culture shock

Cao Hoang Guan was a one of my first friends in Yulin, China. She taught English with me at Ying Cai Primary School, and had been assigned to welcome me to the city. Hoang Guan came from Northeast China, just above North Korea, and was teased by the other Chinese teachers for her Northern accent (she used the famous Beijing "rrrrr" that is not used in the south). She didn't speak the dialect of the city we resided in, either, so it was somewhat ironic that she was assigned to be my translator. We bonded over the lack of understanding with the staff and people we met around town.

After breakfast one day, Hoang Guan and I were walking down a campus pathway. She pointed at a zit on my chin and asked what was wrong with my face. I pointed at a zit on her face, and told her they were the same. She shrugged and asked, "What do you call that?" I told her it was a pimple. She stopped a few nearby teachers, pointed at my zit, and explained in Chinese her new discovery. Soon, they were all practicing, "Pimple, pimple, pimple" and giggling. Teachers stopped me for weeks and months after, pointing at a zit, and exclaiming, "Pimple!" It made me laugh; truly, everything was fair game.

Hoang Guan was my shopping buddy, and often took me to various markets, store fronts, or department stores in search of my every whim. On one such excursion, she asked if I had done laundry yet. I told her I had been waiting until I had enough for a load... and then realized that I didn't know how I would clean my clothes. She shook her head, sad that I was so woefully ignorant, and walked me over to the bars of laundry soap. She explained in her best English that people in China wash all their clothes with bars. Confused and mildly alarmed, I purchased a bar and a bucket.

The next day during the two hour nap break, I decided to try my hand at Chinese laundry. I filled my shiny red bucket with water and set to work. Suddenly, all my clothes were sudsy, but I could not get the suds out no matter how I rinsed. I was forced to eat humble pie and ask the school owner's wife, Mrs. Feng (whom I shared the house with), for assistance. When she came into the room, she shook her head in dismay and laughed. Then she transferred the soggy, soapy clothes to another bucket which she carried to a small, mustard-yellow machine in the kitchen. She dumped the clothes into the machine as Hoang Guan entered the house. The latter had never seen such a thing. I will never forget the three of us surrounding the tiny little washing machine, peering in as they conversed in Chinese. At some point, I caught on that Mrs. Feng was telling Hoang Guan about my attempt at washing clothes, and the two laughed and laughed! I thought to myself, "There is absolutely nothing I can do here that is like it is in America!"

And I won't even go into the ensuing debate over how best to dry the clothes (which ended up being hung by a line in a guest bedroom... :)