Home School Observations

March 27, 1994

After whizzing through Hangzhou, Guilin, and Xi’an in six days, we are all relieved to see five days allocated to Beijing. We are sitting on the bus early this morning, waiting. Who are we waiting for this time? Maria. I look around me nervously. I wonder what she is doing and why she is not on the bus. I remember how patiently everyone waited for Paul, for more than an hour, as he fought the hotel staff over his long distance phone bill. I feel no patience on the bus this time. After waiting an agonizing ten minutes, Maria runs onto the bus, nearly breathless,carrying several paper bags.

“Hi, Everyone! Sorry I am late! I got us all some food to share on our ride to the Great Wall!” She is met with rolling eyes, icy stares, silence. I feel so sorry for her. This group is unforgiving unless you are one of the chosen few. It feels like Middle School all over again.

On our way to the Great Wall we pass a huge sign declaring: “China Is Waiting For You.”

There are nearly as many hawkers as tourists at the Badaling outpost of the ‘10,000 Li Wall.’ Better it should be known as the ‘Hidden Graves of 300,000 Wall-Building Prisoner Slaves.’ In spite of its grevious history I am able to marvel at its powerful presence on the landscape. It takes Maria and I one hour to walk from the bus, through the gates, up the stairs, and far enough to get beyond the hawkers. We stop to eat our sack lunch in a sjpot with a panoramic view in all directions. As far as we can see there are only hills with The Wall defining their silhouette. Wall intersects wall, vegetation pushes its way up through the center in some places. Binoculars reveal several sections of crumbling wall.

I feel so free! Huge expanses are all around us. I imagine myself walking the full length of the Great Wall. I am reluctant to leave this place.

On our way back to the hotel our group is taken to the Summer Palace. The buildings have such enchanting names, such as the Hall of Happiness and Longevity, the Hall of Virtuous Harmony, and the Listening to the Orioles Pavillion. The Temple of Buddhist Virture sits atop Longevity Hill.

I stroll down the Long Corridor at a liesurely pace, marvelling at the bright colors and intricate details in its eight thousand paintings. The natural end-of-day light gracefully illuminates the beautiful golds, reds, blues, greens. Every beam and panel has its own painting.

There is no time for dinner before the only available performance of the Beijing Opera, so off we go! Tumbling and juggling like we have never seen! The finale is memorable - suck skillful balance and precision are needed. One man lays on his back with bent knees, feet parallel to the ceiling. Four jugglers each stand in a corner of the stage and throw long swords to the man in the center, who catches the swords with his feet and quickly throws the swords back to the corners. Soon swords are flying through the air in varied rotations and patterns, alternatingly thrown and caught by hands or feet. We are silent - spellbound.

Tags: China, Beijing, Beijing Opera, jugglers, Great Wall, Summer Palace, Longevity Hill, China

March 25, 1994 (cont’d)

Xi’an Wall awaits us after lunch. In this area there are more bicycles than cars. Bruce Lee points out a high school housed in a former temple. The reds, golds, blues, and greens are eye-popping. Maria and I walk further down the street and suddenly hear children’s voices singing. It is the end of the school day and we have happened upon an elementary school. Each class sings a song as the children pass through the gate, walking in pairs, holding hands, singing their way out of school.

The Xi’an Wall provides a wonderful view of the city proper. I see men gambling in the park for small wooden sticks which will later be exchanged for currency. I gaze down Main Street and notice a Kentucky Friend Chicken sign. My heart sinks.

March 26, 1994

We visit the Big Wild Goose Pagoda (as opposed to the Small Wild Goose Pagoda? Don’t laugh, as Xi’an has both). A gong sounds intermittently as we walk among people with smiles. The air near the main building is thick with incense.

Our last stop in Xi’an is to be a food market, and Bruce Lee lectures his captive audience on the bus to the market about the eight things that make Xi’an unique.

“What Makes Xi’an Xi’an” by Bruce Lee

1. People eat out of big bowls.

2. People eat spicy food.

3. Noodles are long - like a belt.

4. People wear handkerchiefs on their heads.

5. People squat instead of sit, even when chairs are provided.

6. Girls marry only Xi’an men.

7. Pastries are large and are cut into pieces.

8. Buildings have sloping roofs.

The animal side of the food market is an amazing conglomertion of disgustingly pungeunt odors from fish, meat, and every imaginalbe animal for sale. I watch in horror as a man picks up a live turtle, pulls on all four of its legs, nods his approval. The turtle is weighed and put in a plastic bag. I quickly move on, too repulsed to take a closer look at all the various animals in cages. I look the other way and notice a long row of vendors selling nuts, seeds, grain, dried mushrooms, and herbs. The aroma is sweet and refreshing. I buy some cashews for an afternoon snack.

Upon leaving the market I am accosted by a small, dirty, pitiful boy who attaches himself to my pant leg and will not let go. “One yuan, hello, one yuan,” he cries. I look up to see a ragged man watching from the background. His father, perhaps? He is just as dirty as the little boy. I begin to walk away, not wanting to be a part of the game, but the little beggar will not let go of my pant leg. I begin to carry on a one-sided conversation: “You’re very cute, do you want to go back to Japan with me? I’m lonely, and I could take good care of you!” He continues his endless babble, “Hello, one yuan, hello, hello…” I begin to smile. I cannot see his father in the background any longer. “Where’s your father? Go on, go on back to your father!” The little beggar still holds on to my pant leg. We continue in this fashion for three blocks, with me speaking to him in a language he cannot understand, and him demanding money. A few women speak sharply to him in Chinese, but he is not dissuaded. They gesture for him to go away. He ignores them.

I stop and plan what to do. I reach into my bag and search for the packet of stickers that I enjoy giving to children. Suddenly I feel the stares of many pairs of eyes. I look up to find myself and the little beggar boy are now a bona fide spectacle. The sidewalk is totally blocked. We are encircled completely. Their eyes follow my hand as it reaches into my bag.

The first thing I feel in my bag is my wallet, and I instantly decide that a sticker would not be appropriate in this situation. I think of the little beggar, and try to imagine what kind of reception he might encounter should he return to his father with a sticker instead of a coin. I press the one yuan coin into his grubby little hand. He runs off without so much as a ‘xie xie.’ The crowd disperses, smiling and laughing.

Tags: China, beggars, Big Wild Goose Pagoda, Xi’an, Xi’an Wall

She looks across the table, gleaming with happiness as she sweeps the cards into her winners pile. We are playing ‘War,’ renamed ‘I Declare Joy.’ She is losing but does not realize it.

Is she mature enough yet to gracefully accept a loss? This milestone is one I eagerly anticipate. When will it arrive?

We had a glimpse into our future last week when the four of us settled down for a round of Candyland. The last time we played there were tears. This time we were unknowingly visited by the Spirit of Cooperation and finished the game, and neither child was crying. A first. We played until every player had reached the candy cottage, and had First Winner, Second Winner, Third Winner, and Fourth Winner. Luckily for the parents, the children were First Winner and Second Winner. But still, the Second Winner did not cry over not being First. A huge milestone.

Last night we tried playing ‘I Declare Joy’ with Ravi. Tears came quickly as he ran out of cards and was the first to be eliminated from the game. Spirit, please return soon.

She wins another hand. She beams.

I want her to win. This game. I want her to win so badly I can taste it.

We reach the end of round one. I have double the number of cards in my winning pile. We shuffle. Her smooth, soft seven-year-old hands fumble with the cards but she does not drop any. While she is absorbed in shuffling, I sneak a peak at my cards. I pull out an ace, a king, two queens and fling them under the table. They land with a plop at her feet.

“Oh, I dropped some!” she exclaims. “Whew!” I breathe to myself in relief.

It takes one more ‘accidental’ dropping of cards to achieve her success.

“That was fun, Mom!” came my reward.

Tags: card games, daughters, stacking the deck, Candyland

March 24, 1994 (cont’d)

We ride from the Xi’an Airport to our hotel in a tourist bus complete with a local guide comedian. Mr. Lee explains that we should call him ‘Bruce Lee,’ or ‘Bruce’ for short. He smiles as he speaks into the microphone. “I’m just small potatoes. But soon I hope to go to America, and when I return to my company, maybe I will be big potatoes.” Most of us laugh. I find ‘Bruce’ a riot and enjoy every pun. He interjects his speech with idiomatic expressions, my favorite being ‘Mama Mia!’ He warns us to not buy any cheap terra cotta warrior figurines, as they are not fired in a kiln, and when we get home and look at all the broken pieces in the bag, we just have to say, “That’s the breaks!”

Bruce asks us how our food has been so far on our tour. “Okay,” “Blah,” and “So, so” come the answers. Bruce nods knowingly, then smiles. “That is what we call ‘ma ma ho ho,’ or ‘not good, not bad’ food. He assures us that in his town we will eat food that is better than ‘ma ma ho ho!’

March 25, 1994

I cannot believe I am actually looking at the famous Terra Cotta Warriors. My binoculars are essential and I feel lucky to have them. Viewing platforms are farther away from the statues than I had hoped. I remember well the excitement when the discovery of the statues was announced in 1974. The whole world seemed to be buzzing with talk of the discovery. We all watched the story unfold, much to our amazement and joy.

Over one thousand repaired statues stand upright before us. Although the paint is gone from their clothing, they do not lack in detail. Some are standing, some are kneeling, and most grip invisible swords or chariot reigns. They appear frozen in action. No two faces seem alike. Expressions vary, as do head shape and hair styles.

I sweep the wide area of soldiers. I gasp quietly as my binoculars highlight one particular face in the crowd. He has a long moustache, a pointy chin, narrow eyes, and a wide flat nose. The expression on his face is of strength, composure, pensiveness, and confidence. It seems as if he is thinking out every detail of the day’s plan. He is so life-like, I swear he moves as I stare at him.

I feel I am looking at something that humans are not supposed to see, that some great cosmic balance is being upset by this viewing of the ancient king’s protectors. I feel like an intruder.

I buy a book about the Terra Cotta Army at the gift shop. I am most drawn to the photos of the warriors being excavated. Shoulders and heads protrude from the earth, as if they are all tossed about on an ocean of mud. It is eerie to see them emerging from the earth, unsteady on their feet, leaning against each other as if asleep. I imagine what it must feel like to brush the earth away from these statues.

Tags: Xi’an, Terra Cotta Soldiers, China

22nd March, 1994

At the Longjing (Dragon Well) Tea Plantation our guide tells us the best tasting green tea in the world is produced here. Eyebrows raise at those familiar words, as we have all been told the green tea where we currently reside in Shizuoka, Japan, is the finest in the world. We watch a demonstration of the tea leaves being rolled in a heated metal bowl. We dutifully sample the tea, praise the tea, and buy small containers of the tea. Then we innocently venture outside to walk around in one of the tea fields.

Suddenly a group of middle-aged, straw-hatted women circle around us, grab our arms and thrust packets of tea in our faces as they shout, “Ten yuan, ten yuan!” They are determined that we will buy more of the tea, and buy it from them. Each tea seller attaches herself to one of us, and stuffs a dozen packets of tea into our arms. Our frantic cries of “No, no!” have no effect.

Paul attempts to escape from his tea seller, but she chases after him, out the field and down the dirt road, all the while shouting, “Ten Yuan, ten Yuan!”. We just cannot shake them. We each reluctantly buy ten more packets of tea. I snap a photo of my tea seller.

Kevin has difficulty persuading his tea seller to also sell him the hat she is wearing, but finally succeeds, and he proudly wears the hat for the rest of the day’s adventures.

We learn that there are sixteen grades of tea in China. Our guide tells us that in southern China, jasmine tea is considered low grade because it is merely broken tea leaves with flowers added to improve the taste. So it is an insult to serve a guest jasmine tea in southern China. Mmmm…..can the jasmine tea in all our hotel rooms be implying a secret message?

Tags: China, Green Tea, Hangzhou, Dragon Well tea, Longjin tea