Hello Everyone,

I am settling right into the rhythm of life in this most rhythmic of cities.  As much as I enjoy my daily routine, I have yet to have a routine day.  Perhaps if I stayed in my apartment for one day, and never set foot outside my door, then maybe I would have little to report, but probably not, because I am sure there would be some excitement in the courtyard three floors below my windows, or even just two feet outside my door right next to my shoes.  That is where a lumpy bag has rested (mostly) for the past few days.  The picture on the outside of the bag suggested it once held rice, or maybe even twice rice, but no longer.  This was confirmed the first night the bag appeared on the landing between the door of my neighbor's apartment and the door of my own. 

My evening stroll was just coming to an end, and as I climbed the last few stairs, the carelessly strewn package came into view.  Hmm, must be the garbage, I thought to myself, for it is not an uncommon practice to place tightly tied plastic bags outside an apartment door to be brought downstairs to the dumpster upon next descent.  My heart, (you all remember that fragile muscle of mine) sped up quite a bit when the bag took to rustling of its own accord.  I am pretty sure I made no audible expression of my surprise, but if I had, it probably would not have been manly.  Instead of investigating further, I decided the best recourse was an expeditious entrance into the relative security of my own apartment.

On the first night, I was able to resist temptation, because I did not want to seem unneighborly by poking my nose around in other people's garbage,  but after the rice bag and its mystery contents had taken up residence right next to my shoes for one night and one day, I could not resist.  Even the possibility of trying to explain myself in my infantile Putonghua to the people with whom I share the third and topmost floor of our building as they fling open their door only to find the weird foreigner stooped and examining their discards was not deterrent enough. 

There was the bag.  There was me.  There was the closed door.  And in the bag, there was a slight imperfection where the plastic weave similar to that of a burlap sack had begun to open up a bit too much to make it useful for carrying rice or marbles.  When I peered into the hole, I was more than a little shocked to see a beady little eye above a beaky little mouth peering right back out through that same hole.  Oh, oh, a chicken, a chickety chicken right there in the bag, just sittin' there on the ground (mostly just sitting there, and stirring occasionally).  Whoa.  How long were they planning on keeping it there?  And what were they waiting for?  There were many questions that remained unanswered about the chicken, but the length of its stay was about two and a half days.

There is no normal here.  A few days ago, I went to the market to buy some vegetables, and as inevitably happens, there were many curious people that quickly surrounded me wanting to know what country are you from?  What do you do for work?  How long have you been in China?  How much money do you make?  How tall are you?  Some of the questions are easier to answer than others.  I try to answer the questions I am pretty sure the people are asking me as truthfully as possible, although, sometimes, this happens to be not very.  I do tell people how much money I make, because they usually think I make much more than I do.  When they find out I make four thousand RMB per month (roughly five hundred US dollars), they often wonder why I am in China, because they know I could make much more than that in the United States. 

Two exceptions;  The first was the evening I was strolling alone, and the small crowd formed, and they asked the usual questions, and I told them I am an American, and I am one meter ninety cm tall, and I am an English teacher at the University over there (with pointing) and I make four ten thousands RMB per month, and... "four wan (ten thousand-much different than qian which means thousand) each month?" "Yes, four wan each month."  This they found very impressive.  As the previous conversation was conducted in Mandarin, it was not until I returned home that I realized the error I had made.  The real problem was that now there are people all over the city who know the crazy foreign guy makes ridiculous amounts of money.  If I were reluctant to share my salary before, now, I feel I must so that people do not think I am making 480,000 RMB every year.

The second exception, and the one that brings the gravity of the first into startling clarity;  the other day in the market...  buying vegetables... looking at purple onions.  The woman with the child in one arm tells me the price.  At this point I am supposed to haggle a little bit until the price is lowered by a cent or two, and then we are both much happier.  (Keep in mind that I am buying my food for less than the magical standard that separates the truly destitute from the merely very poor in most worldwide census data; two US dollars per day.  This is roughly figured and it may be three dollars, but the point is that it is not much.)  I did get a good deal on the onions, but it was for the price the woman originally quoted, and despite the satisfaction that comes from successfully hunting the "wiley bargain" my meal that evening was a little bitter.  She told me that it takes her one year of labor to make the same amount of money I make in two weeks of being an English teacher.  That pretty much put the kibosh on me lowering the price by a cent or two.  When she told me this, she was looking at me, and asking me a question I did not understand.  At which point, she said, "ting bu dong."  That roughly translated means "hearing without understanding".  I know this, because it is a phrase often accurately said in my general direction. 

I really wished that I could speak Mandarin much better at that moment. 

Take care, and please take advantage of the remarkable opportunities I know you all have if you are reading this.  Go for a walk and find something interesting.

I hope all is well where you are.  I am well.  -Tyler