Mathesmatics

It’s been ages since I’ve posted and I feel so guilty! So in honor of my new camera, the true arrival of winter, and the first day of sunshine I’ve seen in two weeks, here are some photos from the neighborhood that I took this afternoon:

Props to HaoDe convenience stores. While the no shirt, no shoes: no service rule doesn’t apply in China, HaoDe steps it up to allow its friends of the diptera variety a chance to avoid the heat and chill out a bit.

They may look mean, but I suspect that deep down, those HaoDe ladies really are softies.

The last weekend of July, we headed out west to the capital of Sichuan province, Chengdu. Despite some transportation set-backs, we managed to pull into Leshan, southeast of Chengdu an hour and a half by bus, just after the “rehearsal” dinner. When I asked Eric, the groom, what we’d missed, he said, “not much. Be glad you missed it,” it, of course, being cases of baijiu, a pungent white grain alcohol popular in China. It smells like paint thinner mixed with rotten fruit, and it tastes like what I imagine gasoline should taste like. My point? Everyone at dinner had had a lot of it, and they were worse for the wear by the time we showed up!

The next day proved to be a day of colorful clothes, traditional song and dance, and lots of photos! Eric, much to his surprise, was to head a very long and winding parade from one part of town to the other. The parade consisted of dancers, musicians, and palanquin bearers. The palanquin is the box that the bride (Johanna) sits in, blindfolded with her opaque red veil until the couple officially arrives at their destination.

People all over town poured out to check out the scene – and quite a scene it was, what with a lao wai marrying a local girl in traditional fashion, and all! I heard a rumor that the wedding even made it into local TV news… The photos below show a bit of the fun – dragon dances, drummers, buglers, and more. Oh and did I mention – more baijiu?

For more images, or larger sizes, check out my flickr page.

It’s over 100 degrees outside. I’m sweating. I arrive, finally, at my office building. After locking up my bike and trudging up to the third floor, I arrive in my nice a/c cooled office. I pull out my empty water bottle, reaching for the blue spigot at water cooler. I can anticipate the refreshing taste of the cool water contained within.

Then reality sinks in. The water coming out of the water ‘cooler’ is hot. Even though it’s the blue spigot, there is no cold water here. Not even room temperature water. Disappointment reigns.

flickr.com; by: cmbellman

In a country that officially only permits around 50 foreign language films to be released nationally each year, the Shanghai International Film Festival (SIFF) offers a special opportunity to see movies that, for one reason or another, would never come out here. There are the requisite big name commercial films, a few mega-award winners (this year: The Reader), indie European films and a lot of Chinese language movies.

For residents of this international city, seeing sex, violence and religion treated on the big screen offers a refreshing change of pace from the usual comic book movies and historical Chinese epics. In fact the majority of films shown rarely deviate from the following categories: big budget action (foreign), cartoons (mixed), comic book movies (foreign), and historical dramas (Chinese).

A few exceptions come to mind, for example Mission Impossible III wasn’t going to be shown on the Mainland because of its “insensitive” depiction of Shanghainese residents (to be fair, the filmmaker shot scenes in some of the suburban water towns, claiming they were neighborhoods of Shanghai.) As for the shots of people hanging their tighty-whiteys outside to dry, this is a common scene any Shanghai resident can attest to having seen! In the end a heavily edited version was screened, lacking around six minutes from the film’s climax. Luckily at the festival, films didn’t feature the common blunt cuts from the censors.

The list of films being screened featured a few gems – a number of Hitchcock, some Varda, and almost all of Danny Boyle’s films (he’s this year’s SIFF president).

Among the most exciting were the Swedish Let the Right One In and Danny Boyle’s sci-fi psychological drama Sunshine.

It’s exciting having movies playing all around the city, movies that we would never have the opportunity to see on the big screen here in Shanghai. Unfortunately most of the theaters screening these films were asked (we assume) by the festival to keep their theaters open late for 8:45pm shows, when their last movies would normally wrap up around 9:00pm.

The result? The lights were thrown on during the last five minutes of a horror/thriller film, and we were subsequently ushered out of that same theater before the credits had even gotten to the actors’ names. I was left in the dark in a bathroom on the second floor of a theater because the manager was itching to get everything shut down as soon as possible (the cleaning crew had already taken all of the toilet paper and locked it up in a supply cabinet for the night, as well).

All in all it was an exciting week – some hits and some misses, as you could have expected, but overall the movies we caught were decent productions. As for staff running the festival – maybe a little chat with theater managers would help make the SIFF come off a little less podunk and a little more professional next time around.

Bad translations have been and continue to be the source of humor in the worlds of English teaching and international travel. There exist blogs, news articles and even Flickr photo groups devoted to wacky English, and for some reason phrases like “unrecycle rubdish” just never get old!

from Flickr.com, by: 52 6666

In fact in the course of an average day here in Shanghai, it’s easy to spot tons of T-shirts sporting tragically comical English phrases. The assumption is that the majority of these T-shirts (they’re often over-sized, as well) are misprints that were initially produced in China, sent over to the States, and then made their way back when it was discovered that their messages were botched.

What boggles the mind the most, perhaps, is that even large companies refuse to employ (or even consult) native English speakers to check their English names and signage! My former colleagues and I often laughed when, next to our company, a giant skyscraper called “BM Tower” was erected.

So why all the bad translations, then? There are a few things going on, in my opinion. The first is that there’s a general lack of people around who are fluent (really fluent) in English. Also, a lot of translations are done word-for-word. The overall meaning in these cases often gets lost. The results are bad, often unintelligible groupings of words.

Restaurants also often struggle with translations of their menus, as a dish like “ants on a log” (a traditional Hunan dish) simply lacks a descriptive name (in the Chinese). Thus anyone ordering from the translated menu has no clue what this could be. To add to the confusion, translations of ingredients are often done with shoddy dictionaries or online with google translate, and the results are nothing to brag about. I’ve seen restaurants list foods by their scientific (Latin) name, and I’ve seen more literal things like “cake clamps the beef.”

As English-language education grows in this country things will get better. Chinglish will see its true end when more students are able to go abroad. Only then will there be a population of Chinese here, fluent in English, who can stop shops, companies and even city governments from falling into the Chinglish trap!

A Little Background Research

Doing a little reading on the subject, I discovered that for years sociologists and political scientists have been fascinated with the Chinese approach to conflict resolution. There have been, over the past few years, some arguments about just how prevalent these trends are in contemporary Chinese society. If my experience is any indication, they are alive and well in the Middle Kingdom.

Just what makes the Chinese system of conflict resolution stand out, when juxtaposed to its western counterparts? The system’s reliance on mediation, not arbitration. And what exactly distinguishes mediation from arbitration? According to Desmond Ellis and Dawn Anderson’s introductory text to the field, Conflict Resolution, mediation can be defined as:

…a relatively informal process in which a third party facilitates understanding and/or mutual decision making by the parties to a conflict, who make decisions about outcomes.

Whereas arbitration’s emphasis lies on the role of the arbitrator:

The arbitrator is a decision maker appointed by or on behalf of the parties to a conflict to resolve the issues in dispute by applying the rules of law and fairness. The decision of the arbitrator is final and binding, unless the parties agree otherwise.

In layman’s terms, in mediation, the people fighting have to come up with a solution to their conflict with the supervision of a third-party referee. In arbitration, the third-party referee calls the shots on the outcome.

The Ever-Important Role of Face

In his 1994 book Chinese at the Negotiating Table, Alfred Wilhelm analyzes the Chinese negotiating process taking examples in diplomacy/international affairs from the past half-century. His notion of Chinese conflict resolution helps offer some insight into the reasons behind why mediation is often favored over arbitration:

Traditionally, the Chinese have preferred to resolve conflicts through mediation. Philosophically, agreement or harmony ranked high on the scale of virtues, motivated in part by the awareness that conflict carried the potential for violence that could break down the social order essential to China’s agrarian society. Parties negotiated with each other directly; mediation conducted at the lowest possible level was the rule; the court system was to be avoided… Failure could mean loss of face for the mediator and public disapproval of the participants. Public disapproval was a powerful force, for it placed the prestige of each participant’s face in jeopardy. (p. 32)

So to summarize, when parties seek mediation in China there are a lot of forces at work. Perhaps the most powerful among them are face (面子) and reputation. If you travel in China and you see street-side fights or accidents, you will often see the loudest people involved in the fights saying things and then slowly scanning the crowd to make sure that they have the approval of the gathering audience. This is the chest-beating face-saving ritual that accompanies the majority of verbal altercations here (well, in Shanghai, at the very least).

And Then There’s the Money Thing

Do these altercations ever turn violent? Yes, of course. But those that I have had the pleasure of being involved in usually involve people yelling at me, flabbergasted that I would have deigned to call them out on their dishonesty/scam/lie.

I have never heard of an acquaintance or friend going to court or seeking out legal answers to a problem with another party. I have heard threats, but rare is the occasion in which someone takes the legal plunge. I believe this confirms, at least in my experience, the trend noted above. Rather than suffer the potential shame (not to mention the anger at being forced to absorb the costs affiliated with arbitration) of losing an argument in such a formal setting, most people would rather settle things on their own, take whatever money owed them, and be on their way.

The Bad News

There are obvious advantages and disadvantages to this kind of system. The disadvantages stick out automatically, probably since back in the States it seems like you can get sued for just about anything. In the experiences I’ve had, I’ve generally had no desire to compromise, cooperate, or come to a mutually-beneficial agreement. If I’ve been wronged by someone (i.e. a woman purposefully misrepresents herself, lies to me, and absconds with my hard-earned cash) then I want the situation to be made right again! No compromise! 100%! All or nothing!

But that just doesn’t seem to happen here. Not when there’s no God-like arbitrating figure who gets to make a final decision based on the dictates of conscience/convention/law. Instead, the two parties involved in the dispute have to hash the situation out until they can walk away both grumbling but both marginally satisfied. It’s ironic, from my perspective, that this kind of situation rewards crooks for stealing money from people who work hard everyday to earn that money. But then again, from the Chinese perspective, if you were stupid enough to trust a crook in the first place, it’s your own fault, darn it!

The Good News

I did mention that there are benefits to mediation over arbitration, and I’ll discuss those here to (in the spirit of fairness)! First, there’s the question of time. Yes, it often feels like arguments could go on until the end of time. But comparatively speaking, arguing for 6 or 7 hours then going down to the police station a few days later and arguing for 6 or 7 more doesn’t even compare to the weeks, months or even years that it takes to resolve some conflicts in the US. Should things end up in an American court, you’re talking about time away from work, time meeting with lawyers, time spent fretting about the problem that got you there in the first place.

There is another benefit, and it’s more on the psychological side of things than the financial one. Mediation is cathartic. You sweat out your anger, you say what you have to say, you listen to the other party do the same thing. Whatever you have in your system, whatever keeps you up at night, you get to let it out. Instead of letting that negativity, frustration, and anger turn into resentment and anxiety, you can purge it from your system and move on. And if you’ve ever been in a fight with someone, ever been ripped off, ever felt like you’ve been wronged, then you know that this is a very valuable gift.

Words to Live By

There’s an adage popular among seasoned expats in Shanghai: “He who yells the loudest gets what he wants.” It seems simple enough, but for a good little girl from the American Midwest, this concept has proven hard (but essential) to adopt. It reflects a kind of pragmatism that you sink into after a year or so here in China. A pragmatism born out of frustration and anger at being ripped off, scammed or conned.

It is not, though, a license to be a jackass. I still remember seeing a guy during my first year here at a western-style restaurant near Jing’an Temple who, when he did not receive ice in his water, proceeded to stand up, screaming at the waiters, and threaten action (Was it legal? Physical? No matter…) That kind of expat sickens me: his sense of entitlement, his inability to show any understanding or respect for the people around him.

No, when I say that the person who yells the loudest wins, I’m referring to a method of conflict resolution employed by locals and foreigners alike. Expats in other areas of China will have to tell me if they’ve experienced this as well, or if it’s specifically a Shanghai thing. It’s something I’ve come to expect when problems arise. If a business exchange hits a bump or if a deal goes sour, a fight is sure to ensue.

Part of the interaction, the fighting, the shouting, is driven by sheer physiological forces. However much dread I feel going into a situation that I anticipate will become an argument, the minute the gloves come off, my brain fills up with endorphins, my hands shake, and my Chinese gets nasty.

Poisonous Moo Shu and The Bathroom of Death

Take, for example, a situation that arose in my first apartment in Shanghai. The apartment building had been built in the late 1980s, early ’90s, and the space itself had some structural deficiencies. The bathroom maybe had the most problems. Needless to say it was in need of a face-lift. One day (after a bout of food poisoning at a well-known restaurant on Huaihai Lu) I went into the bathroom, only to find out that I couldn’t get back out.

The doorknob had, somehow, rusted shut. I tried everything I could to open the door. I fiddled, jiggled, twisted and turned that stupid piece of shitty fake brass. I thought about slithering out the window. No way I would have fit. I waited, patiently, until Derek and his friend, visiting from the States, made it back to the apartment. Coincidentally they came back in desperation, having felt their first pangs of food poisoning, and in need of a toilet.

“Sorry, guys,” I shouted from the bathroom. “No can do!” We all tried to get that door open, them from the outside, me from the inside. In the end, even the engineer (Derek’s friend) couldn’t get the thing to open. We called the landlord. She, surprise surprise, couldn’t be reached. We called our real estate agent. He told us to sit and wait. We said we wouldn’t wait, we couldn’t wait. He called the landlord. No go. An hour passed. No word. The guys were not doing well, physically, and I needed to go to the airport and pick my mother up who, at that point having just arrived on a flight from Chicago, was feeling forgotten and alone on a new continent.

So Derek, in a moment of [albeit domestic] Jet Li glory, kicked the door in. Luckily the glass panels in the door didn’t shatter. Instead there were just some pieces of splintered wood and the busted lock scattered around the floor.

We called the landlord as soon as we could to let her know what had happened. A few days later we called a worker to come in and fix both the door and the knob. Everything was fully repaired, the apartment in order. Months passed.

Strong Arm Wu

Then the fateful day arrived when we were to move out, and the landlord came to inspect the apartment so we could get our security deposit back. We knew a fight was brewing. She looked at the door, looked at us, and as if we’d never even brought it up, informed us that this would all be coming out of our security deposit.

“What?” We asked her. “How? We payed for repairs out of pocket. We told you about this! The door broke when Catherine was in the bathroom!” She wouldn’t hear any of it. The anger started to build. She wanted how much? Thousands of RMB? For what?

She said the door knob didn’t match. She said it wasn’t done properly. She said it was our fault. She said Derek shouldn’t have kicked the door in. She said she was being nice to us, that she could have asked for more money.

So, red in the face and steam pouring out of our ears, we fought. For hours. Each side providing the other with reasons why they were wrong. Livid at first, we all started to slow down. It was hot, we were tired. It was like a shoot-out in an old western. The last man standing gets to claim victory. We held our own, but ended up laying down our weapons and paying the lady. We paid less than she asked for (but much more than we thought we owed her).

A Day Older, a Day Wiser

The moral of this story? I lost this one. I didn’t out-last the angry Shanghainese landlord, Mrs. Wu. But I have since come a long way in my ability to hold my own in these situations. It takes a lot of being pushed around before you feel comfortable raising your voice with another adult, let alone telling them that they’re crazy cheats. Where I come from, people don’t act like this.

But then again, maybe where I come from people harbor resentments for longer. I get the impression that here, after you go a few rounds and get it all out of your system, you don’t have any energy left to be angry or frustrated. You’re just happy to have made it out alive, and with a bit of your money back in your own hands.

My dad came to visit me in March. He took hundreds of photos, but this one perfectly sums up my neighborhood. It’s not the wine bars, not margaritas on Sunday afternoons, not the boutique clothing stores. It’s the guy asleep on the e-bike transporting some of Xu Jie’s “Chinese Boys and Girls” to their new home somewhere nearby. And the worker in the hardhat wondering about what the hell the foreigner with the camera is doing. [Thanks, again, to my dad for this lovely photo - sometimes it takes a visitor to point out things you no longer notice because they're just a part of your day to day].

Chongqing, though really not so far from Shanghai, had some surprises in store for us. One of the most fascinating occurred at a Buddhist temple in Chongqing. 罗汉寺 (Luo2 han4 Temple), more commonly referred to as Arhat Temple, stands to the side of a heavily-trafficked street smack dab in the middle of the peninsula central to the hilly metropolis. We had originally thought that the word Arhat came from Tibetan, as Chongqing is fairly close to Tibet and there are many Tibetan Buddhists throughout Sichuan. Instead, the word comes from Sanskrit, and means “the worthy one.” More on that here.

Though we’ve stayed in Buddhist monasteries and visited a number of temples all over China, never before had any of us seen group prayer in action. Thinking we’d stumbled upon some special ceremony, we approached an attendant who sat patiently knitting beside the temple doors. She explained to us that the event was, in fact, merely a regular meeting of (mostly) female Buddhists. They come together about twice a month to chant, pray and sing. She then translated the prayer we could hear being chanted below us into (heavily accented) Mandarin.

Exploring the temple further, we found rooms with rows of single beds, all piled high with jackets and bags. It’s not uncommon for temples and monasteries throughout China (and I imagine throughout the rest of the Buddhist world, as well) to offer visiting believers lodging. This is especially common at China’s popular pilgrimage sites.

Because it was a national holiday (Tomb Sweeping Day) when we visited, people had come to the temple to light incense and to burn paper money.

We felt a bit guilty eavesdropping on their religious ceremony, but the chanting was soft and mesmerizing, and the songs beautiful. We hung out on the steps outside the prayer hall, listening. The sun was shining high in the sky, the musky incense mixed with the smell of the flowers in bloom around us.

Arhat temple is beautiful place, a little oasis fit snugly into a side street in Chongqing’s busy shopping district. I recommend taking a peek. You won’t need to look hard for it. Just head down towards Carrefour and follow the incense!

Thanks to my dad for all of the photos in this post!