This is what happens when you try to get someone to write you a short note in Chinese for train reservations....
"That will be impossible..." That's what the girl behind the front desk of my dorm told me when I told her that I wanted to go to Datong this weekend. Michael, a quarter Chinese American, stood there translating for me.
"Ask her why?" I told him. Incomprehensible sounds issued forth from both their mouths until it came to a perfunctory conclusion.
"Because you don't speak Chinese."
"Tell her that I've been in other countries where I didn't speak the language."
Again with the sound. I felt like Charlie Brown listening to his teacher.
"This is different she says. This is their country and China is different. What do you want me to tell them?"
"Tell them I'm a crazy American and I'm going to do it anyway." He turns to tell them. "No, tell them thank you and that I'll be fine."
_________
Yesterday I went to the Dirt Market, which is a large knick knack/ antique market...most everything there is one form of trash or another. The vendors there are not nearly so pushy as at the Pearl Market and less inclined to bargain as well. Still it's a buyers market. I bought a large caligraphy print that I'm still not sure how I'm going to get home, some chopsticks, and my favorite thing I bought are some old buddist chimes (at least I think they're old). There's a lot of stuff there that one can tell is genuinely old and alot of stuff that just wants to look it. My favorite is all the blue and white vases with dirt all over them as if they had been freshly extracted from the ground. I also like the polished rocks, proving at least in my mind, that you can sell anything to someone.
"That will be impossible..." That's what the girl behind the front desk of my dorm told me when I told her that I wanted to go to Datong this weekend. Michael, a quarter Chinese American, stood there translating for me.
"Ask her why?" I told him. Incomprehensible sounds issued forth from both their mouths until it came to a perfunctory conclusion.
"Because you don't speak Chinese."
"Tell her that I've been in other countries where I didn't speak the language."
Again with the sound. I felt like Charlie Brown listening to his teacher.
"This is different she says. This is their country and China is different. What do you want me to tell them?"
"Tell them I'm a crazy American and I'm going to do it anyway." He turns to tell them. "No, tell them thank you and that I'll be fine."
_________
Yesterday I went to the Dirt Market, which is a large knick knack/ antique market...most everything there is one form of trash or another. The vendors there are not nearly so pushy as at the Pearl Market and less inclined to bargain as well. Still it's a buyers market. I bought a large caligraphy print that I'm still not sure how I'm going to get home, some chopsticks, and my favorite thing I bought are some old buddist chimes (at least I think they're old). There's a lot of stuff there that one can tell is genuinely old and alot of stuff that just wants to look it. My favorite is all the blue and white vases with dirt all over them as if they had been freshly extracted from the ground. I also like the polished rocks, proving at least in my mind, that you can sell anything to someone.
