Our first and only full day at Nanjing saw us starting out at Purple Mountain (紫金山). With Nanjing as one of the historic capitals of China, serving at times under the Ming Dynasty and under the Republic, Purple Mountain is located towards the east of the old city (as determined by city walls), and houses the mausoleums of the early Ming emperors as well as that of Sun Yat-sen.
Well, we saw both. Nanjing's public light rail system is not as developed as more major Chinese cities, though a second line is being built and more are under planning, so we took a taxi to the base of the mountain, seeing that we had no idea how to work the buses, less read the bus stop signs.
From the taxi, we walked out to the entrance gate to the mausoleum of the first Ming emperor. The entrance fee was ¥70 CNY, less 20% with student discount if you read the signs. I read the signs but my friends didn't. Going to the mausoleum was a bit of a walk, though the crisp air, albeit quite cold during the late fall/early winter, presented a change from Hong Kong, and the escape to nature presented an escape from the city.
The first Ming Emperor's tomb was large and complex. Noticeable to me is the fact that the walls were painted pink rather than the traditional red. After seeing the Forbidden City in Beijing, along with plenty of other classic Chinese architecture, the complex seemed more large than interesting.
After walking halfway through the park, we approached the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum. Apparently, this is one of the few places in Mainland China where you can still see the Kuomintang symbol (white sun on blue background) so prominently displayed. I had my picture taken by the vendors. They used their digital point-and-shoots rather than the big single-lens reflex cameras that I expected.
Sun Yat-sen is something of a hero here, which is understandable if you know his role in the establishment of modern China. I've been to no fewer that four memorials dedicated to him in four different cities. The first was the Sun Yat-sen Museum here in Hong Kong that Black Castle Tours took us to the weekend between the first and second weeks of instruction here. It was his Hong Kong residence turned into a museum of his comprehensive history and the founding of the Republic of China. The second was the Sun Yat-sen Memorial in Taipei, which was a big gray building with an orange roof that paled in impressiveness in comparison with the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial also in Taipei. The third was of the same name in Guangzhou. It had a large courtyard in front and a statue in his likeness, but we decided not to go inside because of the cost.
This fourth one that I went to in Nanjing was both a museum and a mausoleum. While it was not impressive like the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial in Taipei was by sheer size, it was impressive in the sheer walk it took to get there. I walked at a decent pace for a good ten minutes to get through the first gate, at which point there were stairs going all the way up. Though it was a long walk up, the views from the top were impressive.
Behind the memorial to Sun Yat-sen was his coffin place into the ground with a circular viewing area around it. It's like Napoleon's tomb in Paris, except much less grand, white, and surrounded by one level of viewing instead of two.
Continuing on in the day, we headed off to the Gate of China (中华门/中華門), which was just that--a gate. It was well restored though and decked out with Ming-Dynasty flags and porcelain Ming Dynasty guards. It formed part of the old city wall of Nanjing, of which much remains.
Along the way I introduced my friends to the sugarcoated seedy red fruits that I do not know the name of. They were being sold by street vendors at the intersection one of the major universities in Nanjing. It was so good to them that they wanted more on the way back. But when we got there, we saw the guy we first bought them from running away across the street. Then we could see why. The police came and take the other street vendor's goods away from her, throwing them into the back of the truck. There was no force used and no charges pressed, just quick and clean action.
No we still wanted the fruit candy things, so we crossed the street and found the guy who had gone and hid. He went into an alley and was sticking his head out looking for the police. We waited for him to come back out with his food to sell, and we pounced on the opportunity to buy some. Apparently he was frightened, but it all turned out okay with everybody getting what they wanted.
Next was Confucius temple (夫子庙/夫子廟), which I directed us to more for the neighborhood then the actual temple, which we didn’t end up going into. In this neighborhood was most noticeably a large shopping area full of hagglers and cotton candy (which my friends insisted calling candy floss, which I imagined was sugary dental floss that dissolved in your mouth).
The area was also notable for being the regional location for the civil servant examinations back in the day. Nanjing (南京) is capital of Jiangsu (江苏/江蘇) province, which includes the notable city of Suzhou (苏州/蘇州), which I visited two years ago. Not far away is Hangzhou (杭州), another literati gathering point famous for its scenery, which I visited on the same trip in 2007. This examination center was where these gentlemen would have received their qualifications after a long examination and subsequently been inducted into the bureaucracy.
This particular Confucius Temple was not particularly well known though. Since there was an entrance fee, a statue of Confucius in the entry court was obscured by a tasteful barrier so that you can’t see inside without paying.
To end the day, and the bulk of the trip, we had dinner at Papa Johns (来到棒!约翰), which like Pizza Hut, is a lot fancier in China (and apparently much of the rest of the world) than in the United States, where it’s just pizza delivery and take-out.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Class, Decorum, and Americans
Despite what anyone tells you, Americans are not the rudest nor the loudest of them all. This point was proven to me the other day over a bowl of congee. I’ll try to speak tastefully, but this may be my one post to be frank without letting it all go.
My friend from Scotland told me a couple months ago that she’s never met a mean Californian. Aww, that’s nice, was around the lines of what I replied. I mean, I know the Californians as I know them—and as with any group of people, the subset who study abroad aren’t exactly the average lot if you know what I’m saying. That’s not to say that I’m tooting my own horn, nor are all of the exchange students here like perfect little angels or at least sponges ready to learn about more than academics—because they’re not.
Despite what a lot of people think, Americans are much more reserved than the media would have us believe—scratch that Californians are much more reserved than the media would have us believe. Either way, there’s a bit of a caveat—we’re only reserved around people we know.
In the imagined nation that is the community of the United States of America, we don’t know each and every one of each other, of course—but what we do know, is a rough set of social norms that translate into etiquette and decorum at the personal level. In this sense, it’s easier to be more open off the get-go with people of your own roots and than with others.
I was in Global Lounge with two of my friends. One was studying for her Mandarin self-introduction presentation that afternoon, for which she felt she needed more practice on if I’m not mistaken. Her classmate sat down on the cushy chair near us and recognized my two friends. One she knew from Mandarin class, the other she know as a fellow Australian. She made a point about being able to let her tongue loose around other Australians. She said Americans got a little wide-eyed when she let out an F word or two around them. I said it was because you need to get to know people first to see if cursing offends them or not.
And on the bowl of congee, if you’ve ever seen congee, you’ll know what else it looks like. Congee also happens to be the popular breakfast food of Hong Kong. One of my friends over dinner decided that she was going to speak her mind about what she thought it looked like. I thought it was a rude comment. She thought nothing of it.
My friend from Scotland told me a couple months ago that she’s never met a mean Californian. Aww, that’s nice, was around the lines of what I replied. I mean, I know the Californians as I know them—and as with any group of people, the subset who study abroad aren’t exactly the average lot if you know what I’m saying. That’s not to say that I’m tooting my own horn, nor are all of the exchange students here like perfect little angels or at least sponges ready to learn about more than academics—because they’re not.
Despite what a lot of people think, Americans are much more reserved than the media would have us believe—scratch that Californians are much more reserved than the media would have us believe. Either way, there’s a bit of a caveat—we’re only reserved around people we know.
In the imagined nation that is the community of the United States of America, we don’t know each and every one of each other, of course—but what we do know, is a rough set of social norms that translate into etiquette and decorum at the personal level. In this sense, it’s easier to be more open off the get-go with people of your own roots and than with others.
I was in Global Lounge with two of my friends. One was studying for her Mandarin self-introduction presentation that afternoon, for which she felt she needed more practice on if I’m not mistaken. Her classmate sat down on the cushy chair near us and recognized my two friends. One she knew from Mandarin class, the other she know as a fellow Australian. She made a point about being able to let her tongue loose around other Australians. She said Americans got a little wide-eyed when she let out an F word or two around them. I said it was because you need to get to know people first to see if cursing offends them or not.
And on the bowl of congee, if you’ve ever seen congee, you’ll know what else it looks like. Congee also happens to be the popular breakfast food of Hong Kong. One of my friends over dinner decided that she was going to speak her mind about what she thought it looked like. I thought it was a rude comment. She thought nothing of it.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Chicken Feet, Shrimp Heads, and an Open Mind
I suppose if you grew up with it, it wouldn’t be so odd. In some ways, I guess I’m a picky eater. Studying abroad though and seeing how other international students deal with these differences allows me to better see how I fall into line. I can now say that I’m more open than others to different foods, though I admit there is some stuff that I would rather not go near.
A few weeks ago, my group of friends and I went to Queen Mary across the street. Yeah, it’s a hospital, but compared to Bayview Restaurant in the basement of Lee Hysan Hall, the canteen of Queen Mary Hospital is absolutely gourmet. Oh, and we get discounts there because Queen Mary also happens to be the teaching hospital of the University of Hong Kong Li Ka Shing Faculty of Medicine (HKU Med School).
I’m a bit partial to the barbecue pork with rice that they have. When I go days without it, I begin missing it, and then when I order it, I realize that I don’t really care for it. I always ask for less rice (in Cantonese, of course), so instead of getting three portions of rice, I get about two (which I still don’t finish). That meal all comes out at like $16-17 HKD, which is like two bucks USD, so it’s well worth it. This meal also comes with a few stalks of Gai Lan (芥蘭/芥兰), which I used to mistaken for Bak Choy (白菜) until I was reminded that the vegetable before us is stalky, whereas Bak Choy grows in the same leafy manner as cabbage.
Now, I don’t eat Gai Lan at home, though I’ve seen it sold at the Chinese supermarkets. When I’m with my family, we tend to more often go along the lines of broccoli, Napa cabbage, and cauliflower. (Mom and Dad, if you guys are reading this I like the first two better than the third.) Here though, Gai Lan’s nickname “Chinese broccoli” becomes apparent as it’s served as the main vegetable to go with any meal that comes with a vegetable.
If you thought my mix-up was bad, my friend from northern Europe couldn’t tell what the vegetable was, so instead of assuming it was a vegetable he had never seen before, he decided that they must cook their vegetables funny here to get it to look that way and taste so different. I took it upon myself to set this logic straight and inform him clearly that this is a different vegetable.
At a different time, last week to be precise, I was having dim sum with my Cantonese classmates. In addition to this being a prime opportunity to practice our Cantonese, we also used it to try new foods. As such, we ordered chicken feet. (Unlike in the old days and at Chinatowns, most dim sum places in Hong Kong have you order food off a menu rather than pointing and choosing off of the 點心車/点心车 dim sum carts). At our table of ten, we ordered to share, splitting the bill evenly in the end.
Well, the food came and I made my stomach happy with the regulars like Haa Gau (蝦餃/虾饺) and Siu Mai (燒賣/烧卖) as well as the crowd-pleasing Cha Siu Bau (叉燒包). We went ahead and tried Taro Dumplings (芋頭角/芋头角) and Taro Cake (芋頭糕/芋头糕) , but when the Chicken Feet (鳳爪/凤爪) came out (literally Phoenix Claws), I couldn’t try it. I would have tried, but my stomach was well full, and trying new food, especially something I wasn’t sure whether or not would sit well, wasn’t a good idea. That was my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
By the others though, I was told that it’s basically just skin and fat, so I didn’t feel I was missing out on much. One of my friends at the table though was a seasoned chicken feet consumer. She could put the whole foot in her mouth and get all the edible parts off without hands, pushing the bones to one side of her mouth and when it was all said and consumed, she would spit out the foot bones onto her plate. It was impressive if not a little off-putting.
The one thing that just completely makes me feel sick is shrimp with heads and shells still on. I can de-shell them without making a fuss, but I dislike doing it while I’m eating.
I was informed though at a meal in Temple Street (廟街/庙街) near Mongkok (旺角) that they don’t de-shell because the shrimp are fresh (in addition to the fact that it’s a lot of work to peel shrimp). They quite literally pull the critters out of the tanks linking their storefronts and put them into boiling liquid. This means that they’re super fresh and that there’s no time to de-shell them.
Most people don’t eat the shell. A friend of mine who’s originally from Taishan, Guangdong, (台山, 廣東/广东) told me that you only eat the shell if it’s deep-fried. That way the shell is crunchy and enjoyable rather than fishy and unbearable. I tried it, and though it wasn’t fishy, it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea either.
At this fresh seafood restaurant, I witnessed something I doubt I’ll ever see again. He and another friend could and would put the entire cooked shrimp in their mouth and de-shell and de-head it within their mouths, spitting out the refuse politely onto their plates. It was starting to say the least, though most impressive. Never will you find me putting a shrimp head into my mouth.
The bottom line is that I don’t try everything, nor am I really expected to. I think that what’s really important is to maintain an open mind about different foods. This means that even if you don’t try it, you at least shouldn’t talk about it subjectively with objective terms. Better yet, don’t show any disgust that you may be harboring.
Balut (毛蛋 in Chinese) is a Southeast Asian delicacy that National Geographic taught me about. Over the years, I have found that many of my friends enjoy this food, and though I’ve never tried it, I maintain my doubts as to whether I’d actually like it personally.
For those who don’t know, Balut is a fertilized, partially developed duck egg. If I remember correctly, they boil the egg right before parts of the body such as the bill harden, yet it’s not like a hardboiled egg either. It’s runny, and it’s eaten fetus, yolk and all.
A friend of mine here whose parents are from Vietnam likes Balut a lot. On one episode of Fear Factor, contestants had to eat some as part of a competition and she said that she should have been there, because she totally would have won that competition.
Another friend raised ethical concerns about eating a fetus, which I thought were not necessarily irrelevant but rather illogical. I think that the only people who can argue against eating Balut are those who eat neither eggs nor meat, in which case they could say that eating such is unethical. The difference to me between eating an animal or a fetus of the same animal deals nothing with ethics. (In that sense, you can’t argue that you don’t eat human babies for that would imply that you’re a cannibal) I’ve seen how factories keep chickens cooped up in their own waste, lacking the space to turn around, and how pigs get their teeth removed from them forcefully and obviously without anesthetic when they are still young.
Though I’m not to keen on eating fetuses, I see little moral dilemma in the issue. Instead, I personally have concerns about whether I would like the texture of the item, seeing as it’s a whole undeveloped animal with extras.
A few weeks ago, my group of friends and I went to Queen Mary across the street. Yeah, it’s a hospital, but compared to Bayview Restaurant in the basement of Lee Hysan Hall, the canteen of Queen Mary Hospital is absolutely gourmet. Oh, and we get discounts there because Queen Mary also happens to be the teaching hospital of the University of Hong Kong Li Ka Shing Faculty of Medicine (HKU Med School).
I’m a bit partial to the barbecue pork with rice that they have. When I go days without it, I begin missing it, and then when I order it, I realize that I don’t really care for it. I always ask for less rice (in Cantonese, of course), so instead of getting three portions of rice, I get about two (which I still don’t finish). That meal all comes out at like $16-17 HKD, which is like two bucks USD, so it’s well worth it. This meal also comes with a few stalks of Gai Lan (芥蘭/芥兰), which I used to mistaken for Bak Choy (白菜) until I was reminded that the vegetable before us is stalky, whereas Bak Choy grows in the same leafy manner as cabbage.
Now, I don’t eat Gai Lan at home, though I’ve seen it sold at the Chinese supermarkets. When I’m with my family, we tend to more often go along the lines of broccoli, Napa cabbage, and cauliflower. (Mom and Dad, if you guys are reading this I like the first two better than the third.) Here though, Gai Lan’s nickname “Chinese broccoli” becomes apparent as it’s served as the main vegetable to go with any meal that comes with a vegetable.
If you thought my mix-up was bad, my friend from northern Europe couldn’t tell what the vegetable was, so instead of assuming it was a vegetable he had never seen before, he decided that they must cook their vegetables funny here to get it to look that way and taste so different. I took it upon myself to set this logic straight and inform him clearly that this is a different vegetable.
At a different time, last week to be precise, I was having dim sum with my Cantonese classmates. In addition to this being a prime opportunity to practice our Cantonese, we also used it to try new foods. As such, we ordered chicken feet. (Unlike in the old days and at Chinatowns, most dim sum places in Hong Kong have you order food off a menu rather than pointing and choosing off of the 點心車/点心车 dim sum carts). At our table of ten, we ordered to share, splitting the bill evenly in the end.
Well, the food came and I made my stomach happy with the regulars like Haa Gau (蝦餃/虾饺) and Siu Mai (燒賣/烧卖) as well as the crowd-pleasing Cha Siu Bau (叉燒包). We went ahead and tried Taro Dumplings (芋頭角/芋头角) and Taro Cake (芋頭糕/芋头糕) , but when the Chicken Feet (鳳爪/凤爪) came out (literally Phoenix Claws), I couldn’t try it. I would have tried, but my stomach was well full, and trying new food, especially something I wasn’t sure whether or not would sit well, wasn’t a good idea. That was my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
By the others though, I was told that it’s basically just skin and fat, so I didn’t feel I was missing out on much. One of my friends at the table though was a seasoned chicken feet consumer. She could put the whole foot in her mouth and get all the edible parts off without hands, pushing the bones to one side of her mouth and when it was all said and consumed, she would spit out the foot bones onto her plate. It was impressive if not a little off-putting.
The one thing that just completely makes me feel sick is shrimp with heads and shells still on. I can de-shell them without making a fuss, but I dislike doing it while I’m eating.
I was informed though at a meal in Temple Street (廟街/庙街) near Mongkok (旺角) that they don’t de-shell because the shrimp are fresh (in addition to the fact that it’s a lot of work to peel shrimp). They quite literally pull the critters out of the tanks linking their storefronts and put them into boiling liquid. This means that they’re super fresh and that there’s no time to de-shell them.
Most people don’t eat the shell. A friend of mine who’s originally from Taishan, Guangdong, (台山, 廣東/广东) told me that you only eat the shell if it’s deep-fried. That way the shell is crunchy and enjoyable rather than fishy and unbearable. I tried it, and though it wasn’t fishy, it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea either.
At this fresh seafood restaurant, I witnessed something I doubt I’ll ever see again. He and another friend could and would put the entire cooked shrimp in their mouth and de-shell and de-head it within their mouths, spitting out the refuse politely onto their plates. It was starting to say the least, though most impressive. Never will you find me putting a shrimp head into my mouth.
The bottom line is that I don’t try everything, nor am I really expected to. I think that what’s really important is to maintain an open mind about different foods. This means that even if you don’t try it, you at least shouldn’t talk about it subjectively with objective terms. Better yet, don’t show any disgust that you may be harboring.
Balut (毛蛋 in Chinese) is a Southeast Asian delicacy that National Geographic taught me about. Over the years, I have found that many of my friends enjoy this food, and though I’ve never tried it, I maintain my doubts as to whether I’d actually like it personally.
For those who don’t know, Balut is a fertilized, partially developed duck egg. If I remember correctly, they boil the egg right before parts of the body such as the bill harden, yet it’s not like a hardboiled egg either. It’s runny, and it’s eaten fetus, yolk and all.
A friend of mine here whose parents are from Vietnam likes Balut a lot. On one episode of Fear Factor, contestants had to eat some as part of a competition and she said that she should have been there, because she totally would have won that competition.
Another friend raised ethical concerns about eating a fetus, which I thought were not necessarily irrelevant but rather illogical. I think that the only people who can argue against eating Balut are those who eat neither eggs nor meat, in which case they could say that eating such is unethical. The difference to me between eating an animal or a fetus of the same animal deals nothing with ethics. (In that sense, you can’t argue that you don’t eat human babies for that would imply that you’re a cannibal) I’ve seen how factories keep chickens cooped up in their own waste, lacking the space to turn around, and how pigs get their teeth removed from them forcefully and obviously without anesthetic when they are still young.
Though I’m not to keen on eating fetuses, I see little moral dilemma in the issue. Instead, I personally have concerns about whether I would like the texture of the item, seeing as it’s a whole undeveloped animal with extras.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Germans All Have Blond Hair and Blue Eyes
I guess I just can’t shake it off. Most incidents are minor and not worth mentioning, except perhaps in larger contexts, because a constituency is made of its smallest parts, right? At this point, I don’t plan to exempt myself from this observation, because I know I do it too—I just wish it would all stop.
I guess the basis of this whole thing starts from a simple rule of thumb in English class in high school—never make absolute statements in essay writing. I’ve learned a long time ago now that applies to speaking now, because almost all absolutes are wrong, if even by the smallest degree. I’ve just learned that if all people believe the same absolute, it’s fake truth wills out against the real truth—which I guess is to be expected, since as records are reflections of events and not the events themselves, what’s “true” is largely up to interpretation, whatever the truth may be.
I’m guessing that this post is just going to amount to episodes of logical fallacies and the sense I’ve made of them.
The Germans
I once said to my group of friends here, something something something “is like saying that everyone in Germany has blond hair and blue eyes—it’s just not true.” Now, I’ve seen the statistics and I’ve seen it for myself (meaning I’ve been to Germany), but the fact that even though a vast majority of Germans have blond hair and blue eyes, the fact of the matter is that not all of them do, even if you only include ethnic Germans in Germany. I’ve met plenty of people from Germany who don’t have blue eyes and plenty more who don’t have blond hair.
My logic was lost on them though, as it often seems that 95% equals 100%, but any one who’s studied any form of science (natural or social) would tell you that it’s not the same, however damn close it is.
My statement got the reply, “Well have you ever been to Germany? Because I’m always surprised by the sheer number of blond-haired, blue-eyed people there”—to which I said yes, and that it’s still not all, to which I was rebutted, “Yeah but it’s a lot”—and I to that I said that yes, there are a lot, but it is still not all, and that’s the bottom line. And though I was ultimately right in logic, my statement got rejected because the falsity of notion and not the logic was what was agreed to.
In the Middle of China
Fine. On the train to Guilin, this guy started a conversation in Mandarin with me and the three other people in my group. I was the one with the highest proficiency (with two being nil), so I did most of the talking. They all said where they were from (Scotland, Australia, and Norway), and I said I was from the United States, using it as an excuse for my lack of proficiency. I am well aware that I’m noticeably of Chinese decent (though many perceive my attitude of that fact as meaning that I’m ashamed of my past or that I’ve got false notions about my appearance—both of which are false), so the guy pressed further at me. I asked the others what I should tell him.
One friend said that I should say that my family’s from China. I told her that’s not true (because to me that would imply that my parents met in China and moved to the United States, which isn’t true, with one parent never having been outside of North America and the other speaking better English than Chinese). By that logic though, I should have asked my Australian friend whether she would say that her family is from Britain, since her father’s from there and that overall she could trace her entire ancestry back to the Isles, because I’m pretty sure she would have said no.
American Dad
It seems funny to me that no matter how much things are illogical, the most superficial aspects of something just make up for the rest, even if it makes something more illogical.
Just a couple days ago, I got asked where my father is from since I always say that I’m trying to learn Cantonese, partly so that I can use it back home with my mother, who’s originally from Hong Kong, having left the Crown Colony at the age of eleven. I said Michigan, which is the complete truth.
Though I ultimately understand, I’ve always wondered why I get such a variety of reactions when I say my dad’s from Detroit. The fact of the matter is that that’s the truth. It’s where he was born and where he spent the first half of his childhood (the other half being in Chicago). He’s got those annoying double negatives to prove his difference in dialect.
So my friend asked me just a few days ago where my dad was from. I said Michigan, which elicited surprise. I was kind of taken aback. I wasn’t offended, but I was surprised, because I spend a lot of time with this friend and I’m sure I’d told her before. She had it in her head for some reason that my dad’s from Hong Kong like my mom is. I said that if that were the case, my Chinese would likely be much better—native even, if not at least near.
The Locals
The time I went to dinner with my floor here, I got local students asking how I could possibly American. After all, I look Chinese. To that I tried to say that why can’t you be both, or why can’t you be one in certain aspects and the other in other aspects? Unfortunately, I couldn’t convey that, nor could I convey my surprise that those students have never heard of populations that are not homogenous. (Hong Kong is 95% Han Chinese whereas the United States is less than 70% non-Hispanic white with California coming in at less than 50% non-Hispanic white.)
The Disconnect of the Upper Echelons
What’s the funniest is who knows what. Earlier this week, I walked into the Finance office to apply for my caution money back (a $350 HKD deposit) now that the semester is coming to an end. I asked for the proper forms not knowing what I needed, and though I’m 華人, I got the form for exchange students. The secretary for the office had heard my foreignness in my accent and judged my origin based on that rather than my skin color, so to speak. This feat would not have seemed so impressive had the pro-vice-chancellor on Monday not said what she said.
As I said earlier, the Pro-Vice-Chancellor Amy Tsui came in to speak at the last lecture of Hong Kong and the World. I’ve got my opinions of school administrators, most of which along the theme of being disconnected and haughty (though not overtly arrogant). She of all people is someone you would expect to get this straight, having done her Ph.D. (in linguistics) in the United Kingdom.
Seeing our class of forty in attendance, she noticed the two white people in the lecture hall and referred to them as the “two foreigners in the class,” (though there were about ten of us), without thinking that maybe some of us happen to be of Chinese decent. Of all people, I would have expected her to understand well that culture, like language, is passed down through socialization and isn’t dictated in our genes. (Unlike the many people back home, including some of the people closest to me, who overtly believe that I am more comfortable around people who look like me rather than the people in my hometown—composition: 85% white).
I guess it just goes to show that those at the uppermost echelons of society are often the most ignorant whereas those of us who have our feet firmly planted on the ground—the ones who interact with everyday people—really know what’s going on.
Add It All Up
The bottom line is that I hold none of the above statements against the people who uttered them. This is because I’m well aware that as much as I try to monitor myself and bring myself back down to logic, I still fall victim to the same forces.
So the base line is that I really dislike when people hate that they are expected, especially in public situations, to be politically correct all the time. All that means is that you ultimately don’t care about anyone else (in feelings, emotions, situations, etc.), even if you think you are just joking. It gets worse when such is followed by a request not to judge, and I’m sorry, but the fact of the matter is that I already will have.
Just try and try hard, that’s all I can and do hope for.
I guess the basis of this whole thing starts from a simple rule of thumb in English class in high school—never make absolute statements in essay writing. I’ve learned a long time ago now that applies to speaking now, because almost all absolutes are wrong, if even by the smallest degree. I’ve just learned that if all people believe the same absolute, it’s fake truth wills out against the real truth—which I guess is to be expected, since as records are reflections of events and not the events themselves, what’s “true” is largely up to interpretation, whatever the truth may be.
I’m guessing that this post is just going to amount to episodes of logical fallacies and the sense I’ve made of them.
The Germans
I once said to my group of friends here, something something something “is like saying that everyone in Germany has blond hair and blue eyes—it’s just not true.” Now, I’ve seen the statistics and I’ve seen it for myself (meaning I’ve been to Germany), but the fact that even though a vast majority of Germans have blond hair and blue eyes, the fact of the matter is that not all of them do, even if you only include ethnic Germans in Germany. I’ve met plenty of people from Germany who don’t have blue eyes and plenty more who don’t have blond hair.
My logic was lost on them though, as it often seems that 95% equals 100%, but any one who’s studied any form of science (natural or social) would tell you that it’s not the same, however damn close it is.
My statement got the reply, “Well have you ever been to Germany? Because I’m always surprised by the sheer number of blond-haired, blue-eyed people there”—to which I said yes, and that it’s still not all, to which I was rebutted, “Yeah but it’s a lot”—and I to that I said that yes, there are a lot, but it is still not all, and that’s the bottom line. And though I was ultimately right in logic, my statement got rejected because the falsity of notion and not the logic was what was agreed to.
In the Middle of China
Fine. On the train to Guilin, this guy started a conversation in Mandarin with me and the three other people in my group. I was the one with the highest proficiency (with two being nil), so I did most of the talking. They all said where they were from (Scotland, Australia, and Norway), and I said I was from the United States, using it as an excuse for my lack of proficiency. I am well aware that I’m noticeably of Chinese decent (though many perceive my attitude of that fact as meaning that I’m ashamed of my past or that I’ve got false notions about my appearance—both of which are false), so the guy pressed further at me. I asked the others what I should tell him.
One friend said that I should say that my family’s from China. I told her that’s not true (because to me that would imply that my parents met in China and moved to the United States, which isn’t true, with one parent never having been outside of North America and the other speaking better English than Chinese). By that logic though, I should have asked my Australian friend whether she would say that her family is from Britain, since her father’s from there and that overall she could trace her entire ancestry back to the Isles, because I’m pretty sure she would have said no.
American Dad
It seems funny to me that no matter how much things are illogical, the most superficial aspects of something just make up for the rest, even if it makes something more illogical.
Just a couple days ago, I got asked where my father is from since I always say that I’m trying to learn Cantonese, partly so that I can use it back home with my mother, who’s originally from Hong Kong, having left the Crown Colony at the age of eleven. I said Michigan, which is the complete truth.
Though I ultimately understand, I’ve always wondered why I get such a variety of reactions when I say my dad’s from Detroit. The fact of the matter is that that’s the truth. It’s where he was born and where he spent the first half of his childhood (the other half being in Chicago). He’s got those annoying double negatives to prove his difference in dialect.
So my friend asked me just a few days ago where my dad was from. I said Michigan, which elicited surprise. I was kind of taken aback. I wasn’t offended, but I was surprised, because I spend a lot of time with this friend and I’m sure I’d told her before. She had it in her head for some reason that my dad’s from Hong Kong like my mom is. I said that if that were the case, my Chinese would likely be much better—native even, if not at least near.
The Locals
The time I went to dinner with my floor here, I got local students asking how I could possibly American. After all, I look Chinese. To that I tried to say that why can’t you be both, or why can’t you be one in certain aspects and the other in other aspects? Unfortunately, I couldn’t convey that, nor could I convey my surprise that those students have never heard of populations that are not homogenous. (Hong Kong is 95% Han Chinese whereas the United States is less than 70% non-Hispanic white with California coming in at less than 50% non-Hispanic white.)
The Disconnect of the Upper Echelons
What’s the funniest is who knows what. Earlier this week, I walked into the Finance office to apply for my caution money back (a $350 HKD deposit) now that the semester is coming to an end. I asked for the proper forms not knowing what I needed, and though I’m 華人, I got the form for exchange students. The secretary for the office had heard my foreignness in my accent and judged my origin based on that rather than my skin color, so to speak. This feat would not have seemed so impressive had the pro-vice-chancellor on Monday not said what she said.
As I said earlier, the Pro-Vice-Chancellor Amy Tsui came in to speak at the last lecture of Hong Kong and the World. I’ve got my opinions of school administrators, most of which along the theme of being disconnected and haughty (though not overtly arrogant). She of all people is someone you would expect to get this straight, having done her Ph.D. (in linguistics) in the United Kingdom.
Seeing our class of forty in attendance, she noticed the two white people in the lecture hall and referred to them as the “two foreigners in the class,” (though there were about ten of us), without thinking that maybe some of us happen to be of Chinese decent. Of all people, I would have expected her to understand well that culture, like language, is passed down through socialization and isn’t dictated in our genes. (Unlike the many people back home, including some of the people closest to me, who overtly believe that I am more comfortable around people who look like me rather than the people in my hometown—composition: 85% white).
I guess it just goes to show that those at the uppermost echelons of society are often the most ignorant whereas those of us who have our feet firmly planted on the ground—the ones who interact with everyday people—really know what’s going on.
Add It All Up
The bottom line is that I hold none of the above statements against the people who uttered them. This is because I’m well aware that as much as I try to monitor myself and bring myself back down to logic, I still fall victim to the same forces.
So the base line is that I really dislike when people hate that they are expected, especially in public situations, to be politically correct all the time. All that means is that you ultimately don’t care about anyone else (in feelings, emotions, situations, etc.), even if you think you are just joking. It gets worse when such is followed by a request not to judge, and I’m sorry, but the fact of the matter is that I already will have.
Just try and try hard, that’s all I can and do hope for.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Class Roundup: Cantonese
Cantonese is my second class to be done with and my only class this term to be half the units (3 instead of 6, to be transferred as 2.5 credits). In a roll of final assignments, the final examination was last Friday and the group presentation happened yesterday. I just got back a few hours ago from the optional dim sum lunch with the class, so I figured that now is as good a time as ever to blog about it, especially since I only need to proofread my last term paper (due Friday).
The final went better than expected. For the midterm I must have spent a few weeks studying for it, going over the vocabulary time and time again, to get 91%. For the final though, I had to allot my time tighter, so I ended up only spending a handful of hours over a day and a half to prepare. And I ended up with the same grade—91%. The one thing I noticed was the sheer number of tones I got right (most all of them).
I personally couldn’t care less about remembering words have what tones. There is just so much variation in the raw number of tones between speakers and locations, so all I aimed for was to be understood. In this aspect, I hoped to learn Cantonese much like a native speaker—trial and error, to just speak and see if I’m understood, to adjust my own sounds when I hear others say it differently. To this effect, I thought it was annoying that we had to remember the tones when we wrote down our Romanized Cantonese in the Jyutping system.
I got my final returned to me the day we had our group presentations in the form of skits. I paired myself with a German classmate, and I think we did pretty well. The week before, we had to submit our scripts for grading and correction, so Monday was when we got to perform our presentation from memory. Of course, the teacher allowed us to use our notes if necessary, because it’s better to be graded down rather than getting a zero mark. But my partner and I were the only group to not rely on our notes at all. Also a plus, our pronunciation was pretty good if I do say so myself, though I stuttered a few times.
Today, we had dim sum (點心) lunch at Star Seafood (明星海鮮餐廳). Though I’ve had my fair share of dim sum at Chinatowns back in the United States, this was only the second time I had gotten dim sum in Hong Kong, not including the one time I got it in Shenzhen.
I didn’t know most of the people at my table, mostly because the lunch was for all the Cantonese classes put together, but that was half the fun. At the end of it all, we took a picture with our Cantonese teacher and paid the bill. Four more classes to go!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
The final went better than expected. For the midterm I must have spent a few weeks studying for it, going over the vocabulary time and time again, to get 91%. For the final though, I had to allot my time tighter, so I ended up only spending a handful of hours over a day and a half to prepare. And I ended up with the same grade—91%. The one thing I noticed was the sheer number of tones I got right (most all of them).
I personally couldn’t care less about remembering words have what tones. There is just so much variation in the raw number of tones between speakers and locations, so all I aimed for was to be understood. In this aspect, I hoped to learn Cantonese much like a native speaker—trial and error, to just speak and see if I’m understood, to adjust my own sounds when I hear others say it differently. To this effect, I thought it was annoying that we had to remember the tones when we wrote down our Romanized Cantonese in the Jyutping system.
I got my final returned to me the day we had our group presentations in the form of skits. I paired myself with a German classmate, and I think we did pretty well. The week before, we had to submit our scripts for grading and correction, so Monday was when we got to perform our presentation from memory. Of course, the teacher allowed us to use our notes if necessary, because it’s better to be graded down rather than getting a zero mark. But my partner and I were the only group to not rely on our notes at all. Also a plus, our pronunciation was pretty good if I do say so myself, though I stuttered a few times.
Today, we had dim sum (點心) lunch at Star Seafood (明星海鮮餐廳). Though I’ve had my fair share of dim sum at Chinatowns back in the United States, this was only the second time I had gotten dim sum in Hong Kong, not including the one time I got it in Shenzhen.
I didn’t know most of the people at my table, mostly because the lunch was for all the Cantonese classes put together, but that was half the fun. At the end of it all, we took a picture with our Cantonese teacher and paid the bill. Four more classes to go!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Guangzhou (广州)
I honestly don’t know what I expected out of Guangzhou, but had I, no doubt I would have been disappointed. For those of you who may not have a grasp on Chinese geography, Guangzhou is the capital city of Guangdong province and sits a few hundred kilometers from Hong Kong.
To get there, we took a train from Hung Hom station in Kowloon to Guangzhou East Railway Station. The trip took about an hour and forty-five minutes, with a disproportionate amount of that time in Hong Kong SAR. The route shares tracks with the light blue East Rail Line of the MTR, and as such crawls along said tracks so as to disturb MTR traffic as little as possible. And when you cross into Mainland China though, heavy rail is separated from light rail and the train speeds up dramatically.
Crossing borders (since Hong Kong and Macau maintain their own immigration systems), we exited Hong Kong first in Hung Hom Station. Upon exiting the train in Guangzhou, we went through Chinese immigration.
Finding somewhere to eat, we went to Beijing Street (北京路), which was actually more for shopping. I suppose it’s similar in notability to Shanghai’s Nanjing Street. Instead of finding dim sum, which was what we were hoping for, we stumbled into an Argentine restaurant. Resisting the temptation to test their Spanish, I found the waitress asking why I can’t speak Cantonese, since the two friends I was with we doing all the ordering while I stayed silent in the corner. The food was okay. It wasn’t great but I suppose it wasn’t bad either. Though we were looking for dim sum, getting away from Chinese food for a bit was nice.
Beijing Street itself was a little piece of history from what I could surmise. Based on the name of the street, I would think that in some way or another, the northern direction of the road more or less led to Beijing (over a thousand kilometers away). Similarly, I would surmise that Nanjing Road in Shanghai leads to Nanjing in one way or another (a couple hundred kilometers east).
What brought this to mind, because a name is often just a name, was that the center section of this (pedestrian) road was covered in glass. Looking in, it looked like an old pathway, perhaps the old Beijing Road hundreds of years before it was surrounded by shops galore. There were signs describing what was beheld, but my Chinese proficiency pales when confronted with text.
From there we descended to the underground and looked to see what there was to do in conjunction with stops on the metro map. There seems to be nothing famous in Guangzhou (at least to the likes of the Great Wall or the Terra Cotta Warriors). As people upon people kept passing by, it became clear that this was just a big city with lots of people.
Finally, we settled on the Second Workers’ Cultural Palace. It looked like an interesting enough place to go. After waiting in line for the ticket machines and finding that our machine didn’t take bills, we found another machine, bought our tickets, and entered the metro.
In short, it was crowded. I felt a hand on my face the whole journey. I used to think that people were kind of impolite on the Hong Kong MTR system. As the main example, letting people out of the train car before entering makes sense in terms of politeness and just plain old logistically. No two things can take up the same space, so letting people uncram themselves from the subway before you cram yourself on is just good sense.
Getting off of the subway with much effort, we went back to street level, scrambling to find the Second Workers’ Cultural Palace. After much roaming, we finally asked a security guard where it was, and he replied, “It’s right here!” Looking around us, there was a halfway dilapidated shopping center with big characters along the top “市二宮.” It was disappointing but funny at the same time.
Back in the metro, we settled on the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, because, actually I don’t know why. I guess we were kind of looking for something with substance, so we went. It was like every other Sun Yat-sen memorial I had been to. Inside was a museum that we didn’t enter and the whole time it was raining.
Back in the metro, we proceeded onto Chigang Pagoda. By the time we exited the station, the sun was already falling, so we didn’t go all the way to the site. We viewed it from a distance and then went back to the station. Along the way, you could see the new spiral tower they were building for the 2010 Asian Games hosted by Guangzhou.
The TV & Sightseeing Tower, as it has been dubbed, is not open yet, but the structure is finished. It was so tall that the top could not be seen because of cloud cover.
To get back to Guangzhou East Railway Station, we took another (extremely) crowed metro ride. People were crowding the entire station shoulder to shoulder, and to transfer trains, we had to circle around the platforms in that crowd. It was so packed that to get out of the train, I had about nine inches of room in which to squeeze out of. Luckily, I was able to push myself through and not get lost in Guangzhou.
The day ended as it started—with a train trip. I’m glad I didn’t spend an extra day or two in Guangzhou, because there was nothing to see. And according to another group of people who tried to go out at night, there was nothing to do.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
To get there, we took a train from Hung Hom station in Kowloon to Guangzhou East Railway Station. The trip took about an hour and forty-five minutes, with a disproportionate amount of that time in Hong Kong SAR. The route shares tracks with the light blue East Rail Line of the MTR, and as such crawls along said tracks so as to disturb MTR traffic as little as possible. And when you cross into Mainland China though, heavy rail is separated from light rail and the train speeds up dramatically.
Crossing borders (since Hong Kong and Macau maintain their own immigration systems), we exited Hong Kong first in Hung Hom Station. Upon exiting the train in Guangzhou, we went through Chinese immigration.
Finding somewhere to eat, we went to Beijing Street (北京路), which was actually more for shopping. I suppose it’s similar in notability to Shanghai’s Nanjing Street. Instead of finding dim sum, which was what we were hoping for, we stumbled into an Argentine restaurant. Resisting the temptation to test their Spanish, I found the waitress asking why I can’t speak Cantonese, since the two friends I was with we doing all the ordering while I stayed silent in the corner. The food was okay. It wasn’t great but I suppose it wasn’t bad either. Though we were looking for dim sum, getting away from Chinese food for a bit was nice.
Beijing Street itself was a little piece of history from what I could surmise. Based on the name of the street, I would think that in some way or another, the northern direction of the road more or less led to Beijing (over a thousand kilometers away). Similarly, I would surmise that Nanjing Road in Shanghai leads to Nanjing in one way or another (a couple hundred kilometers east).
What brought this to mind, because a name is often just a name, was that the center section of this (pedestrian) road was covered in glass. Looking in, it looked like an old pathway, perhaps the old Beijing Road hundreds of years before it was surrounded by shops galore. There were signs describing what was beheld, but my Chinese proficiency pales when confronted with text.
From there we descended to the underground and looked to see what there was to do in conjunction with stops on the metro map. There seems to be nothing famous in Guangzhou (at least to the likes of the Great Wall or the Terra Cotta Warriors). As people upon people kept passing by, it became clear that this was just a big city with lots of people.
Finally, we settled on the Second Workers’ Cultural Palace. It looked like an interesting enough place to go. After waiting in line for the ticket machines and finding that our machine didn’t take bills, we found another machine, bought our tickets, and entered the metro.
In short, it was crowded. I felt a hand on my face the whole journey. I used to think that people were kind of impolite on the Hong Kong MTR system. As the main example, letting people out of the train car before entering makes sense in terms of politeness and just plain old logistically. No two things can take up the same space, so letting people uncram themselves from the subway before you cram yourself on is just good sense.
Getting off of the subway with much effort, we went back to street level, scrambling to find the Second Workers’ Cultural Palace. After much roaming, we finally asked a security guard where it was, and he replied, “It’s right here!” Looking around us, there was a halfway dilapidated shopping center with big characters along the top “市二宮.” It was disappointing but funny at the same time.
Back in the metro, we settled on the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, because, actually I don’t know why. I guess we were kind of looking for something with substance, so we went. It was like every other Sun Yat-sen memorial I had been to. Inside was a museum that we didn’t enter and the whole time it was raining.
Back in the metro, we proceeded onto Chigang Pagoda. By the time we exited the station, the sun was already falling, so we didn’t go all the way to the site. We viewed it from a distance and then went back to the station. Along the way, you could see the new spiral tower they were building for the 2010 Asian Games hosted by Guangzhou.
The TV & Sightseeing Tower, as it has been dubbed, is not open yet, but the structure is finished. It was so tall that the top could not be seen because of cloud cover.
To get back to Guangzhou East Railway Station, we took another (extremely) crowed metro ride. People were crowding the entire station shoulder to shoulder, and to transfer trains, we had to circle around the platforms in that crowd. It was so packed that to get out of the train, I had about nine inches of room in which to squeeze out of. Luckily, I was able to push myself through and not get lost in Guangzhou.
The day ended as it started—with a train trip. I’m glad I didn’t spend an extra day or two in Guangzhou, because there was nothing to see. And according to another group of people who tried to go out at night, there was nothing to do.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
King's College
Teaching English as a second language has always been something I've always tossed around in my head. Whereas in general I probably couldn't cope teaching English high-school style, teaching it as a foreign language always tickled my fancy, as it has to do more with the practical and conversational than the philosophical.
English is in high demand here in Hong Kong. As one of the region's official languages and one its business advantages in the international arena, people who can speak English have an automatic leg up on the competition. Statistics show that Hong Kong isn't nearly as cosmopolitan as it's purported to be. Ninety-five percent of the population is Han Chinese and ninety-five percent use Cantonese primarily as their daily language.
From what I gather, English is taught in many secondary schools, but trying to talk to many service workers here in English, reasonably presuming they attended secondary school, whatever they learn tends to fade away. Talking to secondary-school students (I have no idea what grades they are in because they use the English form system), it's apparent that they, at least the ones I've talked to, have a good grasp in speaking the language. Comprehension is another issue, because whereas they can understand each other's English and I can understand theirs, they cannot understand enough of mine. And seeing as most native English speakers speak more like me and less like them, it would behoove them to improve their comprehension skills.
With this thought in mind, many Hong Kong people, several starting from scratch, pay oodles and oodles of money to get tutored (or coached) to make their English better and closer to standard varieties. Many tutors make $100,000 USD per year, from what I've heard. Others who have invented themselves as celebrities have become multimillionaires by such means. If I had the proper documentation to be allowed to be employed in Hong Kong, I might have tried my hand. But since I didn't, I participated in something second best.
Back to the secondary-school students--the reason I got in contact with them is through a program(me) that was publicized through the Office of International Student Exchange (OISE) here at HKU. It was advertised mainly to exchange and international students as the King's College English Teaching Programme. Sounds really intensive, doesn't it?
There was no pay, but that was understandable. It was a volunteer program in which after their school, we were to walk across the road and down half a block to King's College, a local boys' secondary school. though the program name had "teaching" in it, it was more of a mentorship, for they already had English class in school.
We first learned about it in non-local-student orientation back in August and I was excited to apply. They were supposed to send us applications shortly thereafter, I thought, because the program was to last most of the semester. I was wrong. After enquiring by email, I was told that application would be made available, but much later.
Around came the middle of September, nearly a month into my four-month stay here. The application had come and I was ready to apply. Only then were we told that it was but a four-week program, where we would teach for one hour a week on a given day. So I applied for a few timeslots I had available.
Now this happened to be going on during that whole shopping-for-classes fiasco, so I didn't definitively know when I was going to have free time. About two weeks later, I had registered after much ado for my tutorials. They were sporadically (and thereby inconveniently placed), so I wondered if both my class schedule, being my first priority, and the King's College Programme would fit together.
A few weeks later, well after I'd finished shopping for classes, registering online for classes, and registered partially online for tutorials, the selection came out. It was clear that they had more applicants than they needed. I had a partner to "teach" six students, and it just so happened that I got the Wednesday 4:00-5:00 timeslot, which proved to be problematic.
During that timeslot, I had my tutorial for Hong Kong and the World, so quickly I emailed my tutor Sebastian to see if he would allow me to move when I attend to an empty slot on Thursdays so that, if necessary, I could withdraw from the program as early as possible. The next day he graciously granted my request, since we were already well into the semester. I was now in the program.
The program dates were set to begin shortly after reading week. Orientation was scheduled in the latter half of reading week, but when it was found out that most of the exchange students couldn't make that date, it was moved earlier. I couldn't make either day.
I told OISE (specifically Queenie) that I wouldn't be able to attend and she sent me the orientation materials after the fact. there was a conspicuous lack of lesson plan stuffs, though it was suggested that in the first session we have the students give us a tour of King's College and that in the fourth and last session (which was today), we give the students a tour around the University of Hong Kong. Oh and a big piece of advice that proved a little unsuccessful was to talk about sports with them--yeah, that topic lasted like ten minutes total.
Week One
I arrived straight from my Humanity in Globalization lecture. The professor was beginning to give us advice on how to write a good paper, and I had to leave since he was going over on time in order to get to the first day of the program.
We were to pick up our folders and then proceed to our classrooms (which were marked on maps for our convenience), and we were each given a small bottle of water. At the entrance to the school, I met my partner, who I learned if from Singapore but normally attends university in Australia, here on exchange for one semester.
This first session a mere four of the six students showed up.
Going to start the first session, I found that he was talking a lot more than me. Though I tried to increase my presence by inserting more into the conversation, the students all directed their questions at him rather than at me. I figured that they found it easier to understand him, because although he speaks good English, his accent and their accents are quite similar.
As expected, they gave us a tour around King's College, giving me some insight into the life of a secondary-school student in Hong Kong. We were shown their athletic facilities and canteen, as well as their library and a hallway that students were not allowed to go through.
Hong Kong is like Las Vegas in that it implodes its history and builds upon the rubble. So King's College and a few buildings at HKU are some of the few remaining examples of the colonial style.
Week Two
This week, all but one of the six students attended.
One student brought a newspaper clipping. It was about how a Hong Kong woman in finance decided to quit her job and start a frozen yoghurt business. They all thought she did it to make more money, assuming selling yoghurt can make more money than her high-paying corporate job. Though it is possible, she will, for a very long time, will be losing money on startup and then be making lots less money than her former career. I presented this argument to the students, that switching to selling frozen yoghurt was more a labor of love than a financial pursuit. They thought I was joking.
After that all, we completed unsuccessfully a crossword puzzle of sorts. I maintain that it was poorly designed with definitions too vague (and sometimes flat out wrong) for the specific words they were looking for. Needless to say, we moved on.
Hangman was the name of the game, and we went back and forth throwing random words at each other to see if we could get them. We kept the words easy, as did the students when it was their turn. Because we had some substance to this meeting, time went a lot quicker than in the last session.
Week Three
This week was actually two after Week Two because they had their finals the week in between. Two decided to show up (the most talkative two).
My teaching partner, at their request, told them how he served in the Singaporean Army (as there is conscription of young men there) in order to defend themselves against possible attack from Malaysia. Though Singapore officially operates in four languages, the one and only in the army was Malay. His position was the army police, to suss out all the contraband and maintain internal order.
We went over another newspaper article. This was was about tonsils and tonsil stones (which accumulate in your tonsils and pop out when they get too big after a bit of prodding). Big words such as tonsilitis were skipped understandably, and at the end of the article they admitted that big chunks of the article didn't make sense. We verbally summarized the article for them.
Though I told them in the first place that I'm American, they learned that little fact again. I answered questions about the United States, pointing out where I'm from on a big bad chalkboard drawing, drawing New York state onto the map, and explaining that the smallest state Rhode Island is not an island at all.
Week Four
The last session was earlier today today. The same two students as last week were the only ones to show up, and they were really excited to get shown HKU by us.
So we walked them there. As with any good tour of HKU, you start at Main Building. It's the oldest and most historic (and prettiest) building on campus. The main room in Main Building, Lok Yew Hall, is where the university hosts all its A-list events and ceremonies (except for graduation, which is being held this year at Asia-World Expo on Hong Kong Airport Island).
We continued around campus and showed them the library (but entering requires a HKU ID card, so we looked in from the outside), as well as a few canteens and some unique buildings. After we got through in just forty minutes, I was reminded how small campus is.
We walked them back to the bus stop and they went home.
Closing Ceremony
I won't be able to attend the ending ceremony for the program. It is to be held next Wednesday at Lok Yew Hall. I told them that I was probably going to go until I realized that I have class during then. All in all, though it was not exactly what I expected, I'm glad that I participated because it was a good experience.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
English is in high demand here in Hong Kong. As one of the region's official languages and one its business advantages in the international arena, people who can speak English have an automatic leg up on the competition. Statistics show that Hong Kong isn't nearly as cosmopolitan as it's purported to be. Ninety-five percent of the population is Han Chinese and ninety-five percent use Cantonese primarily as their daily language.
From what I gather, English is taught in many secondary schools, but trying to talk to many service workers here in English, reasonably presuming they attended secondary school, whatever they learn tends to fade away. Talking to secondary-school students (I have no idea what grades they are in because they use the English form system), it's apparent that they, at least the ones I've talked to, have a good grasp in speaking the language. Comprehension is another issue, because whereas they can understand each other's English and I can understand theirs, they cannot understand enough of mine. And seeing as most native English speakers speak more like me and less like them, it would behoove them to improve their comprehension skills.
With this thought in mind, many Hong Kong people, several starting from scratch, pay oodles and oodles of money to get tutored (or coached) to make their English better and closer to standard varieties. Many tutors make $100,000 USD per year, from what I've heard. Others who have invented themselves as celebrities have become multimillionaires by such means. If I had the proper documentation to be allowed to be employed in Hong Kong, I might have tried my hand. But since I didn't, I participated in something second best.
Back to the secondary-school students--the reason I got in contact with them is through a program(me) that was publicized through the Office of International Student Exchange (OISE) here at HKU. It was advertised mainly to exchange and international students as the King's College English Teaching Programme. Sounds really intensive, doesn't it?
There was no pay, but that was understandable. It was a volunteer program in which after their school, we were to walk across the road and down half a block to King's College, a local boys' secondary school. though the program name had "teaching" in it, it was more of a mentorship, for they already had English class in school.
We first learned about it in non-local-student orientation back in August and I was excited to apply. They were supposed to send us applications shortly thereafter, I thought, because the program was to last most of the semester. I was wrong. After enquiring by email, I was told that application would be made available, but much later.
Around came the middle of September, nearly a month into my four-month stay here. The application had come and I was ready to apply. Only then were we told that it was but a four-week program, where we would teach for one hour a week on a given day. So I applied for a few timeslots I had available.
Now this happened to be going on during that whole shopping-for-classes fiasco, so I didn't definitively know when I was going to have free time. About two weeks later, I had registered after much ado for my tutorials. They were sporadically (and thereby inconveniently placed), so I wondered if both my class schedule, being my first priority, and the King's College Programme would fit together.
A few weeks later, well after I'd finished shopping for classes, registering online for classes, and registered partially online for tutorials, the selection came out. It was clear that they had more applicants than they needed. I had a partner to "teach" six students, and it just so happened that I got the Wednesday 4:00-5:00 timeslot, which proved to be problematic.
During that timeslot, I had my tutorial for Hong Kong and the World, so quickly I emailed my tutor Sebastian to see if he would allow me to move when I attend to an empty slot on Thursdays so that, if necessary, I could withdraw from the program as early as possible. The next day he graciously granted my request, since we were already well into the semester. I was now in the program.
The program dates were set to begin shortly after reading week. Orientation was scheduled in the latter half of reading week, but when it was found out that most of the exchange students couldn't make that date, it was moved earlier. I couldn't make either day.
I told OISE (specifically Queenie) that I wouldn't be able to attend and she sent me the orientation materials after the fact. there was a conspicuous lack of lesson plan stuffs, though it was suggested that in the first session we have the students give us a tour of King's College and that in the fourth and last session (which was today), we give the students a tour around the University of Hong Kong. Oh and a big piece of advice that proved a little unsuccessful was to talk about sports with them--yeah, that topic lasted like ten minutes total.
Week One
I arrived straight from my Humanity in Globalization lecture. The professor was beginning to give us advice on how to write a good paper, and I had to leave since he was going over on time in order to get to the first day of the program.
We were to pick up our folders and then proceed to our classrooms (which were marked on maps for our convenience), and we were each given a small bottle of water. At the entrance to the school, I met my partner, who I learned if from Singapore but normally attends university in Australia, here on exchange for one semester.
This first session a mere four of the six students showed up.
Going to start the first session, I found that he was talking a lot more than me. Though I tried to increase my presence by inserting more into the conversation, the students all directed their questions at him rather than at me. I figured that they found it easier to understand him, because although he speaks good English, his accent and their accents are quite similar.
As expected, they gave us a tour around King's College, giving me some insight into the life of a secondary-school student in Hong Kong. We were shown their athletic facilities and canteen, as well as their library and a hallway that students were not allowed to go through.
Hong Kong is like Las Vegas in that it implodes its history and builds upon the rubble. So King's College and a few buildings at HKU are some of the few remaining examples of the colonial style.
Week Two
This week, all but one of the six students attended.
One student brought a newspaper clipping. It was about how a Hong Kong woman in finance decided to quit her job and start a frozen yoghurt business. They all thought she did it to make more money, assuming selling yoghurt can make more money than her high-paying corporate job. Though it is possible, she will, for a very long time, will be losing money on startup and then be making lots less money than her former career. I presented this argument to the students, that switching to selling frozen yoghurt was more a labor of love than a financial pursuit. They thought I was joking.
After that all, we completed unsuccessfully a crossword puzzle of sorts. I maintain that it was poorly designed with definitions too vague (and sometimes flat out wrong) for the specific words they were looking for. Needless to say, we moved on.
Hangman was the name of the game, and we went back and forth throwing random words at each other to see if we could get them. We kept the words easy, as did the students when it was their turn. Because we had some substance to this meeting, time went a lot quicker than in the last session.
Week Three
This week was actually two after Week Two because they had their finals the week in between. Two decided to show up (the most talkative two).
My teaching partner, at their request, told them how he served in the Singaporean Army (as there is conscription of young men there) in order to defend themselves against possible attack from Malaysia. Though Singapore officially operates in four languages, the one and only in the army was Malay. His position was the army police, to suss out all the contraband and maintain internal order.
We went over another newspaper article. This was was about tonsils and tonsil stones (which accumulate in your tonsils and pop out when they get too big after a bit of prodding). Big words such as tonsilitis were skipped understandably, and at the end of the article they admitted that big chunks of the article didn't make sense. We verbally summarized the article for them.
Though I told them in the first place that I'm American, they learned that little fact again. I answered questions about the United States, pointing out where I'm from on a big bad chalkboard drawing, drawing New York state onto the map, and explaining that the smallest state Rhode Island is not an island at all.
Week Four
The last session was earlier today today. The same two students as last week were the only ones to show up, and they were really excited to get shown HKU by us.
So we walked them there. As with any good tour of HKU, you start at Main Building. It's the oldest and most historic (and prettiest) building on campus. The main room in Main Building, Lok Yew Hall, is where the university hosts all its A-list events and ceremonies (except for graduation, which is being held this year at Asia-World Expo on Hong Kong Airport Island).
We continued around campus and showed them the library (but entering requires a HKU ID card, so we looked in from the outside), as well as a few canteens and some unique buildings. After we got through in just forty minutes, I was reminded how small campus is.
We walked them back to the bus stop and they went home.
Closing Ceremony
I won't be able to attend the ending ceremony for the program. It is to be held next Wednesday at Lok Yew Hall. I told them that I was probably going to go until I realized that I have class during then. All in all, though it was not exactly what I expected, I'm glad that I participated because it was a good experience.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Cutlery Dilemma
The other day, I picked up a fork and knife for the first time in quite a while. I dropped more food than I’m proud of on myself and thought it might be worth mentioning, at least for a little laugh.
In case you couldn’t tell by that last statement, I use mostly chopsticks here for eating and was a little more than surprised when I found out that a certain skill of mine had been regressing as I became more attuned to the alternative.
Back home, I always use forks. Though I eat a good amount of pseudo-Chinese food at home, if I’m given the choice between a fork and chopsticks, the fork always wins out. At restaurants, I’d never go so far as to ask for a fork if chopsticks are the only things sitting on the table, but I definitely had a preference.
So what do I prefer now? I don’t think I really care; I just know that I need to work on my fork skills when I get back home to mitigate the potential for embarrassment.
As for the food here, I must say that for the expectations set out for it, it hasn’t been so great. The food itself is fine, but it’s nothing different from Chinese food back home. The only thing that seems consistently good is street food. The only problem with that is I have trouble finding convenient street food, or street food period, in Hong Kong. I know it’s out there, and I know I like it, it’s just that in Mainland China it’s so much easier to get street food and it’s so consistently cheap.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
In case you couldn’t tell by that last statement, I use mostly chopsticks here for eating and was a little more than surprised when I found out that a certain skill of mine had been regressing as I became more attuned to the alternative.
Back home, I always use forks. Though I eat a good amount of pseudo-Chinese food at home, if I’m given the choice between a fork and chopsticks, the fork always wins out. At restaurants, I’d never go so far as to ask for a fork if chopsticks are the only things sitting on the table, but I definitely had a preference.
So what do I prefer now? I don’t think I really care; I just know that I need to work on my fork skills when I get back home to mitigate the potential for embarrassment.
As for the food here, I must say that for the expectations set out for it, it hasn’t been so great. The food itself is fine, but it’s nothing different from Chinese food back home. The only thing that seems consistently good is street food. The only problem with that is I have trouble finding convenient street food, or street food period, in Hong Kong. I know it’s out there, and I know I like it, it’s just that in Mainland China it’s so much easier to get street food and it’s so consistently cheap.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
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