January 22, School’s Out!

Golden Sun’s population diminished seriously as this week progressed. Venes and I combined our Pre- and Kindergarten classes today, helping them make Xin Nian Kuai Le (Happy New Year) cards to give parents and count to ten twice while glue dried on red firecrackers rolled around toilet paper tubes. They had noodles in tomato-egg soup for lunch; we dined on fresh greens, rice, and fresh shrimp. I gladly escaped to my room for naptime to await delivery of a return ticket from Kunming February 7.

Dozing, I thought over all the seafood, Scrabble, conversation, and visits to beaches that Peter–last year’s co-teacher at Southwest Forestry College–and I crammed into the past week. Not his favorite because it was crawling with people on a tad windy day, Dadonghai stood out in my memory. Sanya River’s mishmash of boats and ships gave a nice view while we had a surprisingly good mushroom-bacon burger, salad, and fries at Rainbow Bar near Bus 2. I prepared him for signs written in Russian, higher prices, and touristy ambiance fifteen minutes away on a rattling bus.

First stop was the hotel where friend Albert lives and manages a foot massage business. His 10-year-old daughter Lydia, my English tutoree (They speak Russian, sometimes Chinese at home) and Albert took us to get Russian dishes at a seaside restaurant. The menu didn’t have Peter’s desired snacks. We went farther and found the right words on the menu, along with overpriced drinks. I snapped a picture of the beach, hoping the last group of nude guys (rumored to be curing psoriasis daily in the altogether) weren’t shown in detail.

I entertained Peter with stories of early morning biking with two Chinese co-teachers to that destination when it was deserted. June and Xiao Jia had saved up to purchase fold-up bikes, popular on the streets, although I warned them repeatedly that they’d be hard to ride. My phone rang at 6:00 on a pitch-black Saturday morning.

“Virginia, we go now to watch Dadonghai sunrise. Remember?” I hadn’t even set the alarm, never knowing these sweet young things to get up before they had to clock in to teach. Dashing down my four flights of stairs, I wondered how we’d see sunrise on a beach facing southwest. We biked, with me herding them to continue down Phoenix Road each time they asked at intersections, “Which way we go?”

We got to Dadonghai by daylight, locked our bikes to posts, and shed our shoes to walk in the morning surf. At a flight of stairs, June led us to the top. I sat, facing as far toward the east as I could turn. Xiao Jia and June faced the sea, standing. Finally, they found newspapers and sat on them. “Where is the sun?”
“It’ll come over the mountain soon.” I promised.
June said, “I dreamed of seeing it rise from the sea.” That’s when I realized they had no idea of directions in Sanya, where they had lived more months than I.
 Our drinks were finished, and the crowded beach didn’t seem inviting. I sneaked a picture of two snooing grandmas. The Russian snack, overpriced and undercooked, remained beachside, and we found Magnam (ice cream) bars and microwave popcorn at the Corner Deli in the big square. That Western gourmet grocery neither sits on a corner, nor does it serve deli food, but Peter found Maromite and English biscuits (cookies), Brit staples. Another rattling bus ride, and we furthered our Scrabble duel to the strains of classical CDs.

Two sets of visitors since I’ve moved to Sanya gave me evidence that I still like showing people around. The contrast between Kunming, where they’re wearing thermal underwear, and paradise, where I often don shorts, awaits me. I stop over both to/from Laos, where I’ll visit Skip and Orady Thomson, Kansas church friends. Upcoming blogs should contain interesting pictures of the capital Vientiane sights, along with some village life. Stay tuned.
Virginia

Orchids

Two years ago, I attended Sanya’s First Orchid Expo and bought a small cactus from a booth. This year, one of my adult tutorees gave me tickets for the ‘09 Expo. Then I was told that we were taking the Golden Sun students, thanks to a generous mom. We lined up, holding the shirt/skirt tail of the next student. We proceeded through China/ New Guinea/Philippino arrangements like train cars. 
     
A huge blue globe with orchids outlining countries turned in the middle of the pavillion. Graceful yellow dancing ladies,  purple butterly orchids, wintry white blossoms, posters of last years winners, and arrangements depicting earth/fire/water/gold caught our attention. Art work displaying orchids was a popular area; folks walked through three-deep. Cameras clicked, and I had to keep dodging to avoid being in pictures taken by folks I didn’t know. One little boy in white posed by a hopeful entry contestant for a blue ribbon. 
 
Jean Claude, my French neighbor, had prepared me to reject this year’s show that had no place for vendors’ booths and flowers for sale. He had gone, hoping to buy flowers for his balcony and was sorely disappointed. I was surprised at the artistic care given every entry. It was a wonderland of flowers–a lift to my wear year’s end spirits. Too soon, the Golden Sun bus tooted at the door and we lined up to exit the Expo. Eunice’s special princess dress, held tightly by Jack for the entire half-hour, survived the trip. 
 
As for me, I visited with the Chinese-speaking classes again the next day. It was a chance to see the flowers I’d missed. Secretary Kaelen lined up the two-year-olds and one little guy, ducking under the “police” tape separating us from displays, wasn’t in line. I put his hands on his neighbor, and he protested mightily. Helen laughed, “Virginia, he isn’t one of ours!” Thank goodness I could say “I’m sorry” in Chinese, and his father simply laughed.

Holiday Stress, China Style 2009-1-1

Living in Paradise (Sanya, Hainan Island, China) was a curious mixture of acting laid back and feeling tremendous pressure at 2008’s end. It reminded me of reading articles about handling holiday stress that I’d once thought written exclusively for Western readers.

Right after Thanksgiving, my Golden Sun kindergartners began Christmas vocabulary, games, and crafts; co-teachers Ella and Shirley told me “The children like it very much.” Helen, our boss and school owner, talked about red carpets and supplies for a New Years’ program for parents. I told her I preferred to use natural classroom themes to memorizing “a festival drama”–what she required of the other classes. She said she understood and reminded me we were to be finished with Smart Kid’s curricula’s five (yes five!) seatwork books by end-of-December.

I’d been procrastinating on the Space unit’s lessons, unable to figure out how to reconcile what I believe good pedagogy with tracing small letters with adult-sized pencils, abstract vocabulary totally unknown to kids, and introduction of too many concepts like “that/this, next to, behind, under, over” plus “It is/It’s, There is/there’s” in upcoming pages. They learned “alien, spaceship, planet, and universe” with ease–thanks to cartoons. We put together a five-minute drama with them circling the sun, singing about space to a Beatles tune, bowing on cue from my guitar. Helen told me it was “wonderful,” but Ella thought it too short. (Other classes took 20 minutes in rehearsals, which happened frequently–noisy affairs with kids unable to stay quiet and teachers’ tempers flaring). Ella added, “ATTENTION!” (Kids answered, “ONE TWO!” and our planets and astronauts marched like good soldiers.) I told her it didn’t represent international English behavior, apart from military, then stayed quiet. She asked what we could say for New Years besides “happy.” I told her adults often wish one another a “prosperous, healthy, peaceful” New Year. She struggled with “prosPERous” and went back to drilling the kids, “HAPpy New Year!” I tried to ignore the drill and put lessons into game form.

Weeks led up to the big day’s domino effect: Helen changed presentations. Angry teachers made frustrated kids memorize new lines. It erupted in lunchroom fisticuffs between our overworked nursery teacher and the (male) cook. The teacher hit first, then left her Chinese class of 33 three-year-olds. I could only listen and hug Darys, suddenly lead teacher who had struggled mightily to do 20 minutes of English daily with twice-too-many little kids screaming in Chinese. Stories came out of the woodwork (to me, never to Helen) about most Chinese teachers smacking kid; I wished I could speak Chinese so I could help in those classrooms. It revved them up when “the foreigner” visited.

December 31 came; loudspeakers blared as parents arrived all day. Energy was high; Jerry, the class porcupine who works at being disliked, greeted me by planting an unexpected kiss on my cheek. Maybe the spirit of the celebration would dispel my dread? Co-teachers Ella and Shirley “gave them a rest” from lessons. After fifteen minutes of looking at books, the kids karate-kicked, screamed, and fought. I suggested that I give them something to do. Ella and Shirley disappeared. Dot-to-dots, color-keys, and art activities kept them interested for a calm hour until Ella arrived with balloons. Crayons tossed aside, they went wild. Shirley added clackers Chinese use to make noise during performances; those immediately became guns. Defeated, I swept up crayons and escaped to an early lunch, then biked to a massage while Golden Sun took its usual two-hour nap. When I returned, Tom had the beginning of a shiner; Ella told his dad she didn’t know how it happened. “Somehow, when he played…”  Carefully-applied make up covered sweet faces and black eyes, transforming kids into superstars.

At exactly 3:00 pm, December 31, twelve silver/gold clad kids marched onstage to her Ella’s ATTENTION..ONE TWO. They greeted parents with English New Year wishes, circled Ella’s sun and sang lustily. Cameras clicked. In the room, we rolled traditional sweet dumpling dough around bean curd until I told parents how much I liked teaching their children, gave them each lucky candy, and escaped in time to sing with a Christian caroling group.

Adults from Russia/Mongolia/Philippines/United States/China sang in four hotels’ New Years celebrations, giving it our best in English/Chinese/Spanish/Russian. 400 Russians, many wearing red-blinking (the Year of the) Ox horns, loved our lusty “Hark the Herald” rendition. Our choir director surmised they were devil’s horns until I learned that it was the Year of the Ox/Cow (Niu) and heard the Chinese joke “Happy Niu Year!” Visiting US youths mimed transformation when a young blond god gave them a new glittering heart. I pondered knowledge that our director had barred one young man from singing because of a difference of opinion in final rehearsal. For me, the loving season was turning ugly.  I left the faithful praising their God and returned home to sleep.

Oh no! A red/white/blue awning, red banners, round tables and plastic seats filled the flood-lighted garden beneath my window. Another all-night funeral with drums, firecrackers, voices, and the rattle of mah jong tiles. This would make three deaths in our housing complex in as many months. I wondered if the wake was for the old guy with the tippy-toe Alzheimer’s shuffle, the one who sits all day on board seat raised on a saw-horse and a tar bucket, or the bow-legged woman who leans on her cane to make her morning circuit. I had to wait through a night’s celebration to learn the truth.

January 1, having earned “two days off,” but knowing I’d have to “pay back the government by teaching on Sunday,” I opened my door to four adults who come daily learn English.  I mentioned “the funeral,” and they explained, “White is for funerals. See the red banners? Your neighbors’ daughter is getting married!” We took a rest each time fire crackers interrupted study and started 2009 with an npr comprehension lesson about Richard Crandell, suffering from Essential Tremor. He just made a tremendous CD on a type of guitar. Hearing the discussion in English reminded me how teaching any age is a mixture of fun and stress. Here’s to finding the balance in 2009! Xi nian kuai le! Happy Niu

Year!