Had These Mountains the Ability to Reason

If I haven't stated it previously, my weekends border insanity. Though I enjoy my job and love the people with whom I work, I was feeling a need to retreat today after teaching my last class. 

I turned on some Sufjan and finished Through Painted Deserts for something like the 200th time this evening. It never gets old. Ever. 

And while I sometimes feel my literary inspiration should come from dead people who constructed "the classics," my spirit resonates with a more modern, more bohemian author. In fact I have quite a crush on Donald Miller, as evidenced by my ability to read his books over and over without tiring of them.

 

Even tonight, though I've read it so many times before, I became teary as I wrapped up Through Painted Deserts, feeling as though I had made the cross-country excursion with he and his best friend Paul and learned better the answers of the cosmos...

And if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find two strangers in their fences, standing in admiration as a breathing red pours its tinge upon earth's shore. These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent so that man's weak praise should be given God's attention.

It's a wonder that those exposed to such beauty forfeit the great questions in the face of this miraculous evidence. I think again about this small period of grace, and thank God for it, that if only for a season, I could feel the "why" of life, see it in the metaphor of light, in the endlessness of the cosmos, in the miracle of friendship. And had these mountains the ability to reason, perhaps they would contemplate the beauty of humanity, and praise God for the miracle that each of us is, pondering the majesty of God and the wonder of man in one bewildering context. 

Their brows are rumpled even now, and their arms are stretched toward heaven.

-Don Miller-

On the Street Where I Live

My favorite part of the day is walking home from work at nighttime. The weather in Guiyang has warmed considerably in the last week, which makes the evenings quite pleasant. Also I enjoy having a bit of solitude time after teaching energetic Chinese kids all day.

Guiyang is known for it's nightlife. And it's fun because I live right in the center of the city. There are tons of night markets and little vendors selling food that line the street where I live. I've been quickly reminded why I came home from my last excursion to China a vegetarian. You can have any part of any animal you want to eat, and it's all just sitting out on trays under the florescent bulbs that light the tents, hoping to allure you. 

The Japanese eggplants are more my style, and last night a vendor near the school was selling the most beautiful cherry tomatoes. I have loved cherry tomatoes since I was a little girl when my father used to grow them in our vegetable garden in the back yard. I would follow him around, picking the fruit right off the vine and munching on them as he worked. 

I am incredibly cautious to wash all my produce, and of course I washed my tomatoes after buying them. Apparently not well enough, as they have been reeking havoc on my stomach all day long. I have been so sick I couldn't work tonight.

Street food always looks so inviting. I like the idea of buying produce off the street rather than the grocery, especially because I want to be a part of the vibrant atmosphere that is taking place right outside my door. But I need to come up with a better system for cleaning this produce because I don't want to have to endure another day like today. 

Remembrance

Despite my noble efforts to stay germ free, I'm sick this morning. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Fortunately, I don't teach until the evening time, which allows me a whole day to feel better. I've tried to be somewhat productive, using my time at home to do some laundry and catch up on my correspondence. I undertook the huge task of cleaning out my Inbox, sifting through old emails as I ditched some and categorized others into folders.

I came across an old e-mail that I sent late last year to a friend living overseas. I confess, it did my heart good to re-read the letter and remember my fall travels. I've been so consumed with getting settled into my life in China that I easily forget what a cool adventure I had in Africa and Europe. I keep a few of my favorite photos from Africa in my kitchen, and every morning as I fix my oatmeal I smile and try to remember that corner of the world. It would be such a shame to forget.

Anyway, I thought I would share the e-mail with you as I still find it to be completely applicable and would love for you to join me in remembering.


My favorite memory of Africa was at a construction site in a village outside Mwanza. The Guilds were helping with a certain building project. All the Sukuma women were collecting rocks for the cement because apparently it's not a man's place to do such a job. And so I crawled around on the ground with the women for several hours and helped gather rocks. I don't know why that memory is so potent, except that it seemed fitting. I always want to feel so important, to look the part or to impress. But there's nothing wrong with collecting rocks and siting criss-crosss applesauce in the middle of a field with a group of Tanzanian women who laugh at your inability to speak their language. In fact, it's up there with the most beautiful things a person can experience. So in some regard, Africa really helped free me from myself, if that makes any sense at all.

I know a lot of people travel to run away from things in their lives that seem dismal, and I don't think there is harm in that mentality. I've just always felt like I was running toward something, not away from it, like Africa, as general a term as it may be, was helping me become who God intended, though I am still far from that goal. Africa wasn't the missing piece, but rather a really great means to a much better way of life.

And I remember one particular Thursday evening in Barcelona, I walked home in the rain. Each day after hours of classes about adverbial clauses and dental, labial consonants, I enjoyed a café con leche and an hour or so of free time to decompress at this little bar, Rembrandt’s, located about six blocks from my flat and one block from the nearest metro station. I didn’t mind walking those six blocks in the rain that night, my last night in Barcelona, feeling as though it was somehow appropriate for the city to mourn my departure.

It’s strange how places can connect themselves to a person, as though they were building themselves into that individuals’ landscape and not the other way around, clinging to the clothes that person wears and lingering in their conversation for years to come.

I had gone to the ocean the day before. I needed to feel small and be reminded that feeling small is ok, that I don’t have to save the world to lead a meaningful life, and I can be content with the way the sand feels between my naked toes or the way the waves so consistently come up into the shore and back out into the deep.

And at some point on the other end of this huge mass of water, my loved ones were cramming for some final, enjoying time with their families or driving home after a long day at work. I closed my eyes and momentarily dreamt myself to Texas, remembering what it felt like to listen to music in my Honda, remembering how much I liked to sip hot chai at Jupiter House but most remembering how good familiarity felt.

And I knew that familiarity would have to come at the cost of ending a really great chapter of life, and standing on the beach and walking in the rain merely served as a sort of bookend to a season marked by free-spiritedness, Tanzanian laughter and new places ripe for exploration.

And so, dear friend, that is where I'm at — at another point on the map and waiting. Wondering how the next chapter looks, and attempting to internalize my experiences rather than taking them for granted because places and people really do become a part of a person, whether or not we choose to accept that reality.

I hope I get to go back to Kenya and especially Tanzania. I hope I get to see more of Europe and Asia and Latin America (you know Chile was my almost home) But even if I don't, the experiences I've had thus far are mine; I'll always have them. And someday I'll wake up feeling melancholy, and I'll remember picking up rocks in Africa, or I'll hate my 9-to-5 job and I'll remember standing on the beach in Barcelona and singing "Love and some verses" under my breath. And I'll remember how many places and how many people have connected themselves to me because I'll still be talking about them and I'll still be thinking of them when I get ready in the morning. And I'll be free again.

A Cold Splash of Water

I'm not going to lie, I like convenience. I like being able to take a taxi from one place to another if it's too rainy to walk. I like having wireless Internet in my apartment, and I enjoy all the options I have the moment I walk in the grocery. 

So perhaps it's hypocritical to say that I sometimes get tired of the city's slickness.

 I just love the beauty that comes with antiquity, in worn architecture and wrinkled faces. I enjoy spaces that have more grit than luster and that draw people to them, not by their neon lights but rather their character. 

Today my friends Lilyth and Winona took me to Qingyan, an ancient town about 45 minutes outside of Guiyang that was built in, go figure, the Qing dynasty. 

Even the drive was enjoyable. We took Winona's family car, which was a novelty to me because I have never had a Chinese friend with an automobile at their disposal. The mountains in Guizhou look like artwork out of a Dr. Seuss book, and listening to the "Dixie Chickens" as the girls referred to them made me feel as though I could experience both Texas and China at once. 

On our way to Qingyan, we stopped at Guizhou University, where Lilyth went to college. I loved walking around the campus grounds, and I think because part of me misses this aspect of living in China. I miss the university students who surrounded me at Xiamen University in Fujian. I miss living in the dorm and the energy and charisma of campus life. Plus, Guizhou University had these enormous magnolia trees that were some of the most beautiful I have yet to see.

Once arriving in Qingyan, the girls took me out for customary Guizhou cuisine, which included all sorts of gelatin dishes and pigs' feet. It wasn't the greatest Chinese meal I've ever had, but I enjoyed getting to share in this part of Lilyth and Winona's cultural heritage. 

We spent the next several hours wandering around the streets of Qingyan, indulging in local snacks — I tasted and loved the rice cake — and enjoying the beautiful scenery. I appreciate the presence of China's minority groups in Guizhou, which was evident in all the funky tapestries and clothing being sold in the shops. There were also large amounts of loose-leaf tea. I love tea! 

Sometimes life here seems so normal. I'm reminded of Meg Ryan's words in "You've Got Mail." I do "lead a small life." I wake up and go to work and eat and spend time with friends just like I would if I were in Texas. It feels natural to enjoy a day with these Chinese friends, discussing work and laughing over dinner. But I have to pinch myself at times to help remind me that this season of my life is a bit unconventional, that I'm lucky to see and experience the things I often fail to notice. 

I guess you could say that days like today and places like Qingyan are a good, cold splash of water in the face for me. They are so completely out of the norm that they enable me to remember how blessed I am to live out this dream and to be in China right now, that life continues to unfold whether or not I open my eyes to realize it. 

A Smoggy Day in Guiyang Town

Today is the first day since arriving in Guiyang that I haven't had a long list of things to accomplish or lesson plans staring at me from my coffee table.

I got to sleep late, which was good for my tired, jet lag body, and woke up to the sun shining through my window. Despite the smog, I was happy to see that the rain in this city will let up for a while to let its residents enjoy a warm, pretty day.


I'm finally beginning to get my bearings, so I took off toward the supermarket — one of my favorite places to visit in foreign countries. You can tell a lot about a culture from its supermarkets, so I guess it's fortuitous that I thoroughly enjoyed my time at Beijing Hualiang, a grocery store that is about a 15-minute walk away from my flat.

I needed to get some things for my apartment and stock up on yogurt and fruit. I can't handle these red bean- filled pastries that so many Chinese eat for breakfast; they are too sweet and not nutritious enough for my liking.

At one point during my time at the grocery, I stood next to an old lady as we sampled different bulk-sold nuts. While we munched she pointed to a particular type of walnut, as if to help me make a decision without messing with our language barrier. I responded by smiling and giving her a thumbs-up sign. We both giggled and each of us grabbed a bag of the walnuts to buy.

It's strange to be one of the only Westerners in Guiyang, maybe the only one in my section of the city. People unashamedly stare at me for uncomfortable amounts of time and follow me around like they have never seen a white person before. It doesn't bother me though; these interactions are more endearing than awkward. I'm their laowai (foreigner), and I love the unique relationship I get to share with the people in my new community.

All in all, it was a successful day. I finally got Internet set up in my apartment, I cleaned my refrigerator, I bought a new cell phone, I found two new restaurants and a fruit stand near to where I live, I figured out how to work my washing machine (all the settings are in Chinese characters), and I got to interact with some of the individuals who live and work around me. 

A Dose of Chinese Hospitality

I teach 21 hours on the weekend, so you are reading the blog of one tired soul. Don't get me wrong, I have genuinely enjoyed my new job. I love the people I work with, the energy at the school on the weekends and the hustle bustle of dozens of Chinese English students and their parents crowding the halls of Aston. 

The school has an amazing staff, and many of the teachers are Chinese females who are about my age. They have been great to me, helping me avoid cultural blunders and doing a wonderful job inviting me into their city. Each night they have waited for me to finish teaching to walk with me part of the way home, even when it might be out of their way. 

Saturday night, as we were walking, I went out on a limb and invited myself to dinner with one the teachers, Lilyth. She was meeting some people at a local eatery, and being a person who needs friends in Guiyang, I asked if I could join. 

She said of course I could come, and I had a wonderful time spending time with her friends. They were so gracious to me, buying my dinner (we ate fish and vegetables) and taking me to visit a historic tower that rests on Guiyang's lake. 

I'm humbled by Chinese hospitality, that the Aston teachers and Lylith's friends would go out of their way to make me feel welcome. I keep waiting to experience homesickness, to feel sad that I'm so far away from my community in Texas. But it's hard to feel lonely when you receive nothing but kindness from the people who surround you, even when you've known them less than a week. 

Making Lemonade

I've become convinced that every cross-cultural move has some amount of "making lemonade out of lemons" as the old saying goes. Transitioning out of the norms of your life and your culture into a whole bunch of newness can be a bit tricky at times.

Scenes from the documentary "God Grew Tired of Us," about the Lost Boys of Sudan keep running through my mind. Kristine and I watched this film only several days before I left, and we were amazed at the boys' lack of exposure to things like indoor electricity and amused by their good-natured but often futile attempts to fit in in the United States.

But I can so identify with these boys. I can't tell you how many times in the last week I have been that awkward, out-of-place person. The reality that I don't look remotely Chinese doesn't help my case.

I'm definitely in the "just don't sink" phase of my time in China, trying to gracefully adjust into this culture but mostly wanting only to keep my head above water.

I have a terrible sense of direction, which made my first attempt at walking from the school to my flat, generally a 20-minute walk, somewhat disastrous. The first predicament I encountered was that I, as expected, got turned around and ultimately lost. The second predicament came when I tried to get directions.

I can speak just enough Mandarin to give the impression that I am competent in the language. But I am not. The woman I asked to give me directions was confused, and I think frustrated, when I was unable to understand what she was telling me, when I really just wanted her to point in the direction I should walk. Luckily, I eventually found my way back to the school, and my new friend LuLu, a receptionist for Aston, walked with me back to my apartment.

Speaking of apartments, I got to move into my new flat yesterday! I’ve always lived with other people, so I haven’t quite figured out what to do with all this space. I feel really blessed to have a place to call my own, but as always, there are some drawbacks.

My bathroom looks a little more like a utility closet with a squatty potty in the middle. In China, toilets aren’t that common in public places, but I was under the impression that most residential properties contained toilets. I was wrong. Also, my washing machine is in the corner of my bathroom, taking up what minute space I have and causing me to get potentially electrocuted if I don’t remember to unplug it before showering.

As a rule, provinces below the Yellow River don’t have indoor heating because they are comparatively warmer than the northern region. Of course, Guizhou is in the southern part of the country, but it is also in the low 40s right now and rainy most days. So I’m learning to exist in the cold and keeping really good company with my space heater.

These issues — bad bathrooms, no heating, getting lost — are relatively small in the big scheme of switching cultures. You learn to suck it up and adjust. You learn that this initial insurmountable feeling is actually comprised of smaller things you eventually learn to manage. And all at once you look back and realize that while you were once struggling to crawl you are now competently walking and even running at times, that your worldview is expanding with every comfort you learn to place aside.

I will never forget the words of my friend who has been living in Tanzania now for many years. He would always tell me, “Lauren, life minus expectations equals happiness.” I couldn’t agree with him more.