A Very Chinglish Christmas

“So, do they even celebrate Christmas over there?”

My family and friends back home repeatedly asked this question as the holiday season approached. The answer is yes. And no. In China, Christmas isn’t about the birth of Jesus. In fact, I’m beginning to doubt that many of them know he has anything to do with it at all. Something tells me that a little something called immaculate conception would blow their minds.

Instead of The Big Man Upstairs, Christmas in China revolves around The Big Man Up North, as in the North Pole – Santa Claus (or shèng dàn lǎo rén, which translates literally into fat, old man). When I relayed this information to my Dad, he grumbled, “Sounds like what a lot of people think Christmas is over here. Too much Santa, not enough Jesus.” I probably didn’t respond the way he wanted me to, which would’ve been something along the lines of, “Ba hum bug! You’re right. Children are so spoiled these days.” But hearing him say that only made me homesick because, geez, that is just so something my Dad would say.

Buffin and I did our best to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year as if we were back home. In an effort to make up for the lack of Christmas in our lives, we “splurged” on holiday décor in Old Town. You know how all of the Christmas crap you buy in America says “Made in China” on it? Well, we went straight to the source. Ornaments, snowflakes, bows, jingle bells – basically, Christmas had a few too many eggnogs and threw up in our kitchen. And, thanks to Buffin, I filled my iPod with all of the holiday music I’d been lacking so I could jam out on the metro. (Don’t ask me how a little Jewish girl got such a delightfully Christmas-stacked iTunes library).

On Christmas Eve, (after our church plans were foiled since the service was in Chinese, imagine that!) we met up with J+B for drinks at Cotton’s, an expat-y restaurant/bar in the French Concession. It was amazingly warm inside – we’ve learned that anywhere that caters to Westerners sucks it up and pays for central heating, which is why Starbucks has become our Mecca – and we grabbed a table by the fireplace. Aside from the obnoxious children who insisted on continually popping balloons by us (God, smite me down if I become one of those parents who brings their children to fancy establishments), we had a lovely evening sipping “adult” hot chocolates – the adult part being the cognac. Precious J+B surprised us with Christmas presents wrapped in the pages of a severely outdated US Weekly (B shares our affinity for trashy gossip rags) and adorned with the last remaining vestiges of B’s Ice Queen costume from Paige and Emily’s Tacky Christmas party the weekend before.

We woke up on Christmas morning and made pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Purchased for the equivalent of $12 USD, Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup never tasted so good. After opening the stockings that my sister had shipped to us (candy and scarves and makeup – oh my!), I got a chance to video Skype with the whole fam damily back in Houston, what I’d been looking forward to all week. Since it was still Christmas Eve in The States, everyone was over at my cousins’ house. The laptop was passed around the living room, and I got face time with every member of my extended family. I only got an eensie weensie bit teary-eyed, and considering that Christmas Eve at The Finnegans’ is my absolute favorite night of the entire year, I’m pretty shocked that I didn’t have a full-fledged meltdown.

Next, we snuggled up in the twin bed to watch Meet Me in St. Louis, one of my all-time favorite holiday movies. Judy Garland's rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” gets me every time. Luckily I had an entire box of Dots XL (thanks to Mariann’s stocking) to shovel in my mouth to stave off any Christmas melancholy. As per her usual routine, Buff fell asleep halfway through.

We had a late lunch at Element Fresh, our favorite Western restaurant, before going over to Liz’s apartment that evening. We brought mini PB+J sandwiches with an angel imprinted on them via cookie cutter (a.k.a. Holy Sammies) and cider, which we’d made with one of the Cider Beetles from our stockings. [Another one of my favorite Christmas traditions, Cider Beetles are these magical little doodads from the Houston sandwich shop, Picnic. It has everything in it you need to make cider (just add apple juice) – cinnamon, cloves, brown sugar, and a whole bunch of other stuff I can’t identify. Plus, all the ingredients are arranged in the shape of a little beetle. Too cute.]

It turns out that if you have a wall heater, a space heater, apartment lights, additional Christmas lights, a television and a DVD player on at the same time in a ghetto Chinese apartment, you will inevitably blow a fuse. Which we did. So while it was being repaired (the only positive thing about Christmas in China – nothing is closed and no one has the day off from work) we entertained ourselves by passing around a Cosmopolitan and reading aloud the “true” embarrassing stories with the help of the flashlight function on Buffin’s cell phone. It was a ridiculous sight to behold. A little pathetic, to be sure, but mainly just ridiculous. And, remaining true to the old cat ladies that we’ve morphed into, we were in bed by 10.

Truthfully, I feel like I took a year off from the entire holiday season. It’s like Thanksgiving and Christmas didn’t even happen. But, apparently, it will be waiting for me when I get home. I’ve been promised some Christmas shopping and my dad even offered to keep up the decorations, which I kindly declined. A Christmas tree in February screams “Fire hazard!” more than it says “Merry Christmas!” My sweet friends have offered to throw a “Christmas in July” party, which is probably more of an excuse to get drunk and pretend like we’re still in college than it is to celebrate Christmas with me, but, hey, I’ll take it.

So here’s to Christmas 2010. Looking forward to it.

圣诞老人 is Coming to Town!

I am dreaming tonight of a place I love

(That would be the grand city of Houston, Texas)

Even more than I usually do

And although I know it's a long road back (Try 7,446 miles)

I promise you...

I'll be home for Christmas

You can count on me

Please have snow humidity and mistletoe Uncle Bill’s hot cheese dip

And presents by the tree

[Hint, hint: new Tory Burch flats (China killed mine), Central Market cooking lessons, every movie Katharine Hepburn ever made, a weekend at Lake Austin Spa]

Christmas Eve will find me

Where the love light gleams

(Jk! It won’t find me with this alleged “love light.” It will find me here. In China.)

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

(Looks like dreams will just have to suffice for both Bing and me this year)

Merry Christmas from The Far East!

xx,

Hallie

Sojourn to Xi'an

When Buffin and I first moved into our apartment, we put up a Longhorn football calendar in the kitchen that we’d filled in with important dates. National Day in Beijing? Check. My birthday? Check. A visit from Buffin’s dad? Check. Uncle Hal in town? Check. When we got to Shanghai all the way back in August, December 3rd – the date that Buffin’s mom (Allison) and grandma (Mimi) were scheduled to come – seemed ages away. But, before we knew it, November was over and it was time to welcome the Nathan girls to China.

On Thursday night, we flew to Xi’an to meet up with Allison and Mimi, who had made a pit stop in Beijing first. But it wouldn’t be a true "Buffin & Hallie Chinese Adventure" without a mishap or two. It turned out to be one of the most frightening plane experiences of my life as I watched Buffin suffer a bonafide panic attack right next to me. I rubbed her hands, massaged her earlobes (a stress relieving trick I no doubt heard about on Oprah) and tried to distract her by loudly discussing the clothes on every single page of the Vogue we had brought with us. “I’M SO READY FOR THESE HAREM PANTS TO JUST GO AWAY! AREN’T YOU?!" I’m sure the other passengers thought we were raving lunatics.

We arrived in one piece, thankfully, to find our lovely guide Serena holding a sign at the arrivals gate that read: “Ann Golias and Martha Hablinski.” Ooh, how glamorous! I kind of felt like I was a Kardashian or a Gosselin – someone who has no business being famous and “important.” On our ride to the hotel, Serena gave us a brief history lesson on Xi’an, capital of the Shaanxi Province. I wasn’t really listening because I was dying to ask her why she chose her English name, which has become my new favorite question. “Please let it be from Gossip Girl. Please let it be from Gossip Girl.” It was. Her bangs were also ever-so-slightly crooked, meaning that she probably trims them herself. In a nutshell, she was a girl after my own heart.

When we pulled up to the hotel around 11 p.m., Allison ran outside to meet us in her pajamas. It’s because of things like this that I just love, love, love her. She is a hoot. (And if Allison’s a hoot, then Mimi is a hoot and a half – she wore a surgical mask throughout our entire trip because she was afraid of the germs and pollution). We were quickly ushered inside and up to our room where we soon collapsed onto the giant, fluffy bed and were lulled to sleep by what has become an almost mythical sound – central heating.

The next morning we set out to tackle the city of Xi’an in one day, which turned out to be an easy fete since we had a personal guide and accompanying van to shuffle us to and fro the tourist sites:

• The Terracotta Factory: Our first stop was a terracotta factory where they craft miniature replicas of The Terracotta Army and other goods. They (allegedly) use clay from Mount Lishan, the same material used to make the authentic Terrracotta Warriors all those years ago. We got the grand tour of the place – the potter’s wheels, the kilns and so on. We even watched as men painted intricate designs on vases, all done by freehand. It was pretty amazing. The tour concluded with a stop in the “gift shop” – a giant warehouse chock full of terracotta crap. Our experience here was the first sign of Allison and Mimi’s shopping addictions, which continued to manifest itself throughout the trip.

• The Terracotta Army: Next, it was on to the real deal. The Terracotta Army was discovered in 1974 by local farmers who were drilling a well. More than 8,000 soldiers, 100 chariots and 700 horses were buried in 210 B.C. to protect Emperor Qin Shi Huang in the afterlife – the same man who ordered the construction of a little thing now known as The Great Wall of China. You may have heard of it. Each soldier is unique, and it is believed that they were modeled after real people. Pit #1 – the most imposing of the three – is housed in what can best be described as an airplane hangar. Row after row of warriors fill the room. In the back is “The Hospital”, where the soldiers are reconstructed by archaeologists (very few were actually found intact). Pit #2 is dark and, honestly, kind of creepy and depressing. Most of the warriors inside are still in shattered pieces. What is interesting in here, however, is the formation of horses and a seemingly invisible chariot – it was made of wood and has since rotted. Pit #3 is mostly untouched since archaeologists are waiting for more advanced preservation techniques to be discovered before excavating any more warriors. One of their hopes is that they will be able to maintain the warriors’ paint, which fades quickly after the figures are unearthed. The final pit also featured a few of the rare warriors that were found in one piece. It gave me goosebumps to be somewhere so deeply steeped in history and see things that were more ancient than I could fathom.

• The Shaanxi Provincial History Museum: We made a brief stop here after seeing The Terracotta Army. It was nice to have a guide with us who could actually explain the significance of what we were seeing. Each exhibit was dedicated to a different dynasty – a concept I’m still trying to wrap my head around. I get my Qins and my Mings and my Songs and my Hans all confused. My favorite piece was a solid gold figurine called “The Monster,” so named because it has the beak of a bird, the antlers of a deer and the body of a horse. “It is worth all of Hong Kong!” Serena said.

• The Xi’an City Wall: We made it to the city wall just as the sun began to set, optimal picture-taking time. It is one of the oldest and best-preserved Chinese city walls, dating back to 194 B.C. However, it’s been rebuilt countless times and the existing wall is from the Ming Dynasty, circa 1370. We got some great shots of the city and the distant bell tower. And, naturally, there was a very Chinese-y pagoda on top of the wall that we posed with, too. At this point in the day it was positively frigid and Mimi was a riot in her head-to-toe black ensemble, complete with hooded coat and ever-present surgical mask. “She looks like Slim Shady!” Allison laughed. I’m not sure what was funnier, Mimi in her ghetto getup or the fact that Allison likened her mother to rap superstar, Eminem.

• Night Market: After a delicious dumpling dinner (whoa, someone sure loves to alliterate) we paid a visit to the bustling night market in the Muslim Quarter. There was booth after booth of the grossest food I have ever laid eyes on. And the intermingling smells, my God, the intermingling smells. Not to say that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I actually had a blast. Especially when we came across a shoe shop selling Chinese-slipper-like footwear. We each bought a pair (or in Mimi’s case, several) and stowed them away in our sweet suitcase-cum-shopping bag that Allison was toting around. After satisfying Allison and Mimi’s shopping addiction, we enjoyed a very memorable ride home. A lack of cabs combined with freezing temperatures forced us to adopt a form of transportation that, under normal circumstances, we would have never considered. Enter the motorized rickshaw. It’s China’s answer to the pedicab, but a hell of a lot more frightening than its American counterpart. It’s built for two people, but we somehow squeezed four women and one shoe-filled suitcase into the contraption. Buffin and I weren’t even sitting on a real seat – it was just a sliver of the back of the driver’s bench. We sped through traffic as cars and motorcycles whizzed by. Most of the time I had my eyes closed. Mimi, who insisted on holding open the sheet/curtain because “if I don’t see where I’m going I’m gonna get claustrophobic!” wondered aloud if he was taking us to an opium den. Luckily, he was not. Upon arriving at our hotel, Allison said, “Don’t tell your dad we did this!” Hopefully he happens to skip this part of the blog.

Two days later, back in Shanghai, we bid farewell to the Nathan girls, who were off to Hong Kong before heading back to The States. It’s hard to believe that our last visitors have already come and gone. There are only a few more things left to cross off our calendar – but Xi’an is certainly one I won't be forgetting any time soon.

Gobble, Gobble

I bet you didn’t have sushi, kimchi and a fish head on your Thanksgiving table this year, now did you? Nope, didn’t think so. That’s because you didn’t celebrate the most delicious American holiday in China. That would be me.

The plans to create a suitable Thanksgiving experience began forming weeks ago – that’s how seriously we took it. Josh (aka “The Head Pilgrim”) and Becky offered to host the soiree at their house, since it’s pretty roomy. All of our fellow teachers, both foreign and Chinese, were invited to partake in the festivities so long as they agreed to chip in for the big ticket item (the turkey) and bring a side dish of their choice (hence, the fish head). I volunteered to bring the pumpkin pie since I’d heard talk of attempting a no-bake recipe for the holiest of all Thanksgiving dishes and that just wasn’t going to happen on my watch. I took the safe route and pre-ordered one from City Shop (the Mecca of Western grocery stores), where some of the other hard-to-find items were bought.

When all was said and done, we had a veritable feast on our hands (or, more accurately, in our bellies): turkey, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, salad, an abundance of bread, green beans, sweet potato soup, fruit salad, pumpkin pie and cheesecake. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Oh, and the aforementioned Asian dishes that I kept far away from my plate to preserve the purity of Thanksgiving.

J+B had their place outfitted for the holiday, complete with a wall collage of hand-traced turkeys and autumnal trees dubbed “The Enchanted Forest” – kudos for the effort. As we sat around the living room scarfing down our holiday meal off disposable plates, we participated in my favorite Thanksgiving tradition – the “What I’m Thankful For” game. All of our answers were pretty much in sync: thankful to be an American, thankful for the opportunity to live and teach in China, thankful for new friends, thankful to be safe and healthy. Stephanie, who happened to be the only Chinese teacher in the room at the time, was thankful for her new apartment because “it is much bigger so there is more space.” Hey, it’s all relative.

I got a kick out of watching our non-American guests try pumpkin pie and stuffing for the first time. Lily gave them both the thumbs up (but she generally tells me whatever I want to hear), while Angela (the sarcastic one...obviously my favorite) wasn’t too jazzed about the pumpkin pie. Practically sacrilegious, if you ask me. They were also pretty confused by the whole turkey obsession (pork is the meat of choice over here), and couldn’t seem to grasp how it’s different from a chicken. So much to learn, young grasshoppers...

We rounded off the night with a few rounds of Bananagrams before catching a cab back home. I could barely keep my eyes open because I was already deep in my traditional post-Thanksgiving food coma. Seems like some things stay the same no matter where you celebrate Turkey Day. And, as domestic diva and Thanksgiving aficionado Martha Stewart would say, that’s a good thing.

Nugget Alert!

I’ve never been very good at not playing favorites. As a camp counselor at Longhorn and Mystic I was the absolute worst. But when I’m in such close proximity to sheer adorableness, my judgment is clouded. I just can’t help myself. If favoritism in the classroom is wrong, then I don’t want to be right. Here’s a list of the little muffins that get called on a few more times (ok a lot more times) than the others - so sue me:

• Stuart: Book 3 (about 4 years old) at Zi Wei. Fittingly enough, he looks like Stuart Little; a teeny, tiny little boy with ears that stick out like a mouse. He’s also super smart, well behaved, and loves me – all the necessary trappings for a teacher’s pet (pun most definitely intended).

• Scott: Book 1 (about 3 years old) at Wu Yuan. He is a good six inches shorter than the rest of his classmates and has a tinge of munchkin in his voice. Sometimes I call on him just to hear him talk because it’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. He reminds me of some sort of wee animal, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Squirrel, maybe?

• Odysseus: Book 3 at Zi Wei. The best part about his name (I know, “It gets better?” you’re asking) is that he wants it to be pronounced “OH-di-shoes.” At the start of the semester, when I was pronouncing it the right way, he would constantly correct me. (Oh really? It’s not like you’re a toddler who doesn’t speak English or anything. By all means, tell me how to pronounce the moniker of a classic literary hero...) He also has this little impish grin permanently plastered on his puppy-dog face – not to mention that he winks at me. I mean, how can I resist?

• Luke: Book 5 (about 5 years old) at Xiang Yang. This little muffin (too old to be deemed a nugget) was born in America before his parents moved back to Shanghai, so his English is bangin’. He feels like we have a special kinship since we’re from the same place and just loves on me with hug after hug after hug. Most of the time he’ll chase me out of the classroom to continue yelling, “Goodbye Hallie!” until I’m out of earshot.

• Sylvia and Ellan: Book 3 at Zi Wei. I had to include these as a pair because they’re a troublemaking tag team. Yes, they’re a bit naughty, but their near obsession with me trumps the bad behavior. As soon as I walk in the classroom they are attached to my legs like little leeches and fight over the chance to be my partner during the greeting song. Oh, and Ellan is a dude. Clearly he is supposed to be Allen. Looks like someone got their vowels transposed during the nametag making process.

• Ruby: Book 2 at Tian Lin. The classes I teach on Sundays are all mixed ages and levels, and Ruby is significantly younger than everyone else in class – but she’s a genius. She rocks a sweet bowl cut (or, as I like to call it, “bangs-all-around”) and wears especially puffy jackets that turn her into a marshmallow. I like to call her Rubina (what I call my friend Rachel’s dog Ruby, actually) and Rubylicious.

• Pretty: Book 5 at Xiang Yang. Well, her parents weren’t playing around when they chose her English name – she is really, really pretty. I want her and Luke to get married. Probably the best English speaker out of all my students; her pronunciation is spot on. The one day I put a little effort into getting ready (by forgoing my usual ponytail and exercise attire) she greeted me with “Beautiful teacher Hallie!” Compliments will get you everywhere with me, kid – especially on my list of favorite students.

•Lala: Book 1 at Wu Yuan. Lala is in my baby Book 1 class – they can’t be more than two or two and a half, tops. She likes to roll around on the floor and always sports a “pokytail” (a ponytail so short that the hair sprouts out of it like a fountain) smack dab on the top of her head. She is the spitting image of one of The Chipettes – you know, the female sidekicks of Alvin and The Chipmunks? (If you are a child of the 80s and have never seen The Chipmunk Adventure, you are doing yourself a great disservice). This class only recently got nametags, and I was truly disappointed to find out that her English name is Angela. So I still call her Lala, her Chinese name.

• Jeff: The same baby Book 1 at Wu Yuan. He and Lala are part of the cutest crew of kids who all sit next to each other. He has a surprisingly deep and raspy voice for such a little tyke and is also very clever. For the first two weeks of class, he would cry without fail from the minute I walked in the door until the minute I left. But one day he up and decided I wasn’t all that bad and now we’re besties.

• William: Book 5 at Xiang Yang. He isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he tries so hard. He over pronounces absolutely everything, with his tongue flying every which way like it’s numb from a trip to the dentist. I was really confused as to why he sometimes spoke through a smile with gritted teeth. Then I realized that he was mimicking me (I smile...a lot) in an effort to speak correctly. My heart just about melted right then and there.

But, it must be said, they are all pretty damn cute –and it’s a good thing I think that because they are the (little) people I spend the vast majority of my time with. Yep, my best friends in China are all under the age of five. I’ve been blogging a lot about the out-of-the-ordinary things we do here (traveling, holidays, adventures, etc.) but I haven’t said much about the muffin wrangling. A typical class goes a little something like this:

I walk into the freezing classroom (no centralized heating allowed below the Yangtze River – makes me long for the land of the free and the home of the warm) to a room full of marshmallow-jacketed, scarf-mummified children bombarding me with a symphony of “Hello teacher!” and “Good morning Hallie!” After singing the greeting song (each level has its own) we jump straight into the day’s lesson. This is when all of the funny stories are born. One time Buffin had a girl say, “I hurt my ass” instead of “I hurt my arm” during a unit on helping others. You can’t tell me you’d be able to stifle laughter with a cherubic pre-schooler unwittingly cussing and expecting a high five for it. When I was giving a mid-semester test to my kids at Zi Wei they were supposed to tell me what fruit or vegetable they liked best, but I got two especially clever responses: “I like Canada” and “I like rabbit.” Hey, at least it’s English.

Most of the lessons involve at least one game, because that is what keeps them interested and motivated. I think the all-around favorite would have to be the “tickle game”, where a student has to find a certain graphic (vocabulary word with a crappy clip-art picture on it) before I count to five or else they get tickled. Pretty sure that wouldn’t fly in America. Hmm, can you say sexual harassment?

But it’s not all fun and games – there is a decent amount of disciplining involved. My most effective method is something I’ve dubbed “The Death Stare.” If a kid is acting up or chatting, I walk over to their chair and stare at them with my hands on my hips. Enormously effective, actually. I’m sure a few ex-boyfriends would agree. Sometimes I attempt to do what the Chinese teachers do, which is sternly and loudly say, “Yi, er, san!” [“One, two, three!”], and the kids respond with something that translates into something along the lines of “Sit quietly!” The only problem is that they usually just laugh. I mean, can you believe it? Chinese. Coming out of a white person’s mouth. Incredible. But as the only English-fluent person in the entire room I think I get the last laugh in the language war, often entertaining myself by making comments that I know for a fact they can’t understand: From “Uh-huh girl, get it” to “You are all Satan’s children,” depending on the day.

Class comes to a close with a round of personal goodbyes. Each student gets to choose from these exciting options: high five, handshake, hug or tickle. That last option there is far and away the most popular. I have one student, Emily, who says “pickle” instead of “tickle.” I haven’t corrected her because it’s too darn cute. [And I know what you’re thinking. “Again with the tickles, Hallie?” Let me just say that this whole tickling thing is part of the curriculum that they’ve taught us to use.] This is the part of the day when I realize how much I’m going to miss them – when I really feel like they’re my kids. Because no matter how hard they’ve pushed my buttons during class, there is nothing like a hug from a Chinese nugget, all bundled up in their winter gear. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Almost enough to counteract the fact that the classrooms are like iceboxes...almost.

Uncle Hal Hops Across The Pond

A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to get a visit from my Uncle Hal, the person I just so happen to be named after. I was pretty bummed that my dad wasn’t going to be able to come to Shanghai, but Uncle H is a more-than-worthy substitute. If you know me at all, you know that I’m (unusually?) close with my extended family and Uncle Hal is no exception. This is the man, after all, who created The H Club (the elite members being Hal, my cousin Holden and yours truly), and wrote me letters at camp encoded in our very own secret language. He also taught me to say, “I’m a genius” when I was three and, unbeknownst to me, made several birthday appearances as Halmo the Clown. Nowadays he sends me e-mails with links to articles he thinks I’ll find interesting and is my go-to expert for all my grammar quandaries (I seem to have inherited this nerdy interest along with his name). So, in a nutshell, I already knew he was pretty awesome before he decided he should fly halfway across the world to make sure I knew how much my family loved and missed me.

The night that Uncle H flew in, Buffin and I met him for dinner at Lost Heaven (the first in a string of delicious meals). It was surreal seeing him walk up to the restaurant, like he didn’t belong in the odd little life I’ve created for myself over here. But he came bearing gifts from back home (birthday, Christmas and miscellaneous goodies), which quickly snapped me out of my “this-doesn’t-seem-real” frame of mind. Starbucks coffee grounds, some excellent selections from the Hal Finnegan Personal Library and enough yummy-scented hand sanitizer to eradicate H1N1 from all of Shanghai.

Throughout the week, Uncle Hal boldly navigated the city while Buffin and I were in class (except one morning when he observed my classes at Xiang Yang...I caught him making faces with Robert, one of my adorable troublemakers), and at night we’d meet up for dinner. We got to tick many of the must-try restaurants off our list – Lost Heaven (my favorite Chinese meal I’ve had since we got here), Haiku (the best Sushi I’ve ever had...period), Fountain (snazzy international menu in expat heaven, Xintiandi), Coconut Paradise (amazing Thai) and Vue (fancy food and unparalleled views of The Bund and Pudong).

On Thursday night we went to see ERA Intersection of Time at Shanghai Circus World, the most famous of all the acrobatic shows in town. We had amazing third-row seats and were right in the midst of all the action – and there was plenty of it. One act consisted of some super agile men jumping, diving and flipping through a series of rotating hoops. My favorite part was a metal contraption that looked like a bunch of spinning hamster wheels connected to each other. The performers would hop and flip from one “wheel” to another (sometimes blindfolded) as it went around in circles. My heart was basically in my throat the whole time. But the scariest part, by far, was the motorcycle cage. Imagine this: an enormous, metal, spherical cage with eight – count ‘em, eight – motorcycles flying around inside. Petrifying doesn’t begin to describe it. Our circus-like night continued after the show ended, when Buffin and my cab got a flat tire in the pouring rain. Our poor cabbie changed that sucker in 10 minutes flat, even jacking it up, all the while Buff and I were safe and dry inside. Quite a memorable evening.

On Friday (one of our days off), we met Uncle Hal at the Urban Planning Museum in People’s Square. On the second floor there was a massive diorama of Shanghai that covered the floor of the entire room. It was shocking to see just how big this place is – we haven’t even seen the half of it. One floor was solely dedicated to the 2010 Expo, which Shanghai is furiously preparing for. They’re constructing a slew of buildings along the northernmost part of the Huangpu River. It was nice to finally see what all the hubbub is about. The trippiest part, however, was on the tip-top floor where there was a special exhibition of Mao-era propaganda posters. The name of the exhibit was something along the lines of “Sweet Memories.” I think the one that freaked us out the most was a poster of a massive explosion with the words “All hail the glorious Hydrogen bomb!” on it. What the heck, China?

The next day, Uncle H set off on a weeklong excursion to Hangzhou and Beijing before making a quick stop back in Shanghai. By the time he returned, poor Buff was bedridden with a cold, so that meant I got to spend some one-on-one time with him. We checked out the peaceful Jade Buddha Temple (one of the only historical landmarks left in rapidly modernizing Shanghai), where we got a chance to watch the Buddhist monks chanting, and the Yu Bazaar in Old Town for a little souvenir shopping. We also went to see the nearby Chenxiangge Nunnery, but were sadly disappointed when there were no bald-headed nuns to be found, like the guidebook had said. That night, we went to a chi-chi dinner at Vue, the restaurant at the top of The Hyatt on the Bund. It was, in a word, fabulous. Afterward, we popped up to the Vue bar to check out the nighttime views of Pudong and the Bund – a quintessential part of the Shanghai experience.

It was hard to say goodbye to Uncle Hal that night, but it was comforting to know that I would see him (and the rest of my family) in just a few short months. And even after he left the next day, Uncle H left something behind to keep me going – a surprise goody bag at the front desk of his hotel. He knew I needed something to get me through the next day at work (I loathe Sundays) and this was the solution he came up with all by himself. Now, how could I not feel loved? Precisely.

Ooh, Hangzhou, Do You Know What That’s Worth? You Make Heaven A Place On Earth.

This past weekend, Buffin and I went to Hangzhou with her dad, Joe, who was in Asia on business. This “small” city (a mere 6 million residents compared to Shanghai’s 20 million) is the most popular tourist destination in China for the Chinese. During his 13th-century travels through Asia, Marco Polo (of children's swimming pool game notoriety...and probably some other stuff, too) said that Hangzhou was "beyond dispute the finest and noblest city in the world." Not too shabby.

When I told Touba, our waiban, about our travel plans she got all flustered (as she tends to do when she wants to communicate something in English) and eventually spit out the following ancient Chinese saying:

“Heaven above, Suzhou and Hangzhou below.”

Both Suzhou and Hangzhou (pronounced “Sue Joe” and “Hong Joe” – tricky, I know) are a quick train ride away from Shanghai – 40 minutes and 1.5 hours, respectively. Suzhou is famed for its gardens and Hangzhou is well known for its massive lake. We figured that a lake seemed a touch more masculine than a bunch of flowers, so we opted to take Papa Joe – who is more of the “huntin’ and fishin’ and bein’ a man type” – to Hangzhou. [We’re planning a trip to Suzhou in the upcoming weeks with Helen and Elliot]

Now, when the Chinese refer to Hangzhou as a paradise-like locale, they’re probably alluding to the rolling, mist-covered hills or the enormous, willow-lined West Lake. And, certainly, the classical Chinese scenery was breathtaking. But I think what made the trip “heavenly” for Buff and me was staying at The Sofitel, a bastion of Western luxuries: an exercise room, CNN and HBO, a bathtub and beds that didn’t remotely feel like the slabs of concrete we have in our apartment.

On our first day in lovely Hangzhou, Buffin and I woke up bright and early at 7 a.m., something I typically forbid on vacations. But, we’re in such a habit of getting up early for school that we rarely sleep past 8 a.m. anyway. My dad is probably glowing with pride right now since he considers sleeping late as some sort of a weakness in one’s character. We headed to the gym to take advantage of the rare chance to exercise in clean air. (It’s been said that a 20-minute run outside in Shanghai is the equivalent of smoking a pack of cigarettes). Hear that, Susie Fitness? I worked out on a vacation. Invite me back to Cabo and maybe I’ll even do yoga with you this time.

After completely undoing any good we may have just accomplished on the treadmill with a visit to the decadent breakfast buffet on the terrace, we headed out to explore the West Lake by boat. Our first stop was an island called “Three Pools Mirroring the Moon.” You’ve got to hand it to the Chinese – they’ve got a real dramatic flair when it comes to naming things. I can appreciate that. The island was a treasure trove of “classic Chinese scenery”: ancient pagodas, floating lily pads, schools of Koi fish and misty hills in the distance. But while we were busy taking pictures of the beautiful vistas, the Chinese tourists were more concerned with capturing our picture. I admire the people that have the balls to ask us for permission and jump on in there like we’re besties, as opposed to the sketches that lurk behind trees. Also, does this mean that there are family vacation photo albums out there that feature Buffin and me? Oh, I kind of hope so.

Next, we hopped across the lake to the mausoleum of General Yu Fei – a commander of the Song Dynasty armies who was executed after being deceived by a treacherous court official. [Omg! Dramz! How scandalous.] It was actually a nice break from the typical pagoda or temple we’ve become so accustomed to – lots of interesting sculptures and architecture, plus a particularly romantic ivy-covered bridge that could have come straight out of The Secret Garden.

After paying our respects to poor ‘ol Yu Fei, we crossed a causeway to get to Gushan Island. As luck would have it, we came across a couple taking engagement photos on the bridge. We had to stop to soak up all the cheesy goodness that was going on there. My favorite pose was the “Oh my gosh, hey photographer – we didn’t see you there! We were just holding hands, casually leaning back, gazing into each other’s eyes and thinking about how in love we are!” one. We briefly stopped in the Zhejiang Provincial Museum, whose only redeeming quality was the sign outside that had a picture of a bicycle on it and the words “Decline Inside” – Chinglish for “Not Allowed Inside,” I’m assuming.

We had a quick pick-me-up of delicious orange iced tea after we got back onto the mainland and then headed up to the Baochu Pagoda high in the hills. The steep stairs gave me painful flashbacks to The Great Wall, but we reached the top in just 10 or 15 minutes. Unusually thin for a pagoda, the Baochu was said to have been erected to bless the safe return of a prince, and is likened to a beautiful, slender girl. Nothing like a pretty little lady to get the prodigal son home safe and sound. I guess some things cross cultures.

Buff and Joe wanted to check out the Lingyin Temple next, but I decided to cash in my chips early and head back to the hotel – that bathtub was calling my name. Turns out I made a good decision, because my counterparts couldn’t find a cab back to the hotel and ended up walking most of the way. If you have ever traveled with me, you know that I’m not the most pleasant person to be around when I’m tired and my feet hurt. So I guess it was a good choice for all of us; I have turned passive-aggressive complaining into an art form.

After “having a rest” (an über-popular Chinglish expression), we capped off our day with a nighttime water show called Impressions West Lake. The show was presented on a stage submerged just a few inches below the surface of the lake, so it looked like the performers were everyday Jesuses. The use of glow-in-the-dark props, music, lighting boats, and – of course – the water, made the whole thing pretty magical. The story was briefly translated in English as First Act: Meeting, Second Act: Fall in Love, Third Act: Say Goodbye, Fourth Act: Memory, Fifth Act: Impression. What they didn’t mention, however, was the most awesome part of all: NINJAS! Yep, the heroine is kidnapped by ninjas, who also performed a pretty wicked dance with drums. Every time they beat on the instruments, water would go flying everywhere. I think it was my favorite part – too bad Joe was “having a rest” at that moment in the show.

Day two of our trip was dedicated to the sites of Hangzhou that weren’t centered on the West Lake. After more than one bad experience with finding a cab the day before, Joe decided it would be best to just rent one for the day. No complaints here. Mr. Chan (our cabbie-chauffeur extraordinaire) was a pleasant, albeit very silent, man who donned a sporty racecar jacket.

Stop one was Qinghefang Old Street where we attempted to find the Chinese Medicine Museum but failed. Luckily, there were more than enough other things to entertain us: street performers, trinket stands and an endless supply of traditional Chinese medicine shops trying to sell things like roots (believed to be aphrodisiacs) for ungodly sums of money. Buffin and Joe made the best purchase of the day when they got a 3-D image of themselves put into a crystal cube. What a keepsake.

Next we hit up the Six Harmonies Pagoda, one of the most popular tourist attractions in Hangzhou. It was all sorts of pretty on the outside and a whole lotta boring on the inside. The 60-meter high pagoda was built in 960 A.D. and named after the six codes of Buddhism: charity, uprightness, forbearance, dispassion, dauntlessness and contemplation. It also served as a lighthouse that allegedly had the magical power to halt the 40-foot high tidal bore that thunders up the Qintang River in mid-September every year. I love how everything has some sort of mystical, ancient lore behind it.

The rest of the day was a flurry of museums – porcelain, silk and tea. They were all (surprisingly) interesting. The Chinese are really proud of their contributions to society and these three commodities top the list. You couldn’t escape signs at each of these places that basically said, “Hey, world, you’d be shit out of luck without us.” The tea museum, our final destination, was hidden amongst the hills of Hangzhou. Mr. Chan took us via the scenic route (a.k.a. we drove on a sidewalk in the back roads) and we got a chance to really soak up the views. The museum is on 3.7 hectares (which, thanks to my Uncle Hal, I now know is roughly 9 acres) of tea-bush laden land dedicated to the art, cultivation and tasting of China’s favorite drink. Random Chinese Tea Fact of the Day: Hangzhou originated Longjing Tea, a famous variety of green tea.

After a quick bite to eat at the hotel, we hopped a train back to Shanghai – and the real world. When we got to our apartment, I found humidity-bred mold growing on my bedroom wall. Sucks babe #1. In an attempt to kill/clean/disinfect it, I accidentally dripped bleach on a pile of my laundry, including a brand new skirt. Sucks babe #2. And, just like that...poof! The spell was broken. I was no longer in heaven, but back on earth. Where I spill things. A lot.

Nobody Likes You When You’re 23

Yes, I just quoted Blink 182. God help me. But that song has been stuck in my head ever since my birthday started to creep up on me. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that nobody likes me now that I’m 23, but I can guarantee there are a few Chinese people out there who aren’t my biggest fans. They would be the ones who witnessed my one-woman, street performance of the “What Day is Today?” song, a gem we taught our Book 5 kids. What can I say? We had just been to KTV – the Cadillac of karaoke joints – and I guess I just hadn’t gotten my fill of performing. I am a middle child, after all.

So, clearly, my 23rd birthday was a smashing success – as the bruises on my legs can verify. I am so grateful to Buffin and the rest of my new China friends for making sure my far-away-from-home celebration was a good one. If my mom was still forcing me to write thank you notes (I think my hand is still recovering from high school graduation), this is what they would say:

Buffin: There are too many things to thank you for, B-Monkey. Keeping me sane, for one. But since this is birthday specific (and even though I made you promise not to get me anything, you sneaky thing you), please accept my gracious thanks for the:

• Handmade Chinese fortuneteller (especially the part about a certain ex-boyfriend...still getting a good giggle out of that one)
• Chinese fashion magazine (specifically the “Will You Marry Me?” article)
• Chocolate birthday cake that tasted like feet

Helen: First of all, I would like to thank you for taking a two-hour bus ride into Shanghai to celebrate with me. I was really honored that a Yankee would deign to attend the birthday party of a mere Southerner. Secondly, my taste buds would like to thank you for the 20-pack of Orion Moon Pies. My waistline, however, would not. Oh! And also thanks for the candles on my aforementioned foot cake.

Elliot: Lord only knows what inspired you to spoil me like one of those kids on My Super Sweet Sixteen. Many thanks for my:

• Stuffed Expo Man mascot, who will henceforth be the little spoon to my big spoon. I just Googled it and apparently his name is Haibao (treasure of the seas), but I’ll still call him Expo Man, if that’s ok by you.
• Beautiful blue-and-white teacup set
• Dancing flower toy (China: The Land of Kitsch)
• Party decorations, which are still up...and will probably stay up until we leave
• Wine bottle...tuxedo? It looks quite dapper, now.

J+B: Your gift has single handedly changed not only my life, but Buffin’s as well. I think we squealed like children on Christmas morning when I opened the Ikea coffee press and bag of grounds. They will certainly make getting through a day of teaching a little easier. And, also, we won’t be bumming off your stash anymore. Win, win.

Paige: I haven’t been brave enough to try the special Chinese desserts you gave me, but I promise I will man up soon. I also really enjoyed our heart-to-heart. Drunken compliments are really just underrated, non-traditional birthday gifts.

P.S. Lots of a’i (love) to all of my dear ones back home in America (and also those fellow wanderlust-ers in Málaga, España). Thanks for putting up with me these past twenty-three years.

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” – Confucius

Every day (even here...especially here) you are the ones who make me see it, and I am so very grateful.

Jazz Fest: The ACL of China!

...or not so much, actually. But after missing both Austin City Limits and OU weekend, we had to convince ourselves that we were getting a comparable replacement activity, so that’s what we started calling it. And it turned out to be a really nice day. It was no ACL, mind you, but a pleasant experience nonetheless. You know when you make yourself get the no-sugar-added option at TCBY? [No? Just me? Ok, moving on.] Well, it’s clearly not as good as the regular, calorie-laden soft serve flavors, but it’s still a delicious frozen treat. I mean, how can you not enjoy it? How could we not enjoy a carefree day of outdoor, live music?

And enjoy ourselves we did. Buffin and I had been working non-stop since coming back from Beijing, so we were ready for a fun weekend. [Side note: We were busy making up the days that the kids had missed during the holiday. Kind of defeats the point of a vacation, doesn’t it? Tell that to China.] Helen had popped into town for a last minute visit, so she joined me, Buffin, J+B (our very useful abbreviation for Josh and Becky), and Paige and Emily (two other foreign teachers who we’ve been hanging out with more and more...they’re great!) in our Jazz Fest escapades.

The day got off to a rocky start when my old friend, Hangover, decided to pay Helen, Buffin and me a surprise visit. Apparently, when you graduate college, move to China and lose any semblance of a social life, your tolerance for alcohol begins to resemble that of a 15-year-old who mixes beer with blue Slurpee (you know who you are). Luckily, there is a food stand right by our apartment that sells a variety of greasy, carb-a-licious wonders to cure such a thing. So we trotted down the street in our PJs – to mix in with the jammie-clad locals, naturally – and got some scallion pancakes and roasted potato “breakfast burritos.” The only other time I’ve worn my watermelon nightgown in public was when Mary Stewart and I ended up at the Dobie Mall on UT campus during a desperate quest to find Gatorade the morning after a particularly rough night out. Sweet, sweet memories.

We kept things moving by mixing to-go screwdrivers before we headed out to Century Park in Pudong armed with backpacks consisting of tangerines, PB sammies and cheap beer. Our first stop was the jazz stage, where we spent the better part of the day. The weather was, in a word, perfection. Warm in the sun and cool in the shade with a decent breeze. We spread out J+B’s lovely sheet that was covered in mallards (one of the many glorious things they’ve uncovered in their apartment) and just...hung out.

As the afternoon wore on, we finally managed to convince the group to switch things up and head over to the rock & roll stage. These designated stage names were kind of bogus – we saw a salsa group playing here. Seriously, China. Can just one thing make sense, please? But I’m sure glad we went to this alleged “rock & roll” stage because we got to see a baby asleep in his stroller with a pack of ciggies and a beer in the sippy cup holders – classy and appropriate.

When the temperature dropped a good 15 degrees in 30 minutes, we decided to take that as Mother Nature’s way of telling us to go home. A bowl of noodles and one episode of Grey’s Anatomy later we were all tucked into bed. And that is how I spent one of my very favorite days in Shanghai.