Daily life for students at East China Normal University - 1984

Life as a student at East China Normal University in Shanghai eventually developed a routine.  At 7:30, we ate breakfast in the cafeteria.  This consisted of a sticky bun and black tea served in a clear drinking glass without a handle which, like the Chinese, we became practiced at holding without burning our fingers.  On the train, I’d see Chinese gentlemen pour water from a thermos into a clear glass canning jar with loose green tea leaves on the bottom.  When finished, he’d pour more water in with the same leaves. 

The classroom we abandoned for air conditioning

At 8:00, we attended classes in the dorms’ only air conditioned room on the second floor.  Instead of desks, we sat at a long, rectangular table.  The professor lectured while seated in the centre with Charles or Mr. Ye, our translators, by his side.  The room also served as our access to the summer Olympics where we could watch the one television in the dorm. That year, China participated in their first Summer Olympics since 1952 so there was lots of coverage.  Obviously, we knew little about the performance of Canada at the games.  Nor was it easy to find out without shortwave radio.  So, we found ourselves cheering for the Chinese.   

Yuyan Gardens

Occasionally we would use the afternoon to visit a local site. One was to the Yuyuan Garden in Shanghai, very different from the British or European gardens grown with which we are accustomed.  Yuyuan Garden featured finely shaped bushes, pools and interestingly contoured rocks.  Inside red trimmed Chinese pagodas and walkways windows and openings are carefully placed to add to frame a small part of the garden.  Unlike the large garden parks built by the British and European aristocracy designed for walking and contemplation, these seemed designed more for meditation in keeping with the Buddhist foundation of their religion.  For us, it was a peaceful respite from the crowds that swarm in all directions just outside its walls. 

View from museum window

Another afternoon, we visited the French quarter where beautiful tree lined streets and old, run-down colonial houses offered a stark contrast to the cement and tarmac only areas found in much of rest of Shanghai.  Mr. Ye pointed out embassies and high commissions as we passed large stately manors built by the French. We stopped at a museum that mainly consisted of small artifacts such old china and pottery displayed in dusty old cabinets with descriptions in Chinese.  A Chinese mummy and the view from one of the upper windows provided the only sources of interest.  Nicola’s strongest recollection of the visit was the sound of a talented pianist practicing in the building across the street.

Playing the Erhu

The university organized a tour to a local fine arts school for us to see.  We watched one class of young children aged eight to ten practicing the violin and another class of children the same age performing ballet.  Another class sawed away at the Erhu, also called a southern fiddle.  About the size of viola, and played like a cello, it wails with the same quavering sound of female singers in Chinese opera.  We’d previously heard the Erhu at the Chinese opera Mr. Ye took us to on the first night of our arrival.  Jetlagged and bored, I slept through most of it lulled by constant stream of background white noise created by audience chatter.  The courtesy of silence did not extend to the protocol for attending a performance.  Mr. Ye translated the action on stage for Nicola sitting beside him so she didn’t get the luxury of sleep that evening. 

Computer class

Each class in the school gave us a performance and being white and therefore significant celebrities for these children, we clapped enthusiastically to show our appreciation.  The existence of classes in acrobatics and computers most surprised us. I’d always associated the acrobatics with balancing acts with the circus.  Here children learned the art at a very young age.  No wonder the Chinese circus amazed audiences around the world.  Computers had only recently been introduced to the Canadian classroom, so to witness children of an elementary age keying programs into clones of the Apple II here in China was a little unexpected. Obviously, these children had been carefully selected to pursue a single talent to perfection.  No wonder China advanced so remarkably over the next three decades.  Although, a phys. ed. class was not included on our tour, it’s no stretch to imagine this same practice being used to mold world class athletes. 

A rural commune located close to Shanghai offered a glimpse of the idealized communist lifestyle.  Farms provide one of the better venues to demonstrate egalitarianism.  Both Mao during the Cultural Revolution and Pol Pot of Cambodia believed the egalitarian ideal was to be found in the countryside.  So that’s where they sent their educated elite such university professors, doctors, engineers, and teachers, to the rural commune. 

Like the Hutterites, everyone lived in long rectangular dorms with matching structures for the pig

Brian inside commune apartment

sties.  Two story cement buildings accommodated everyone in small apartments.  In the main living space of those apartments, each had a couch, table and chairs, and a tiny kitchen.  Beneath the glass protecting the wood table were photographs of the family in front of various landmarks such the Great Wall and the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.  It pleased Nicola to see further proof of her stereotype that the Chinese will pose in front of any landmark just to prove as proof of their visit.  Their English counterparts would share this love of their own image with the introduction of Facebook and selfies. 

Our guides insisted we climb to the roof of the apartment so that we could see the solar panels used for heating water.  Never having seen the like in Canada, we were sufficiently impressed. 

Solar panels for heating water

Members of the commune served us a lunch in a cafeteria at large round tables traditional used by Chinese as most of their dishes are shared. Nicola claims emphatically that the meal was “more delicious than we had at any restaurant in China.” We argued the point in Beijing after enjoying a particular scrumptious meal of Peking duck in a crowded restaurant where we’d had to share a table with a couple of Chinese fellows.  I thought it to be the best tasting meal we’d had since arriving in China to which Nicola with her comment about the commune meal and then we engaged in one of those impossible arguments that no can really wins like what’s the best band in the world.  With only a few bands in existence at the time, it was an argument that could be had.  Now, even more pointless than it was then.

Like most tour groups visiting China today, we too were taken from one factory to the next where we

Carpet factory

witnessed the labour intensive work required for ivory sculpture, needlework, and carpet making.   After, of course, there’s always the showroom with all their handiwork on exhibit for purchase.  We should have been outraged by the use of ivory however we could not help being amazed at the detail carved into the many tusks on display.  The same with the needlework that featured transparent screens of goldfish swimming or birds or flowers. I kind of wish I’d bought one because I’m sure the prices were a lot less than they are now.  That said, I wouldn’t know what to do with it now any more than I did then. The qualities and prices at the carpet factory made me think like an entrepreneur.  Could I create an export/import business for trade with China?  Obviously I might have been very rich today if I had.  After all, we’d developed some connections at the Normal University in Shanghai. It would only have been a matter of building on those.  Or, maybe not. 

Needlework factory

I never even considered the possibility of manufacturing consumer products in China even though we’d learned about economic zones in class. Deng Xiaoping and the communist party had created a number along the coast no long before our arrival. Apparently, they were a huge success. I still don’t understand how they rationalized inviting corporations to produce vast quantities of consumer goods within the parameters of the communist ideology.  Maybe they knew what they were doing.  According to Bloomberg News, in 2012, “the richest 70 members of China’s legislature added more to their wealth last year than the combined net worth of all 535 members of the U.S. Congress, the president and his Cabinet, and the nine Supreme Court justices.” 

Me holding my bike and Honore's

Most afternoons, we were free to do as we pleased.  I rode my bike everywhere, sometimes with Honore but mostly alone.  The experience of being the lone white man clad in burgundy shorts and Hawaiian shirt listening to Wang Chung (yes I did) or UB40 or the Rolling Stones on my headphones attached to a Sony Walkman while surrounded by hundreds of black hairs wearing identical blue or green, cotton Mao suits and white, polyester, button-up short sleeved shirts was absolutely surreal.  At intersections, hundreds of us would all crowd up to the stop line with no car with no cars to interrupt the flow of this massive stream of bicycles. 

Swimming pool - International Club

Nicola and I frequented a number of expat hangouts during our free time in Shanghai.  Inside the art deco interior of the Jinjiang Club, we could swim, bowl and drink.  We preferred the outdoor pool at the International Club and we only bowled once because it required running to the end of the lane and manually replacing the pins on their spots after every player but the full array of Western alcohol in the small intimate bar was excellent. 

East bank - Huangpu River - 1984

The Bund is a famous road that runs along the west bank of the Huangpu River, the major water front running through Shanghai.  In 1984, the view from the bank included junks with their strange, triangular sails, one amidships and another, smaller one at the bow.  On the other side were wharfs and docks where ferries load passengers and cranes haul goods onto freighter ships ready for transport anywhere in the world. 

East bank - Huangpu River - today

From that same spot today, you see a space age skyline like a scene from the Jetsons with skyscrapers like the Oriental Pearl TV Tower which looks more like a space station than a building or the Shanghai Financial Centre that looks like a giant sponge.  The Peace Hotel on the west bank of the Bund with was another popular ex-pat destination.  Inside was the only post-office where the clerks always seemed to be taking their afternoon sh shi or siesta, a great frustration to Nicola who must have sent more letters than the rest of us.  It was always a good place

Peace Hotel lobby

to stop for tea or a beer.  One evening, we discovered a big band on stage playing Glenn Miller era songs to the enjoyment of the elderly crowd of Western tourists.  A few of us from the University sat down to enjoy the music and practice our social dance skills that I never thought I’d use in a regular setting. 

One night, toward the end of the course, the Zimbabwe students held a party for our benefit.  They were in the same dorm but on a different floor.  It wasn’t easy being a black student in Shanghai.  The Chinese held a strong prejudice against the black Africans and so it can be a lonely existence for these students.  There were no female students from that country.  One particularly muscular African had taken a strong liking to Nicola.  Sometimes, at lunch, when she became bored with the middle-aged women or upset with their conversations about gastrointestinal difficulties, she would eat with the Africans.  She said I was always listening to my Walkman and so, not an alternative source of conversation. So, it’s no surprise that this guy got ideas.  To prove his superior masculinity, he challenged me to hit him in the stomach as hard as I could.  I gracefully declined.  Earlier in the evening, I had asked language they spoke in Zimbabwe to which he replied, “English.”  I was both embarrassed and amused.  It was an interesting evening and a chance to let loose just a bit. 

During our first week in Shanghai, I rode my bike with our profs, Brian and Honore, to the Jinjang Club where we shared a beer in that bar.  Brian talked of how fantastic and exotic it was to be riding a bike in the newly opened Shanghai city.  With the massive globalization taking place today, visiting a country that’s had little or no contact with Western culture is just not possible.  Even though, the two professors missed their families, they really enjoyed exotic life of Shanghai.  The honesty of the Chinese people impressed them immensely.  Someone had left a ten fen note (about 3 cents) in the bathroom of the visiting professors’ accommodation.  Brian exclaimed that it still taped to the mirror after a week and a half.  Why one of the cleaning people didn’t take it, he could not understand.  It was worthless to them.  They were a little disappointed by the age of the students they’d attracted.  They’d expected a younger more adventurous bunch.  These women were so needy, they complained. 

That said, as the course proceeded, the women did prove more resilient than Brian or Honore had predicted.  Almost all decided to extend their stay in the Middle Kingdom.  Most booked train tickets to Xian where the terracotta warriors can be found.  Nicola was quite adamant that she didn’t want to travel with the group.  So, we decided to take a boat up the coast to Tsingtao.  We would go from there to Beijing where Nicola would catch a return flight to Vancouver.  I would stay an extra day in the capital and then fly onto Tokyo for a short visit before returning home myself. 

Charles, ?, Julia, Kathleen, Peggy, Aaron, Don, Marilyn, Mr. Che, me, Mr. Ye
Front row: Honore, ?, Myrna, Kim, Eleanor. Nicola and Lorna

How I met my wife - Episode 5

I’ll start with a quick summary of events up to this point in time.  I first met Nicola at the Vancouver Airport.  On the plane, I was told that she was living in Sexsmith because that’s where her boyfriend lived.  Point taken.  She sits beside me on bus to Huangshan.  We climb mountain together and generally get along. 

I don’t know when the romantic part of our relationship began.  Probably within the next few days.  Essentially, we were a couple the moment Nicola got on the bus with me leaving the town Hangzhou for the mountain resort of Huangshan.  After that, we spent most of our free time together.  Sometimes, she would meet me places.  Other times, she’d hitch a ride, side saddle on the rear carrier of my bike like the other girls with their boyfriends in Shanghai.  There was not a lot of privacy for young people in Shanghai.  Even after marriage, the Chinese would have to wait months or even years for an apartment.  Often, their liaisons would take place in public parks in the bushes after dark.   

The weekend following Huangshan, our group travelled to Suzhou, the sister city to Victoria.  We’d been invited by the mayor to celebrate their sisterhood during lunch with the mayor of Suzhou along with a small group of his fellow officials who like him, were all male.  The mayor gave a long, flowery speech praising Victoria’s many tributes and Honore followed with a speech filled with equally wonderful pronouncements about Suzhou.  All bullshit because, as far as I know, like us, he’d never been to the city before and, if I can be frank, Suzhou was a bit of a hole.  It has a beautiful lake

where Nicola and I sat for what seemed like hours at a tea house admiring the gazebo about 20 metres off shore and the bright green scum that separated us. 

The lunch featured a delicious array of dishes many shaped like real and mythological creatures like the dragon made of shrimp and the panda made of rice and seaweed pandas.  Most memorable was the rice wine which was served in small, stemmed glasses that contained about the same volume of liquor as a shot glass.  The difference here was that every time that glass approached empty, it was filled, as if by magic by waiters standing surreptitiously by the side anxious to anticipate your every need.  Unlike Japanese rice wine or Sake which contain as much as 15% alcohol per volume, the Chinese version exceeds 30.  Needless to say, we left feeling a lot better than when we went in. 

That night, Aaron, Nicola and I went searching for a bar where we could order the same, purifying spiritual sustenance.  The one we found had a low ceiling with heavy wood beams and small wood tables and chairs polished smooth over what must have been decades of use.  The dim light from low-wattage incandescent lights could easily have been kerosene lanterns from days of old so that I could imagine the place as it might have been decades ago. 

We were given a menu in Chinese and then resorted to the time-honoured practice of pointing to the objects of desire. In Chinese “retail” stores, all the items for sale were located behind a counter.  Customers would stand on the other side and then make their request to a store clerk standing behind it.  Foreigners like us could only point at the objects of our desire and hope that the often cantankerous clerk would accede to our request.  Sometimes he or she would be on a “break” and not be assisting any customers at all.  Other times, they couldn’t be bothered with a non-speaker.  And sometimes, they would mock us and point at every sales item except the one he obviously knows we want.  That guy was such an asshole.  He really thought he was funny. 

This bar was an exception.  Liquor was located on shelves behind a small bar at the far end of the establishment.  When I pointed to what we believed was rice wine, the waitress shooed us back to our table and shortly after delivered us each a generous portion of rice wine in similar small,l stemmed glasses to those we’d been drinking from that afternoon. Now, in the dank interior of a local bar in Suzhou, I contemplated the otherworldliness of my experiences in China.  This was 1984.  There was no internet. The country had been closed for almost 40 years.  The bar seemed more like a product of my imagination than reality. I thought of Chalmun’s Cantina from the first movie of Star Wars or of times when the Chinese wore coolie hats and an opium den could be found in an adjoining room.   

As any respectable drinker from Northern Canada can attest, we could not stop at just one.  That said, the waitress seemed surprised when we ordered another. When our second round arrived, we were disappointed to discover that the glasses were considerably smaller than first.  Unsatisfied, Nicola and I ordered a third round which came in the same small glasses as the second that had only been partially filled.  I blame this on the paternalistic attitude of the Chinese state.  The waitress was simply looking out for our better interest.  For all she knew, we had no understanding of the

Canal in Suzhou

intoxicating power of the wine.  And then, there was Nicola.  One or both of us might have been attempting to take advantage of her.  After the third round, Nicola and I went for a walk along the canal and Aaron went back to the hotel. 

Being in China in the eighties was like going back in time.  For example, on this walk, we did not see one motorized vehicle.  Nor were any jets flying overhead or helicopters ff-whopping for criminals or electricity used on any of the barges moored along the canal.  The occasional bicycle or pedestrian would pass by and that pretty much all the activity we saw.  It was like going back to the turn of the twentieth century. 

On the front of one of the barges a young family of four was squatting around a charcoal brazier while the mom cooked a late night dinner.  Like those in the other barges, these people lived with only the most rudimentary of conveniences sleeping in a small wood enclosure located at the back of the barge and living without electronic conveniences of any kind.  Despite my addiction to the Sony Walkman that I listened to most of the time, I sort of envied the simplicity of their existence.  It reminded me of camping in the wilderness and how relaxing it can be to live like our ancestors.  How daily life was consumed with the provision for necessities like heat and food and the rudimentary shelter of a tent but only in a romantic way without actually having to hunt for gather nuts and berries or feel the pain of starvation.

Shanghai Seaman's Club plus new roadway in front

The Shanghai Seaman’s Club was a very different bar we frequented while attending Normal University.  It was a neo-classical building located next to Suzhou Creek where it empties into the Huangpu River.  It has since been converted into the luxurious Waldorf-Astoria Shanghai Hotel.  On our first visit to the club, we sat at the gorgeous 111-foot mahogany bar with glass cabinets displaying all the Western drinks for sale behind it.  After my cousin’s wedding, I’d developed a taste for Scotch and so enquired as to the price of the Chivas

Modern version of Seaman's Club bar

Regal.  At a dollar a shot, we could certainly afford more than one before moving onto our staple, Tsingtao beer.  Fortunately, the bartender did not monitor our alcohol consumption like the waitress in Huangshan.  That said, according to my reading, we would not have been allowed to get obnoxiously drunk.  According to a quote from Mr. Gu, the proprietor of the Seaman’s Club at the time, ''We are not capitalists.  We don't try to make them drink too much. We want to preserve their health. We want to love and protect them.” 

Later in the summer, we shared a table with a few sailors and a couple of Swedish girls.  The girls were blond, beautiful, fit and flighty and the first independent travellers we met in China.  Unlike us, they weren’t connected to an education program or tour group of any kind. Even though we’d travelled without supervisors to Huangshan, I’d met only Chinese men in the dorm room where I’d spent the night and a couple of elderly Chinese fellows drinking tea at the weather station on the side of the mountain.  Only having recently opened their country for travel, the Chinese liked monitor what tourists saw in the few cities that were open. 

The girls shared some of their experiences with the Chinese International Travel Service or CITS or SHITS as it was known to travellers.  Accommodation and much of the travel had to booked through this organization.  We would soon learn for ourselves how frustrating an experience this could be.  Mostly, we learned how to annoy them with our patience and persistence. 

The girls flirted and the seaman told stories and we all shared theories that might explain what we were experiencing in China.   We stayed so late that the busses were no longer running and no taxi could be found.  So, we walked back, Nicola and I arm in arm and Aaron on his own.  Pleasantly inebriated and probably in love, we just didn’t care about making him uncomfortable.  The night was warm.  

The road was empty of pedestrians and traffic and dimly lit by the occasional yellow streetlight.  People were sleeping in hammocks outside their one and two room concrete hovels, the occasional charcoal brazier still smoking.  The air was still and quiet except for our footsteps and hushed voices. We were all alone in this new and exotic, fantastic and romantic world.  Like a pot at the end of the rainbow, it was a feeling we would pursue for the rest of our lives.