10 Years

I come to realize it's gonna take me ten years to do anything worthwhile in this town.  I thought I would come to Beijing, learn Chinese, learn Tai Ji and Gong Fu, learn to tie fortune knots, learn to cook Chinese food, learn to play Mahjong.  And while at it, I fancied learning photography and TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine).  Hey, I'm a quick learner so why not?  I'll tell you why not: because it is impossible!  What illusions I had!  Chinese! Did I really think I was going to learn Chinese in just two years? 

On NOT Learning Chinese
We've been in Beijing 8 months.  I finished a semester at a Chinese Public University where I took an intensive Mandarin course.  I spent four hours a day in class and countless hours outside of class doing homework.  Just to keep up required 2 hours practice a night.  To excel, probably 4.  (I did not excel.)  I cried in frustration more than once.  I thought about quitting 100 times.  This from a Phi Beta Kappa honor grad who is supposed to be good in languages and, uh, other things.

Austin and I blew through a notebook per week and several pens per week.  When is the last time you actually used up all a pen's ink?

I studied harder for Intensive Mandarin 221 than I remember studying for my entire class load in college.  And for what?  I can tenuously say I have a command of traveler's Chinese.  Nothing more, and I am totally being generous with the word "command."  What or whom can I actually command if half the country doesn't even speak Mandarin?  Hell, I'm convinced half of Beijing doesn't even speak Mandarin without shoving 40 marbles in their mouths first.  So I can only travel to those hamlets where Party leaders took the edict to speak Putonghua--"The Common Language"-- very seriously.  Or, I can stay in Beijing and be content with 1) asking directions 2) ordering food and 3) telling a taxi where to go.  If I dare attempt more sophisticated conversation, I must seek out and  speak exclusively to University Professors who by law must take Correct Mandarin Speech Classes (Spit out the Marbles!!! Tone down the Pirate for the land-lubbers!) before they can teach. 

Austin and I have had many a chuckle over our ignorance.  We fondly recall our dear friend Charles, Austin's freshman-year roommate, and his Herculean efforts to learn Chinese.  Charles would while away the night with a pack of hand-written Mandarin flash cards.  He would sit at his desk for hours flipping through the deck, mumbling to himself.  We would pop in to the room on occasion--mind you, never to study or sleep, usually for Tang, Southern Comfort or Austin's guitar-- and there was Charles, like a statue in the corner:  flip, mumble, flip, mumble, flip.  We actually felt bad for Charles because we just assumed he was no ace of languages.  He worked so hard for meager returns, while we slept through our Spanish classes.  We knew Chinese was difficult, but 3-5 hours a night difficult?  No way.

How wrong we were and how sorry we are for doubting Charles.  Seventeen years later we find ourselves hunched over stacks of flashcards and swearing long into the night.  Eight months of re-sculpting my facial muscles and tying my tongue in knots and my spoken Mandarin sucks.  I can never remember which tone to use.  Tone-flubbed Chinese gets you nowhere.  More depressing is that speaking is undoubtedly the easiest skill in the great Mandarin language triumvirate.  Reading?  Give me five more years.  Writing?  I need at least 10.  

On NOT Learning Tea
Intensive Mandarin is finished I feel like I have been sprung from prison.  I finally have freedom to pursue the other great secrets of the Orient.  Yesterday, I went to Maliandao, one of the largest tea markets in the world.  It was a square mile of nothing but tea and tea accessories.   It's crazy to think of a market that big selling just one commodity.  It would be like the Mall of America selling nothing but socks. 

I love tea.  I was sure I knew a thing or two about tea.  I went with Jessica, a real connoisseur of tea.  She, like, majored in tea.  I'm not kidding. 

Jess took me into the wholesale shops where inside each I was treated to formal tea tastings.  Let me say this: tea is an art.  It is a process.  It is steeped in knowledge and superstition and millenia-old healing processes.  It is part of lifestyle that I say very few Westerners really understand. 

I was furiously taking notes while savoring the complex flavors of tea.  "All tea is green tea.  (UH?  Really?)  This tea type requires this temperature of water.  This tea type is best purchased in Spring.  Always store this type of tea in baskets.  Keep this one in the fridge. You must age this tea.  Drink this tea before Meals.  Drink this tea after meals.  Never drink this tea during your period.  This tea in yin.  That tea is yang.  Steep green tea in glass.  Rolling the tea matters.  When you roll the tea matters.  Watch out for flavored tea, flavoring masks poor-quality leaves.  You cannot call this tea such and such unless it comes from such and such province.  You can re-use these leaves 3 times, those 5, those 7."  And on and on and on.  Get it?  I don't either.  My experience made wine tastings seem simple.  I think of the powdered Crystal Light "tea" that comes in a giant plastic tub.  My boss used to drink it.  I laugh out loud.

Tea I have come to know is much like fine wine: age, provenance and storage matter!

On Not Learning Martial Arts
Perhaps you read my post "Lesley in the Land of Legends" wherein  I got a rare glimpse into the life of Shaolin monks and Gong Fu students?  Martial arts requires a lifetime of discipline.  I can't even comb my hair or make my bed in the morning.  I thought I could add it to my exercise regimen that is currently non-existent thanks to hellacious Chinese class and now serious knee damage.  You can't casually pursue Martial Arts if you want to learn anything.  It's not like football where you cannot play for years but you will always be able to toss around the pigskin on Thanksgiving.  Martial Arts take serious commitment and daily practice.  As my children have learned, once a week is not enough.  You forget everything between classes.


Hey, I Did Learn Something!
All this not learning has left me no time to pursue knots and mahjong and TCM.  My camera User Guide is still shrink-wrapped.  My one triumph has been in the kitchen.  My Chinese cooking skills were weak, by far the weakest of my international fair.  I have taken a few classes here at a wonderful place called The Hutong with flattering results.  The mobile execution vans (yes, they exist here in China) might nab me for saying this: the majority of my dishes have been unmatched in restaurants to date.  I am often underwhelmed with my meals so this is saying a lot. 

The good news is that I don't have to speak Chinese to survive outside China. (Well, so far.)  Western medicine has kept me alive all these years.  Great tea is wonderful, but just plain old good tea warms the heart just fine.  My photos suffice to capture and share the memories.  I can play Mahjong in retirement.  I can always go to the gym.  (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha).  I don't need fortune knots to know or believe that I am one of the most blessed people on this earth.  But food.  We have ALL got to eat and it ain't gonna be Ramen for dinner!

So far I've excelled at cooking.  The only thing I have done well in China.  Above are my Eggplant and Long Bean and Golden Tofu Stir fries.