The transcript was printed inside a yellow box, as a way of spicing up the page, I suppose. So, in order to draw the class’s attention to the correct location on the page, I would say “q?ng zh?o huáng duì huà,” which means (in my butchered version of Chinese) “please find the yellow conversation.” I thought that this was relatively straightforward, but without fail it would immediately reduce the class to hysterics.

Finally, on the ninth and last time I taught this class, I asked my students why they thought it was so funny. Immediately, the students reverted to the all-too-familiar reddened faces and downcast eyes — certainly better than the Chinese Blank Stare Of Death (a.k.a. CBSOD), but only marginally so: I knew they knew and understood my question, but the debilitating and often self-destructive Chinese shyness had kicked in.

Knowing what to do, I approached the most outgoing student during the break, and after only a little pressure, he relented and informed me of my faux pas. As it turns out, describing something as “yellow” implies that it is of a sexual nature; thus, porno flicks are called “yellow movies,” smut literature “yellow stories,” and so on.

So, unknowingly, I had been asking my class to “find the dirty conversation.” I would have laughed too, and in the end I did. However, now I know to use extreme caution when describing anything — even a ripe banana (well, especially a ripe banana) — as yellow.

After a delightful week in Beijing, I left the pleasures and temptations of the big city and returned to the pleasures and temptations of the small village. Gongyi is truly small: no trip into town is complete without seeing a donkey cart laden with fresh farm goods (or not-so-fresh farm refuse). It’s surprising how sedate the animals are, considering they often are in the core downtown with cars and scooters zipping all around them. Then there’s the cacophony of muffler-free motors, horn-happy motorists, and of course the omnipresent loudspeakers blaring advertisements and cheesy Chinese disco onto the streets.

I live on the outskirts of town, a few kilometers away from this madness, and am further insulated by the quiet of the campus. The only noise I hear is the continual drone of what I assume to be cicadas, but these things are truly massive (about the length of my index finger and three times as wide), and the noise they emit matches their size. Relatively speaking, though, campus life is peaceful and mellow.

There are some inconveniences with living here. If I want some groceries, or a haircut, or a restaurant, or anything, I have to go into town. This requires an almost-kilometer walk to the front gates of the college, where I can (sometimes) catch a taxi. To walk into town requires about 45 minutes, and the return is most undesirable if you’re laden with a week’s worth of grocery and a flat of beer. So I did what everyone in Gongyi does: I bought some motorized transportation.

Now, what I bought isn’t exactly a scooter, and it isn’t exactly a motorcycle. It’s got a gas engine, and it’s got gears, but it lacks a clutch. The gas tank is situated under the seat, and it features a “step-through” design which facilitates carrying bulky objects between one’s knees. To further its cargo capacity, it features a handlebar basket and a rack on the back. Honestly the final feature was the selling point for me: I can never resist a nice rack.

In any case, I was confused as to what to call this machine, so as I always do when I need a fast answer, I turned to Google. As it turns out, my machine is known by the highly technical term of “underbone.” I suppose it refers to the fact that the main support beam of the frame is lower than a motorcycle (allowing the step-through mount, like a scooter), but it still has the larger wheels and power of a motorcycle. Here’s a picture:

Looking good on the Underbone!

Don’t you think I look good? Well, I know I look like a tourist, but that’s OK, because they’re actually quite common down here. I’ve even had some compliments! And finally, it was cheap … 3000 RMB brand new (including a helmet, rain jacket, rain cover for storage, and a lock), which is about $450. Not bad at all.

Anyways, this thing has really opened up the surrounding countryside for me. I’ve cruised all over the place, including a stretch along the nearby Yellow River (yes, it is yellow, believe it or not), and a jaunt up into some nearby mountains which were nothing less than stunning. It is now no hassle to grocery shop, and I can even carry friends around on the back (theoretically speaking … I have none now ). I also have had to opportunity to get a good look at real country life in China, and it is quiet the eye-opener. Modern places like Shanghai are a world apart from these rural farming villages, which are so small they even make Gongyi seem like a bustling urban center. The difference is so vast that it’s hard for us to imagine, because in Canada the difference between urban and rural is not so huge: we drive the same cars, have the same educational levels and standards, and live in the same culture. Not so in China. It’s like two entire different countries. I suspect most of the Chinese living in one of these two extremes can’t even imagine that such a polar opposite of lifestyle exists within their own country, let alone only a few hundred short kilometers away. Such is China.

Another thing worth mentioning is my trip up into the mountains. These mountains were truly fantastic in all their craggy glory, and are only a 10 minute ride away from my home! You wind your way up a beautiful valley, surrounded by rocky peaks which are intertwined with crumbling aqueducts of unknown age. Finally the end of the line is reached, and this is where I had a real surprise. There is a small, slow-running, rock-bottomed creek coming down the hills, and is no more than a foot deep and fifteen feet wide at it’s widest points. However, this seems to be a popular spot to cool off in the summer, and the place was filled with people. This in itself is not strange — everywhere is crowded in China — it was their behavior that raised my eyebrows.

Rather than parking on the gravel parking lot beside the creek, many people would opt to park right in the middle of it. There was no apparent reason I could discern, except for some enterprising individuals who were using their motorcycles to create a fountain of water, thus washing a car. Others, though, would just park in the creek, wade around for a while, then pack up and go. Then there were the fathers smoking and spitting in the water just upstream from where their children were splashing around. Then were the little kids pissing into the water as their parents encouraged them. Then were the drifts of litter caught in the weeds, and the broken glass on the rocky creek bed. I seriously can’t understand this behavior. I watched people throw chip bags into the creek (knowing full well, that there’s many people just downstream), and do all these things which in Canada would get you either a huge fine or a beat-down from your neighbors. I think that some connection (which we in Canada take for granted) is just not being made. I know that they litter and spit and piss everywhere else in China, but one would think that they would refrain in an oh-so-rare natural spot like this, especially one where other people are bathing! Whether it’s due to culture, poor education, or just not caring I don’t know, but I do know the results. Be thankful the next time you jump into a nice clean river or lake! Things could be a whole lot worse.

Anyways, tomorrow I head down to Shanghai to meet my old university buddy Connor, where we will brave the heat (lows of 36 degrees) and the lines (at least 3 hours each) of the World Expo. Wish us luck!

Anyways, you know I enjoy reading and writing funny haikus, so what could be more irresistable than a page of Star Wars haikus? Check it out.

The main reason I bought a new phone is because I really wanted to have a decent camera always in my pocket. I can’t count the number of times I’ve cursed myself for forgetting my camera at home, and on the few times I do remember to bring it along, it’s big, bulky, and ugly. So I bought this camera phone. It’s got one of the best cameras on the market, and even better, it’s got a xenon flash. For my daily life in China, it will be incredibly convenient, because the most picture-worthy moments are never anticipated, and now I will be properly armed to handle them.

The phone is more than that — it’s also a smart phone with WiFi and 3G capabilities. How cool is that? Very cool, if you don’t happen to live in China.

I had just pulled out my new phone and was looking to connect to the office WiFi network … but wait a minute, where was the WiFi  manager? For the life of me, I couldn’t find it. So, doing what I always do when confronted with a problem of a geeky nature, I consulted Google.

Well, I should have done this before I bought the phone. (I actually spent about two weeks reading reviews of various cell phones, so it’s not like I bought it blindly). It turns out that of all the dozens of different versions of the N82, the Chinese version has no Wifi or 3G! My stomach dropped. What kind of stupidity is this?

I again turned to Google. After some incredulous reading, I learned this: for a phone to be legally sold in Mainland China (e.g. not Hong Kong), it must have the WiFi and 3G disabled. What? But why? Well, as for the 3G, the Chinese government has apparently developed its own homegrown high-speed protocol, and wants to promote that and stifle 3G. To use a 3G network, royalties must be paid to the copyright owners, all of whom I assume to be American. I guess you can see why the Chinese government is opposed to this.

And as for WiFi, apparently the two main mobile carriers in China (China Mobile and China Unicom) are concerned that WiFi will cut into the income gained from data transfer and international calls. For example, you could use Skype to call internationally, and the carrier wouldn’t get a penny (but you also wouldn’t be using any of their infrastructure). Also, you could surf the internet and download data without being charged to your SIM card. Never mind the fact that these are the only two companies that provide internet (it’s all ADSL here)! Anyways, I guess the government listened to this, and outlawed WiFi on mobile devices.

I was hoping that it was disabled on the software level, and I could just flash the phone and get the functionality back. But a quick look at the schematics proved me wrong: the wireless antenna had a big red circle around it with the label “This section not assembled in RB-314.” The RB-314 — or the crippled version — is sold only in China. FRUSTRATION!

I don’t think I’ll be able to take the phone back, because they’re technically nothing wrong with it. So here I am. I should have bought it in Hong Kong, but live and learn, I guess. And really, these two features were just icing on the cake: there’s no 3G in China yet, and it’s not like I really need the WiFi. I bought the phone for the excellent camera (which really is quite excellent). It’s just not a phone I will have for a long time (as I had originally planned).

This is where Jamie chimes in: “Such is life.”

I don’t need to explain why we have different time zones, or why the world thinks they are a good thing. What I do want to talk about is why China has only one time zone. Isn’t that strange? Any country with a tolerable East-West span has multiple time zones — Russia has no less than ten — and China is certainly longitudinally hefty enough to qualify. But nope, the China Time Zone ostentatiously interrupts the nice North-South bands of color on the time zone map.

The China Time Zone

As you can see, China spans five of Russia’s time zones. I personally find that quite incredible. So, being in a position such as I am in, I took the opportunity to ask some of my students about why this is so.

Like every time I bring up a subject like this to my students, I’m immediately greeted by the CBSOD (Chinese Blank Stare of Death — I’ll write a post about it one of these days). So I elaborated. I explained why time zones exist, and why many people in the world think they are a useful convention.

“But it’s not useful,” they insisted. “How is your country not in total chaos, what with Toronto three hours ahead of Vancouver? Isn’t it extremely inconvenient to do business or talk to your relatives?”

I must admit, I hadto concede this point. It can be inconvenient, occasionally. But then I counter:

“So, since the Chinese time zone is based on Beijing time, what about those unlucky millions living in Western China? If the sun rises in Beijing at 6 o’ clock, it won’t rise in Urumqi until almost 10! And it won’t get dark until at least 1 in the morning! What are these people supposed to do? They can either spend the first few hours of morning in the pitch black, and go to bed when the sun is still high in the sky, or they can align their sleeping hours to the light/dark cycle. The former sounds like a hellish way to live, and the latter results in the Western China working hours being unsynchronized with Beijing — which is essentially what time zones do.”

I waited for enlightenment, but I only recieved the CBSOD. For all intents and purposes, the conversation was over.

I have some ideas of why China throws the world-ratified time zone convention to the winds. Perhaps it is due to the centralized nature of the government: one people, one standard. Or perhaps it is because the Western provinces are much poorer and sparsely populated than the overflowing East, and is generally looked down upon by the Eastern public. But I don’t really know, nor, I think, do the Chinese people.

What are your ideas?