One year ago John Spinelli,
associate professor of electrical engineering,
accompanied a group of Union students on a term abroad at
Nanjing Normal University in China (or Nanshida). He kept
a journal with his impressions—bicycles and bamboo,
tai-qi in hotel squares, temples and gardens, hot lecture
rooms, beautiful sunrises, and wonderful food and
hospitality. Here are some excerpts:
Sept. 4:
Shanghai—My first day in China
Today was fantastic. I didn’t
sleep at all last night, so I got up at 6 a.m. and went
for a walk. In a square near the hotel, I saw some people
doing a very slow set of tai-qi exercises. I tried to
copy some of the movements and was immediately noticed by
an old man who asked me if I was interested in studying
with the group. Before I could answer that I was leaving
for Nanjing the next day, he whisked me off to an
instructor who was teaching a group of novices. After a
short discussion, someone went to fetch the leader of the
group who would give me personal instruction. In a moment
an old woman arrived and proceeded to teach me (with the
old man as translator) the basic movements to “the
first exercise” of the school of tai-qi. They
encouraged me to return at 6:30 tomorrow morning for more
instruction, and I hope to go. The patience and kindness
that they showed me were amazing.
The buildings of Shanghai are
incredible. Modern skyscrapers abut primitive dwellings,
and construction cranes are everywhere. We went to a
Confucian temple and garden (Yuyuan) dating from the Ming
dynasty. The crowds were overwhelming as people, carts,
bicycles, cars, and buses all share the same space and
jostle for position, but inside the gardens it was
peaceful. On the streets, none of us could keep up with
our guide, who moved among the crowd like a veteran.
Although he never seemed to rush or walk fast, we all had
to run to keep up with him.
Shanghai is a congested, traffic-choked
mess—but it is very interesting. The lunch that we
had at a small restaurant near Yuyuan was the best
Chinese meal I have ever had. The waitresses were
friendly and loved that we enjoyed the food so much. On
the way back to the bus, a fan salesman joined our group
and wouldn’t leave until we bought fans and back
scratchers.
After spending only two days in
Shanghai, it’s easy to imagine that there are more
than one billion Chinese; half of them seem to be
wandering the Shanghai streets, elbow to elbow. The scale
of industry here also makes it clear why much in our
house says “Made in China.”
Sept. 5: The trip to
Nanjing—Chinese driving techniques
Nanjing is only about 180 miles from
Shanghai, yet the congestion and road quality cause the
ride to take about eight hours.
The countryside is an amazing mix of
diversified light industry, farms, and rural-yet-cramped
housing developments. People on the road carry everything
on large tricycles. We saw an entire living room set
being carried by one frail-looking old man. Bamboo is
used for everything from ladders to scaffolding to
shoulder carriers.
The driving technique of the Chinese
makes Italy look orderly. The main rule seems to be that
whoever is in the way has the right of way, so the goal
is to get in the way as quickly as possible by never
looking to the side or behind and just plunging into the
mayhem with vigor. Drivers on the road counter this by
blowing their horns continuously to shoo away people who
aren’t on the road yet but might have plans to
enter. After a few of our driver’s high speed
passes, with oncoming trucks just a few feet away, I
stopped looking and gripped the seat. I’ve never
wanted a seat belt more.
We finally arrived after about eight
hours, with our driver never having eaten and looking
like he could go for another eight hours.
Sept. 7: The bike of
my dreams
While exploring a food market north of
the city, we passed a small meat store. Seeing us (we
were the only non-Chinese in sight), the butcher ran to
the back of the store, returned with his three-year-old
son, and told him with great emphasis, “Tamen shi
Meiguoren”, (THEY are Americans).
This afternoon, we went to buy used
bicycles at a small Nanjing street lined with outdoor
bicycle salesmen on both sides. Bargaining is the order
of the day, but using my usual poor bargaining skills, I
was unable to get lower than 210 yuan (about $25) for the
bike of my dreams: a black “forever” brand with
two working brakes (the fair range is 150 to 200 yuan).
Surprisingly, many of the students were careless about
which bike they selected, and we got some real clunkers.
But never fear—you are never more than a block from
your friendly, neighborhood bike repairman who seems to
charge ten yuan ($1.25) for everything major and eight
jiao (10 cents) for everything minor. I’ve already
had my first seat fixed, and students have had other
minor maintenance.
Now we are mobile and can join the
hoards of pedestrians, bikes, tricycles, mopeds, push
carts, motorcycles, cars, and buses that endlessly wander
the Nanjing streets. While not quite as traffic-choked as
Shanghai, the streets are still a sea of humanity
jostling for pole position in a race that never ends. All
of our bikes have bells or horns, but since everyone is
constantly sounding their horns, nobody pays any
attention.
Sept. 12: My first
class
Today I had my first class at
Nanshida—a lecture on data communication for two and
a half hours. The students seemed a bit nervous, and I
certainly was also, but it went well. My class includes
about forty students and five professors. The room is
very hot, but there are fans everywhere so that my
overheads are constantly blowing around the room. I told
the students that they were encouraged to ask questions
in either English or Chinese, and that in the latter
case, the teaching assistant, who speaks English well,
would translate. One young woman actually got up the
courage to ask an excellent question. Next week, I will
give her a Union pin as a reward.
The Union students have been
spectacular. They are meeting Chinese students, meeting
other foreign students, going out into the community,
participating in sports, going over to people’s
houses, and enjoying their classes. They are on
auto-pilot, and all I have to do is sit back and watch. I
am so proud of them that I rewarded them by taking them
out to a really nice restaurant at the Jinling hotel for
our weekly meal.
Sept. 13:
Nanshida’s libraries
Today two colleagues took me on a tour
of Nanshida’s two libraries. The older one is very
pretty but is only open to faculty and certain graduate
students. The stacks are all closed, and the conditions
for book storage are horrible. With leaky windows and no
climate control, it’s amazing that the books have
survived. The new library is in a fairly modern building
that still manages to look old and rundown inside. Again,
the stacks are closed, but this library is at least open
to undergraduates.
Many of the nicer buildings on the
campus were built when Nanshida was Jinling Women’s
College, which was funded by the United States. These
buildings date from the 1920s and are very traditional in
style. The newer, post-war structures are uniformly ugly,
but some of the newest buildings, although in modern
style, are passable. The traditional Chinese architecture
is so pretty that it’s unfortunate more of it
isn’t being built; as in the U.S. and many other
countries, the modern tendency in China is to build
steel, glass, or tile monoliths.
Sept. 17: A new
Taijiquan teacher
Today I met my Taijiquan teacher. He
manages a restaurant near campus and speaks no English,
so the lessons involve lots of pointing. On the way, I
walked through some back alleys of the university, past a
row of brick music practice rooms. Each room was no more
than eight feet by five feet and housed an upright piano.
The doors opened directly to the outside, and the windows
had little or no glass; it seemed as though the rain
would pour down directly on the pianos. In each room, a
female student practiced intensely and the sounds from
each piano all crashed together into a cacophony of
dissonance. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could
practice a quiet passage.
Sept. 21: The trip
to Suzhou
The students have decided to make a
trip to Suzhou, and I am accompanying them. We arrived at
the bus station at around 8:45 a.m., only to find that
all of the buses to Suzhou were full until 12 p.m. I was
expecting a lot of “what are we going to do for
three hours” questions, but didn’t hear a
single one. The students had all brought reading
material, which they pulled out. One book was chosen, and
we passed it around and took turns reading aloud to each
other. After an hour or so of reading, we got a quick
lunch, and it was time for the bus. This is a GOOD group.
Finally in Suzhou, we went out for a
bit and then took pedal-cabs back to our hotel. I was
dubious, but it was a great idea. In a line of four cabs
pedaled by ragged-looking old men, we took off down the
back alleys. I could see where the city gets its wishful
nickname of “Venice of the East.” The small
cobblestone alleyways are much like the small canal
streets of Venice. They form a small world that seems
unconnected to the larger Suzhou around them. Our
pedal-cabs moved at dangerous speeds through alleys
barely wide enough for them, using only a little bell to
warn pedestrians and bikes around the blind corners at
intersections. We missed one woman on a bike by a hair,
and came within a few inches of cement walls. After
making so many turns that I had no idea where we were or
in what direction we were going, we popped out of an
alleyway and were right across the street from our hotel.
Sept. 25: Computer
Science Department party
Tonight I attended a “party”
with the Computer Science Department. Each year, the
students put on a series of songs and dances to entertain
the faculty and other students. The freshmen, who have
only been here for one month, are major participants.
Surprisingly, I turned out to be the first thing on the
program. With no notice at all, I was put on a stage in
front of 250 students in this huge auditorium. I
didn’t know if they would all understand English, so
I had a colleague translate. Halfway into my remarks,
they shooed away the translator. Later, some students
told me that they can all understand English just one;
it’s the faculty who can’t. The faculty member
who introduced me told me that he was very happy that I
have a Chinese name because he couldn’t pronounce my
American name. I told him that it was OK, because I
can’t pronounce my Chinese name.
I was very impressed by the spirit of
the students, especially by comparison with the typical
U.S. college student. After the chairs were cleared the
students danced. There were many dance styles (line,
partner, individual), all being done to the same song.
One of my students even tried to show me a currently
popular Chinese dance.
On the way home, I had a chance to
observe the Chinese student living quarters. Each student
has slightly more space than they would on a submarine.
They are packed eight to a room, with four bunk beds
along the walls and just enough room down the middle for
a narrow table. No chairs—you sit on the bed.
Sept. 26: Chinese
attitudes in the classroom
This week, my class size was
significantly lower than in previous weeks—about
twenty five versus forty. I wasn’t sure if this was
a result of my teaching or some external event. When I
asked a colleague, he said that in their four other
classes they were probably having tests just before the
National Day holiday, so they probably wanted to study.
China seems like much of Europe in that students are
graded solely by how well they do on one or two exams.
Class participation, homework, and projects don’t
count for much, if anything.
Sept. 27: Dinner at
a colleague’s house
Tonight I had dinner at a
colleague’s home to celebrate the moon festival. He
met me at the Computer Center, and we biked to his
apartment near Hohai University. His wife is a faculty
member there, and they provide better housing facilities
than Nanshida. In general, Hohai has more money because
it receives central government support rather than the
provincial support received by Nanshida.
During the ride over, we passed many
buildings housing faculty. Most are drab six-floor
apartment blocks with dusty alleys between them. My
friend lives in a “new building” built in 1992.
The outside was chipped and stained, but inside his
apartment had neatly wall-papered walls that met shining
tile floors supporting modern furniture. The apartment
included two bedrooms; a small kitchen with stove,
refrigerator, and microwave; a living room with a cable
TV and a VCR; a bathroom with a washing machine and
modern plumbing; and a small, glassed-in balcony that
functions as his office because Nanshida does not provide
him with one.
The apartment is small by U.S.
standards but very comfortable and tidy. It is an
excellent apartment for China. Before this, they had
lived in a one-room apartment with a shared bathroom. My
host is particularly proud of the new apartment because
he bought it from Hohai University. This condominium-like
arrangement is becoming increasingly popular in China;
unlike in the United States, the apartment can only be
sold back to the university.
His wife must have been cooking for
days to prepare our dinner. We had at least eight
appetizer courses, including Nanjing pressed salted duck,
and about the same number of hot courses, plus soup, and
moon cakes for dessert. Everything was excellent. At the
end of the meal, we were led down the stairs with a
flashlight because the lights in the stairway didn’t
work.
I’m completely perplexed by the
general decay and lack of maintenance of any public or
shared facility in China. The people themselves are neat
and clean, and from what I have heard and seen their
homes are equally well cared for. But anything outside
the body or the home seems to be neglected. This
surprises me because, in general, life in China is less
individually-focused than in the U.S. and more focused on
the community—the work group, the department, etc.
Most Chinese have housing provided through their job,
take vacations or trips organized by their job, and have
a social life that revolves around work colleagues. When
this is combined with traditional Asian focus on group
values rather than individual values, it would seem to
imply a group effort to keep public facilities in great
shape, but that’s not true.
Oct. 29: Yellow
Mountain
My wife, Karen, and four-year-old
daughter, Terry, have arrived and accompanied the group
to Yellow Mountain, the most famous of the Chinese
ranges. Today was our first morning here and I awakened
at 4:20 a.m. to meet the students and see the sunrise.
The sky was mostly clear, and the stars and moon gave the
mountains a beautiful, mysterious quality. The sky went
through an amazing array of colors as the sunrise
approached. The sunrise was a beautiful sight as the sun
poked up over a summit and cast a reddish-yellow glow on
the mountains.
Later that morning, preparing to hike
the mountain, I was concerned about carrying Terry the
whole way on the five-mile western steps route. We
inquired about hiring two men to carry her in a bamboo
seat, but she decided to walk. She hiked for two hours,
nearly all up steps, to the top of Guang Ming mountain,
the highest point on the western steps trail.
But the bamboo chair owner had been
following us the whole way (his chair was at Guang Ming
peak, so he had to go back anyway). He again asked us if
we wanted to hire him. Finally, Terry decided that she
wanted to be carried and off they set down the western
steps. The only thing that attracts more attention in
China than a four-year-old American girl hiking is a
four-year-old American girl being carried like an
empress.
Nov. 3: An outing
with the Computer Science Department
Today I was invited to join the
Computer Science Department and their families on an
outing to the nearby town of Yangshan. My colleagues were
much more ebullient than at the office, and everyone was
laughing and joking on the bus. It was very interesting
to watch them at play because the “work group
outing” is the primary vacation or leisure method in
Chinese life.
Our first stop was an unremarkable
Buddhist temple called Baohua. The best part was the
drive up the steep, winding mountain road to reach it. I
didn’t think that the bus would make it, and one
professor kept joking about what Nanshida would do if it
lost its entire Computer Science Department in one day.
At the temple, we were treated to the strange sight of a
young monk pausing in his prayer ritual to take a call on
his cellular phone. I asked about a sign that seemed to
list the rules of Buddhism in Chinese, which caused
several people to reach for Chinese-English dictionaries
to look up a word. After several minutes, a professor
triumphantly told me that the sign concerned Buddhism.
As we got back to Nanjing, I realized
that I greatly enjoyed the day without actually liking
any of the things that we went to see. The best tourist
attraction was watching this group of Chinese families
having a relaxing day with their families.
Nov. 11: The
students depart
This morning, I got up to see the
students off at the bus station. There were many tearful
good-byes to friends and finally to me as they boarded
their bus. They did well in China, and I’m proud of
them. They have all grown in China, and as I think about
it, I realize that I’ve grown as well.
Nov. 23: Conclusion
China defies simple characterization.
It remains for me now as unfathomable as it was three
months ago. The contrasts between the modern and the
primitive, the orderly and the chaotic, the absurd and
the practical, are too sharp to blend into a single
picture. They form an image that is constantly
interesting but never quite in focus. It is a country in
rapid motion, but its destination is not clear. If the
past economic experience of the West is any guide to the
future, the Chinese economy will eventually suffer some
serious setbacks. I hope that when these setbacks come,
the social fabric of the country will be strong enough to
withstand them without social unrest.
The Chinese people are easier to
characterize. While public spitting, hawking, pushing,
yelling, and line cutting can be repulsive to a
Westerner, individually and in private the Chinese are
the kindest and the warmest people I have ever met. I
will never forget the kindness of strangers, the smiles
of children, the dignity of the elderly, and the warmth
of good friends.