Regulars in Weifang

Life is busy. In the last month or so, it has become increasingly obvious that I do, in fact, live and work in China. I know this seems like an obvious assertion. It's shocking how long it takes for that fact to really set in. It happens in moments. I have these moments when it feels like everything just stops. I look around to notice that yes, here I am, in China... because, yes, I live here. And of course there are things that you just do in the place that you live. You clean your house. You do your laundry. You buy groceries. You cook. You go out for coffee. You run. You go to the post office. You go to the bank. You meet your friends for a drink. You meet your friends for dinner. The big difference here is that everything is Chinese. And I don’t speak, read, or understand Chinese. This had profound effects on the way you experience reality. (A side note on saying “Chinese” instead of Mandarin: Yes, technically, I am talking about Mandarin. It’s just that nobody really says Mandarin. “Chinese” is the word of choice.)

To be fair, I am taking Chinese lessons once a week. Once a week, the keen foreigners of Weifang meet at a coffee shop to try and pick up a few key words and phrases. I obviously sit in the front and desperately try to make sense of the words and clumsily try to pronounce the tones properly. It’s a bit of a mess. A humbling mess. I haven’t even entertained the idea of trying to learn to read or write the characters. There are a lot of them. And I’m still busy trying to make sure I am telling people that I like garlic not ‘plans’ in my meal. Same spelling, different tones, completely different meanings. It’s an uphill battle for the tone deaf folk such as myself. This isn’t to say that Chinese lessons aren’t paying off at all. I am at the point where I understand a few phrases and words. So, I can reply with “Dui, hen gao” meaning, yes very tall. Or, “wo shi jianadaren” meaning, I am Canadian. Or, “wo shi yi zhong de laoshi” meaning, I am a teacher at No. 1 Middle School. It’s going well.

The point here is that learning Chinese is hard. And not speaking the language that my 9 million fellow Weifang residents speak means you pay a lot more attention to non-verbal communication and you place a lot more trust into your everyday interactions. There is a certain charm in it. Plus, I have the added bonus of sticking out like a sore thumb, so I am an easily recognizable regular. So, once you have been somewhere once, they remember what you want. And even if you're a first-timer, it’s often a pretty obvious guess to know what the foreigner wants. 

At the post office, she’s obviously trying to send some postcards to Jianada. In fact, my progress with the folk over at China Post has been remarkable. I won't go so far as to say that they are helpful yet but, I did manage to send that box that is sitting on the scale to my dear sister Jess. It remains unclear as to why I couldn't send it in the seemingly identical box that I had packaged it in initially or whether it will be arriving in two weeks or three months... but, still I consider this a victory. On the same day I managed to send two other packages of penpal letters to schools in Canada (only one of which I had to repackage) and several postcards without envelopes and with stamps! (The stamp acquisition is another story.) And, all of the aforementioned only took about one hour and fifteen minutes. All this to say that China Post knows that Laurel Temmel is not messing around, is not leaving without mailing her stuff, so it's best to just take her shit and figure out how to send it instead of just saying "bu ke yi" (it' s not allowed) and moving to the next person. 

At Starbucks, she wants an Americano with whipping cream or extra whipping cream on everything. This was a bit confusing at first, but the baristas all speak a bit of English and frankly, I am at Starbucks about three times a week, so we are good. 

Buying groceries is pretty standard wherever you are. You get the stuff, you pay the money. Things are pretty simple. Now the nice guy who owns the place is teaching me the names of vegetables. He’s a bit confused by my lack of ability to read or recall information, but I am also telling him what vegetables are available or not available in Canada. It seems like a fair exchange. Also, I think they believe that I feed an entire family with all the veggies that I buy. I am definitely not at the point where I can explain that I don't really eat meat at home. Plus, let's face it, I am getting used to the mystique of being a giant white eating machine. 

This is sweet potato lady. We see each other pretty often as well. Usually when I am walking home from buying several bags of veggies. A China Winter Special is the baked sweet potato. They are amazing. Acutally, FUCKING AMAZING. They are baked all day in giant tin cans and then they keep the ones that are ready on top. Then, you let them know if you want a xiao, zhong, or da one (small, medium, or large). Then, she weighs it and tells you a ridiculously low price ranging from 3.5 to 6 RMB. I always force her to keep the change because the way I see it, the lady is standing outside in the freezing cold all day selling sweet potatoes and she is just so lovely. She always helps me pick up my bags of veggies so I can schlep them all back home and frankly, she makes me dinner at least once a week so, lady needs a tip even if tipping is not standard practice in China. Aside from amazing taste and friendly service, the baked sweet potato is also very hot. So, you put that baby right into your pocket and warm your hands on the way home. You can eat this sweet potato as is and it's amazing. If you feel like a real treat, you melt some butter on it. It's divine. If you want a full meal deal, you sautee up some of your veggies, poach a few eggs, and think about how wonderful your life is every bite.  

Finally, we are definitely regulars at hot pot. Hot pot is the meal that no one can say no to. And why would you? At hot pot, each person orders their owe pot of broth. I go for the thai shrimp. Then, you make your own sauce. Making the perfect sauce is an artform that I have just recently perfected after weekly meals since my arrival here in August. I start with a solid base of garlic. Then, I add a bit of hot chili peppers, then I go for something that I think is some sort of seafood paste. Then, you stir it all up with a peanut sauce. Finally, I stir in loads of fresh cilantro. This sauce is used to dip your meats and veggies after you cook 'em up in your broth. Generally, we order things to cook until the servers tell us to stop ordering. It's actually a mixture of very sweet and rather funny when they discretely try to inform us that we have again, over-ordered. I think they are impressed by our ability to keep on keepin' on with our eating. It's still the best cure for a hangover we have discovered. 

Here we are on an average Sunday at hot pot: Colin, Sinead, a bunch of veggies, meat, sauce, and steam and before you know it, you're right as rain. 

Joey is also a hot pot guru. She taught me about the second bowl of sauce filled with chopped cilantro to flavour your broth. Genius.

And there you have it: my regular haunts in Weifang. I'm starting to live up to my visa status of Resident of Weifang.