.

The Chinese families have become a support base that the other
American teachers do not have. They make sure I am happy, fed, and
clothed. Recentely, my first Chinese family helped me plan an upcoming
trip to Yunnan. The helped me purchase air and train tickets, which
would be impossible by myself.

I have many anecdotes with these kids and families. Surprisingly, none
of the kids are really that well behaved, but they are just young and
overwhelmed with schoolwork in other classes. I will leave you with a
brief snapshot of each child.

First Chinese family: I just finished my final tutor session for the
semester. Although I have already been invited back to their house for
a couple of occasions, I won’t teach again until after Spring
Festival. We read “A Diary of a Wimpy Kid” by means of “popcorn”,
which means that he reads as much as he wants and says “popcorn” and I
take over. I don’t know if that is an American thing or from St. O’s,
but I taught him that. After our last lesson, the boy gave me a big
hug.

Second Chinese family: This boy is only 6! He is full of energy and
absolutely crazy, but I can never be mad at him because he is so
hysterical. Oral Chinese makes no distinction between masculine and
feminine other than contextual use. Many of my university students
will describe a boy as “she” or a girl as “he”. I decided to teach the
boy the difference so he could learn now. He figured it out fast, but
is a real smartass already, so called his mother “he” for the rest of
night. He would laugh and laugh. She doesn’t speak any English. I had
a case of the church giggles the entire night.

The other day he said he wanted to say something to me, so he grabbed
his dad’s iPad and used the translator function. He typed in Chinese,
and the translator (in that choppy robotic voice) said “Crocodile
older brother acquisition”. To my family- I thought of that blue book
and when it says “In my Spaghetti”. We both thought it was one of the
funniest things we had ever heard.

Third Chinese family: This girl is the Chinese superstar student that
American’s are warned about. She is very gifted academically, and can
play a Chinese harp at a professional level. She is 9. Despite her
near perfection at nearly every subject, her English is the worst out
of my three families. Sunday is her birthday, and her father insisted
that I asked that I join the family for her birthday dinner. She was
initially very shy, but has since said that I am one of her best
friends.

Did I mention I get paid for all of this? 80 quai for the one hour
that I teach, which is about 13 American.

Life is good.

To my American friends and family: 我爱你们 wo ai nimen.
JCM

Thanksgiving in China

The foreign teachers prepared a feast for Thanksgiving. I enjoyed the
meal very much, especially using generous amounts of the curry from
Dr. Shaq's Pakistani dish as a gravy.

China is much more diverse than I ever would have imagined. Each
province speaks a different dialect, maintains a different set of
cultural norms, culinary tradition, and environment. Yes, China is
predominately Han Chinese, but I am starting to realize that the
country of China is probably about as diverse as the continent of
Europe. From a Western viewpoint, this presents a serious problem of
indenitiy. China has such a long and continuous culture, that they
feel connected as a people, which is a tighter bond than that of a
country. Think of the diversity, yet unity of the Christian world in
Europe or the Muslim world in the Middle East (in their respective
primes, of course). The Chinese religion really is the worship of
China.

The new China, the Communist China, is only a product of the last 100
years. People who play Mahjongg everyday in the park outside my
apartment were born before Communist China. The love of China by the
Chinese is no result of propaganda. I think their love is so strong
for this place, that they look and act like fish out of water when
they are in other countries. I am afraid that this is what the West
sees and thinks of the Chinese. Stereotypes are dangerous. My students
asked me recently “HOW MANY guns do you have?”

My students. Whenever they refer to China, they say “Our China”. If I
ask them about pollution they might say “our China is too polluted.”
Food- “What do you think of our China’s food?” History, sports,
politics, art is all “Our China.” They emphasize possession and take
responsibility for their country.

China needs to be looked at differently. I watched an interesting
video that captures the thoughts I am beginning to develop about
China: www.ted.com/talks/martin_jacques_understanding_the_rise_of_china.html

This is what I questioned over Thanksgiving: “What is “Our America”?
What level of possession and responsibility do I, and should I take as
a citizen of the most powerful country in the world.

I told my students that some people think China will be, or maybe even
is, the new superpower of the world. They laughed. As Americans, we
have no reason to fear China, but for the time being, as the unrivaled
super power of the world, we better figure our stuff out.

I saw a little Chinese girl walking around Southwest University once
with a T-Shirt that said, “IF YOU AIN’T A COWBOY, YOU AIN’T SHIT”.

I am Thankful for anyone reading this!

Love,
John

The Slow Train from Chengdu to Chongqing

National Holiday Plan- Step 1: Catch Bus from Beibei to Chongqing

Step 2: Catch train from Chongqing to Chengdu

Step 3: Find our reserved hotel in Chengdu

Step 4: Enjoy Chengdu

Step 5: Come back refreshed and ready to teach in Beibei

So.

At 2:56 pm on Sunday afternoon I embarked on my journey to Chengdu with another English teacher from Bosnia and three Chinese brothers. Well, actually, we started at 2:00 pm, but were unable to catch a bus to the train station in Chongqing. Every single bus was full. Chongqing is about an hour south of Beibei, so at about 2:30 we decided to pay some extra cash and take a cab to the train station. Then the cabs were full. Finally we found a cab at the exact moment when I thought my appendix would burst from traveler’s stress. Luckily, we had Chinese Mario Andretti driving us, or rather weaving us if creating a tapestry, to the Chongqing train station. This type of driving did not scare me at all, because in China, the roads are so terrifying that I would rather either get off them or have the damn accident as fast as possible.

We rolled out of the cab, threw some money at the driver, and sprinted for the terminal. The train station is brand new, and comparable to MSP airport in traffic and security. I had to be frisked and send my bags through two separate x-ray machines. Of course no one spoke English, so I ran behind my friends like a bull in a china shop. We got to the train with 4 minutes to spare. We found our seats, took a few deep breathes, and enjoyed two hours of the beautiful rolling hills of Sichuan, completely maximized for agriculturial production, as the train floated at a comfortable 180 kilometers per hour.

When we arrived at Chengdu, we contacted my Chinese brother’s friend, who lived in Chengdu and would be showing us around for the week. She finished her work shift at 9pm at the nearby three-story grocery store, so we went to grab a bite to eat- Pig ears and peppers. As we walked around, I noticed little difference from Beibei or Chongqing, except hybrid electrical bicycles that cruised silently threw the night. Business idea number 1 to bring home. 

After eating, walking around, and eventually waiting on the street corner like refuges from America, we met up with the friend.  She took us the hotel, which was a single door that opened to a peeling red-wallpapered lobby. An older woman rested on a coach and a young boy played computer games behind the desk. After rousing the women from her nap, we began the check in process. About 20 seconds into the conversation, I realized the hotel would not work out. I assumed the hotel had been overbooked, but it turned out that the hotel could not host foreigners. Apparently it had been graded by the government as a “One Star” hotel, and to ensure positive international perception, foreigners must stay in at least a “Three Star” hotel.  They should have let me stay in the “One Star” hotel.

Before I go any further, I must reiterate from previous blogs that my friends’ English level is about five years worth in high school. Imagine what you remember from high school Spanish or French. Communication is always broken, but they still speak better than the average Chinese person I have encountered.

Tired and defeated, we walked to the friend’s apartment to use the computer in hopes of finding another hotel or hostel. We checked the Internet, and everything had been completely booked for the holiday.

I have to be very careful describing the apartment because (to spoil the story) we stayed three nights there and our hosts were very gracious to put us up. The second-story apartment was in one of the five eight-story cement buildings of the guarded complex. The door opened to a kitchen, lit with one buzzing florescent light bulb. The kitchen connected to bathroom, which had a squat toilet (a hole in the ground) and a hose (shower). The three single bedrooms were split between a pair of college women, a young couple and their three year old daughter, and, well, us. My Chinese friends decided to only stay one night at the hotel, so the first night, the other English teacher and I slept on the mattress on the floor, and the next two nights we were joined by the four other people.

I did see a rat, not a mouse, in the kitchen one night. I didn’t take a proper shower. At no point did I feel unsafe. At no point did I feel physically comfortable. My favorite part was playing with the three-year-old girl, who spoke about as much English as her parents. Her parents did not replace the burnt out lights in the kitchen, but they did have an Ipad. They, I, lived in poverty.

Now I consider myself blessed with the gift of adaptation, which proves especially important in traveling, but the situations continued to worsen. My friends were nightmarish travelers, who constantly bickered, complained about money, and bored with anything instantly. They are still my brothers so I will stop there, but I will not travel with them any time soon.

There were definite highlights to the trip, which will be captured in beautiful pictures that I hope to share soon. We visited an old city on the first day, which was a bit of a tourist trap, but still fascinating. I say tourist trap, but we were still the only foreigners there, everyone else was Chinese. Shops, food, art- anyone who has traveled knows this kind of place. Next we took a van to the fake “Great Wall of China”. Only the Chinese would build a replica of their national monument and flock to it as if it were the real deal. The wall cuts threw rolling hills and leads to a monastery. Although it sounds like a cheap rip off, the wall and the monastery were actually quite beautiful. At the monastery, which was Buddhist, I paid 20 RMB to have my fortune read by a monk. He told me, through my friends, that I made the right decision to come to China. Ironically, he told me that I will have to be more independent and accomplish tasks without the help of others- advice I would use for the rest of the trip.

The trip home became a battle with other Chinese tourists. To get on the bus, we pushed, elbowed, and blocked out, eventually winning seats on the bus that must have been three or four times filled beyond capacity. The people that did not get seats looked like a Picasso art piece with body parts flailing in every direction. One woman came over to my Chinese friend and handed him her toddler child. My friend played with him almost as if he expected to entertain children on his lap during the course of hour long packed bus rides. The bus is China in a nutshell- Frustrating, packed, loud, dirty, but also communal, understanding, and flexible. Ying and Yang.

One of my friends, a Tibetan student who spent the summer as an exchange student at SJU, invited me to a Buddhist ceremony. I gladly accepted, and told my friends many times over that they did not have to join me (and in fact I hoped they wouldn’t) but they all decided to come. The festival was a ceremony of freeing fish into a lake, symbolic of Buddhist respect for all living beings. We awoke at 5am and went to a nearby Buddhist temple. When we arrived with around 50 other people, and found around 35 large containers packed with small, squirmy fish.

My friends, all Han Chinese, instantly complained about the whole ceremony stating that releasing the fish would be wasteful. For the rest of the event, I would have to mediate between their boredom and apathy with my Tibetan friend’s deep religious belief. Get me a Nobel Peace Prize nomination, NOW.

The Monks began an hour or so chant, which the participants joined in with. I moved my lips and held my hands in prayer. My other friends sat in the background and played on their cell phones. After the chant, we caught a long and bumpy bus ride to lake, where we shuffled into narrow fishing boats that brought us to the center of the lake where we freed the fish. We than enjoyed a delicious vegetarian meal. At least I enjoyed it. My other friends wanted fish, and they were dead serious.

The next day we went to the largest Panda reserve in the world. This was one of my best experiences in China so far. The Panda reserve had the same set up as a zoo, yet the conditions do not weigh on one’s consciousness at all. The panda’s have plenty of room, which literally is their natural habitat. The pandas, especially the adolescent pandas, put on a marvelous show. They exhibited their famed human like light-hearted characteristics like falling, playing, fighting, and chasing each other. I never thought I would say this but they were unbelievable cute.

After the Panda Park, we returned to Chengdu and went to buy train tickets home. The bullet train for the next two days was sold out, meaning we would have to take a 10-hour slow train from Chengdu to Chongqing. We were planning on staying another night, but I threw that idea out the window, explaining that catching the train that night would be no different than another night on the floor of the apartment.

So we bought the tickets, went back to the apartment, gathered our stuff, and rested. The train station is 20 minutes from the apartment. We left the apartment 24 minutes before our departure time. Do not ask me why, there is no logic behind anything that happens here.

We rolled out of the cab, threw some money at the driver, and sprinted for the terminal. The train station is brand new, and comparable, to MSP airport in traffic and security. I had to be frisked and send my bags through two separate x-ray machines. Of course no one spoke English, so I ran behind my friends like a bull in a china shop. We got to the train with 4 minutes to spare. We found our seats, took a few deep breaths, and enjoyed 10 hours of going home. Yes, that paragraph is copied and pasted.

The train was dirty, packed with people, smelly, and moved at the speed of a light jog. The funny thing was, as soon as we got on the train, everyone was in good spirits. No bickering, but loads of laughter. My hypothesis is that these guys are so inexperienced in traveling, that as soon as they knew they were going home (even on a 10 hour red-eye train) they were happy.

Now I rest and try to restore some of my sanity. I will look back on this experience and think. I have no idea what I will think, but I will certainly think. For the first time on the trip, the gravity of the situation weighed on me: I am literally half way around the world in a Communist country and I don’t speak any of the language or understand cultural norms. Someday I will tell my grandchildren about sleeping on stranger’s apartment floor in Chengdu. I will tell them about the panda bears, which will more than likely be extinct. I will tell them about the slow train from Chengdu to Chongqing.