One Last Update from China

Dear friends,

It has taken me this long to write down my experiences from my last vacation in China. Kelli and I went to Jinan, the capitol of Shandong, the province in which I lived, and Tai'an, a city just below Jinan. Our vacation was from November 25 to the 30th. I will email you those experiences now!

November 25:


It was providential that I got the morning off, because it allowed me the time to go out for train tickets with Kelli. Kelly had written all of the information in Chinese, so all we had to do was show it to the woman at the ticket place and pay for the tickets. We purchased train tickets from Jinan to Tai’an , and Tai’an to Jinan. We already have our tickets from Weihai to Jinan; we’ll buy the tickets from Jinan back to Weihai when we arrive in Jinan tomorrow.

Maren’s flight left at 4PM, but she had to leave the school at about 1:30. I was planning on saying an official goodbye to her, but I got so caught up with preparing for DaGuangHua’s karaoke competition, in which ILP was performing, which started at 1 but we had to be there at noon. She said she would come down to say goodbye, but never did. I suppose it’s alright…we would have had a cry fest if we had the chance to say goodbye. Plus, my parents are going to try to get a flight for me from Salt Lake City to Denver on Wednesday, December 21, so I can have a couple days in Utah with Maren. That will be nice.

ILP had three acts in the competition, which included 36 performances. As an entire group, we sang and did ‘interpretive’ dance to Mulan’s “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” and did a choreographed dance to Chris Brown’s “Forever.” The audience loved it!

We needed a third act, and because of a long-standing joke within our group, I opted to dress up as and sing a Justin Bieber song. The joke is from a couple of months ago when Maren, Kelli, and I were super hyper and I dressed up as Justin Bieber and serenaded Maren to “One Less Lonely Girl.” We then sauntered into everyone else’s rooms and gave them a five-second show of my awesomeness. Apparently, if I comb my short-ish hair forward and put up my hood, I look just like Justin Bieber (compliment?).

In consequence of this incident, I ended up backstage of the DaGuangHua Report Centre auditorium dressed in white boots, purple leggings and a purple hoodie. My second rotation of students were back there, preparing to go on, and weren’t sure how to react to me being dressed as such. Lily, however, was thrilled to see me and threw her arms around me when I crouched down. I hugged her back and began to stand, when she impulsively kissed me (she loves to kiss my cheek). I’m sure she meant to kiss my cheek, but she actually kissed my lips. Both of us backed away in shock, and burst out laughing at the same time. Lily’s ultra-squinty eyes grew wide in astonishment, though she was giggling and practically glowing. She excitedly explained to her classmates what had happened, and they giggled.

It was time for Bieber’s entrance. At the last moment, Kelli and Maren backed out on me to be my backup dancers, so Krisan, Ivy, and Kylee volunteered. Over the last couple of nights, we’ve choreographed the entire song and rehearsed over and over. They’re life savers; the performance wouldn’t have been a fraction as exciting or visually stimulating without their sweet moves. Ivy was even Ludacris, as we performed Baby, and dressed all gangster-rapper.

When the music began playing and we sauntered onto the stage, the audience erupted in cheers—Justin Bieber tends to cause this sort of reaction. Sitting in the third to sixth rows, my students shouted my name, pleasantly surprised that it was me. Emily took a picture of Matt standing on his seat, pointing at me; he apparently had been shouting, “Teacher Jillian!” I felt like a celebrity; it was awesome.

The dance went very well! I had so much fun! I never ever imagined I would be performing Bieber on a stage in front of a large live audience…not to mention in China. Oh, what has China done to me?

Afterward, one of the Chinese teachers told me, “Very good! Very, very good!” I was honored.

Between the ILP performances, we sat and watched the Chinese students and teachers perform. All of my students, 3rd and 4th floor, performed, which was absolutely adorable. Most songs were in Chinese, though a few were in English. Some singers were talented; others had us writhing in agony, literally covering our ears. One man played the guitar and sang, which even makes a Chinese man sexy. Several of the teachers danced, much to the students’ pleasant surprise. It really was entertaining to watch these usually stoic, firm teachers let it all go and dress up in shiny jumpsuits and sashay on stage.

This experience was another one of those moments that make me go, “Oh, yeah, I’m in China. This is too cool!”

Once the competition was over, ILP quickly headed back to the dorms to finish packing for our last four-day vacation.

Kelli and I took a van to the Weihai train station; Kelly told us to be there at least an hour early, so there we were, waiting in the train station, as always the only foreigners in a crowded room. A young Chinese man came up to us and began to chat. His name was Patrick, or Du NiaBing, and he had pretty perfect English, though he spoke in a thick Chinese accent. (The Chinese accent, by the way, is the least attractive accent I’ve ever heard; Mandarin itself is not an attractive language, in my opinion.) He is a student at the University of Shandong, Weihai. We discussed China and its culture; Patrick has many foreign acquaintances and knows an unusual lot about Western ways and ideals; he explained to us how the Chinese go to school for their families and parents, not for themselves. They go to college to improve the lives of their family, not to pursue their dreams. He is from a village outside Jinan, and he is going to school in Weihai so that he can get a good job and earn enough money to help support his aging parents at their small farm.

When we told him of our large families, he was impressed. He claimed to admire us for this fact; he said, “Oh, so happy! Happy family.” That’s exactly what Kelly said when I told her the same thing. It makes me wonder if some Chinese people would have a large family if the government wasn’t so opposed to it. Perhaps there are some Chinese who yearn for it. It may just be my perception, but this is a sign to me that the hearts of the Chinese are being prepared for the Gospel of Christ.

On a less spiritual topic, he told me that the men at his university love to go to the international beach to “check out the scenery,” as he phrased it. Weihai is a tourist city in the summer, especially for the Russians. Unlike the very conservative Chinese, Caucasians tend to be more open about their bodies, and the women wear bikinis to the beach. The sheltered Chinese, according to Patrick, consider it a sort of pastime to comb the beach for Russian ladies—the scenery. This was an eye-opening view into the male mind and a little-known bit of Chinese culture.

It was very interesting chatting with him; we exchanged contact information.

Since we were on the same train, Patrick helped us find our car, and then said goodbye. I enjoy speaking with the natives, though sometimes it’s exhausting trying to communicate with them.

Kelli and I purchased tickets for hard sleepers to Jinan: ours were the top bunks, three bunks up. When we saw this, we wondered what we had gotten ourselves into and if we would survive the night. I climbed up the 10 foot ladder like a monkey and tried to relax; I was exhausted but excited for my first experience on a train and for the vacation ahead. I didn’t really know what to expect from the next few days.


November 26:


We awoke with enough time to collect our things and put on our shoes before the train stopped in Jinan. Holding tightly to our belongings, we drifted along with the flow of the sea of black hair to the exit of the train station. Since we needed to buy our return tickets, I found ticket office in my Mandarin-English dictionary and showed it to an official-looking Chinese man, who pointed us up the stairs to the outside. There was a chill in the air, reminiscent of winter.

Inside the ticket office (which was obviously marked ticket office), there were two lines: a short one and a long one, each marked in Chinese characters, so we didn’t know which line was ours. Since I had the ticket information from Kelly, I took the shorter line and Kelli took the longer one, just in case. I showed the woman behind the plexi-glass the paper, she took my money, and I walked out with two tickets from Jinan to Weihai; Kelli’s line hardly moved, so we were grateful mine worked out.

Both of us needed the ce suo, so we walked to the McDonalds located opposite of the train station. What a Kodak moment: two Americans entering a McDonalds in China. McDonalds in China are actually big deals: super clean and fancy, compared to everywhere else. I wonder if employees at McDonalds in China are actually admired here—instead of having the stereotypical negative connotations—because it’s a Western restaurant.

After, we hailed a taxi and he took us to our hotel, after reading the Chinese notes in my handy little notebook. Jinan, at least from what we saw, is very drear, grey, and smoggy. The air quality was awful! It is an extremely bland and unattractive city. Shanghai may have been smoggy, but it was exciting and well preserved and visually stimulating, unlike Jinan.

Once we arrived at our hotel (there were no hostels available in Jinan), we noticed how clean and almost ritzy-looking it was. It wasn’t large, just another “hole-in-the-wall” shop, but it was clean and had glass doors, stone floors, a cozy reading area, and a smartly-dressed staff. It was called GreenTree Railway Station Inn Jinan Hotel. The receptionist spoke absolutely no English, much to our dismay.

We showed her our passports, hoping that was enough for her to recognize our booking. This didn’t seem like enough, so after fruitlessly trying to explain things to us in Chinese, she ended up calling someone on the phone, to whom she had me speak.

The man on the phone told me, in broken English, that we were to pay 300 “cash.” I asked him if cash meant yuan or dollars, and he said “cash.” I explained to him how we already paid online, and he asked to speak to the receptionist. She typed in something on the computer, nodded, and spoke to the phone again. Again, she handed it to me. This time, he told me that our room was dirty and we needed to wait forty five minutes. I understood, and thanked him and the receptionist.

Recall how I said trying to communicate with the native is exhausting? My point exactly.

Kelli and I opted to pay for the buffet breakfast hosted by the hotel, which was 15RMB. There was delicious fried rice, rice soup, eggs, cauliflower, green beans, rolls, bread and jam (delicious!), and orange drink. Kelli and I were satisfied, and happy to sit down and relax after the crazy events that had transpired over the last twelve or so hours.

About an hour later, we returned to the front desk and I was handed our room key. Our room was on the second floor: it had a king-sized bed, a closet, complimentary bottled water, and the nicest bathroom I’ve seen in months, including those back home. It had a marble counter and sink, flushing Western toilet, and a glass shower.

As it was about 9AM and neither of us had slept fantastically well on the train, we agreed on taking a nap before beginning our ‘real’ adventures in Jinan—after I took a nice, hot shower, of course.

I awoke a couple hours later to a pitch-black room; there were no windows and the lights were off. From my iPod I knew it was 11AM, but my tired body claimed it was the middle of the night and I should go back to bed. However, I didn’t want to waste the day so I forced myself out of the softest bed I’d slept in (or seen/felt/heard of) in China (it had a real mattress!) and got dressed.

By about noon, Kelli and I were dressed to impress and walk a lot. We left the hotel and ran into an American who works here in Jinan. I probably shouldn’t have audibly said, “Look—white guy!” when I saw him, but such is my intelligence and luck. I understand why the Chinese stare at us, the foreigners: After living in China for three months, I do it, too.

After a short chat with said American, Kelli and I hailed a taxi and showed him my notes for the Thousand Buddha Mountain (千佛山; pinyin: Qiān Fó Shān). Qianfoshan is on the outskirts of Jinan, and is a “national tourist attraction,” for good reason: it’s awesome! There is a main trail of stone stairs that leads high into the mountain, with smaller trails branching off now and then. Along the main trail, there are large stone Buddha statues, all of which portray a different emotion or characteristic of Buddha (at least I assumed as much; all the inscriptions were in Chinese). I like the big, fat, happy Buddhas.

At times, the main staircase opens up into a square, with either shops or small temples on the sides (oftentimes, shops and temples are synonymous). In Buddhism, it’s not sacrilegious to sell product on holy grounds, even in the heart of the temples. You can find jewelry, bags, toys, food, tops, pretty stones, and incense, along with practically anything else you can imagine at a flea market.

Outside the temples, the Buddhists burn incense in large stone boxes. The sticks of incense range from a few inches to a few feet in height; the ashes flutter in the air like snowflakes, and the scent is sometimes overpowering.

As I stopped to admire the scene at one temple, a lady approached me and offered me a long red strip of fabric with golden Chinese characters on it. For five yuan, I could tie it around a tree trunk. I thought, “Where else would I be able to do this?” and accepted the strip of fabric. I have no idea what it represents, but I tied a strip of fabric to a tree at a Buddhist temple in Jinan, China. I rock.

At one point, the stairs opened up to a stone courtyard, where a gigantic (over thirty feet long, I’d say) “Reclining Buddha” lay, ornamented with a mustard yellow “blanket” and flower offerings from devoted followers. There was even a table full of fresh fruit.

Off to the side of this courtyard was a strange collection of stone blocks, which was reminiscent of Stonehenge. We later learned that the inscriptions on these blocks are written in ancient Chinese characters, most of which are no longer used and many Chinese/people in general cannot read. This ancient Chinese language is all over Qianfoshan, which has historical relics that date back (but are not limited to) the Sui Dynasty (A.D. 589-618).

Behind one of the shops, there was a small amusement park. Kelli and I climbed up a giant play tree slide and slid down until a surly Chinese woman yelled at us. One of the attractions was shooting tennis balls out of a canon at targets. Oh, China….

As we ventured down an offshoot path, we came upon a large temple. As we climbed the steep stairs to the entrance of the temple, we considered what lay before us the next day: Mount Tai, in the city of Tai’an, a holy mountain with approximately 6,660 stairs to the top; a mountain we planned on climbing. Since we were breathless by the time we reached the temple (maybe sixty-eighty stairs), we envisioned our death.

The temple was beautiful, with two main courtyards and multiple wings. An elegant stone bodhisattva guarded the staircase to the main temple, where a large gong hung on one side and a bell on the other. This was where a Buddhist priest approached me and forced two short sticks of incense in my hands and led me into the main temple. Using body language, he told me to light my incense with a candle that rested at a golden Buddha’s feet. I considered my predicament and wondered if what I was doing was terribly sacrilegious, since I am a faithful Mormon; however, it all happened so fast and before I knew it I kneeling on a well-used silk-covered stool before a golden Buddha. The priest directed me on how to bow (three times, my hands placed upon each other in traditional prayer form, incense pressed between my palms) and I did so, feeling rather awkward, flustered, and cultured.

I always thought praying to Buddha was supposed to meditative, not flustering—I suppose that proves that my heart wasn’t in it. I simply consider it experiencing the culture.

After I ‘prayed to Buddha,’ I arose and the priest directed me to sit down at a table, where another priest showed me a ledger that indicated the names and monetary donations from various benefactors—all of whom were English, and I wondered if they had all been suckered into this ritual as I had. The donations were in increments of 100 yuan, and I shook my head and firmly but politely said, “Mei you, dui bu qi.” (I don’t have, sorry.)

The Buddhists looked disappointed but sympathetic, and Kelli and I took this as our opportunity to check out and get our susceptible white butts out of there.

Next stop was a gigantic golden Buddha we noticed from a great distance. This Buddha, the size of a large house, rested on the side of the mountain, overlooking the city (which was, disgustingly, utterly shrouded in smog). When I saw it, my initial reaction was something on the lines of, “Holy freaking crap” because it was so large and unexpected. (We later realized that our entrance tickets clearly depict a picture of this Buddha—we’re so very bright.)

The path to this Buddha led us past a gigantic, white-stone bodhisattva; she is the goddess of something, which I will research when I have internet connection, and is typically very ornamented and beautiful; this statue of her was especially beautiful and awe-inspiring.

The golden Buddha, we realized as we approached it, rested in a huge stone courtyard, which was surrounded by shops and a stone wall. In the center of the courtyard, several children skated around on rollerblades, bikes (some bikes had up to three seats), scooters (the normal foot/push-propelled scooter and an unusual scooter that was propelled by pumping a mini teeter-totter with your feet), and strollers that were bedecked with the skins of popular Chinese cartoon characters. It was like a Buddhist roller rink.

Standing in the shadow of the giant Buddha, I changed a single word in a familiar girl’s camp song, much to Kelli’s amusement: “Big Buddha, big Buddha, big Buddha! Big Buddha’s number one!” If you don’t understand the joke, you’re probably better off.

There are times where I find I’ve become complacent with my life in China. At the school, it’s easy to fall into routine and accept life in China as normal, as ordinary. Nevertheless, it’s days like that day, when I’m consumed by the shadow of a giant golden Buddha and surrounded by excited Chinese children, while incense wafts through the air and the chorus of vendors promoting their wares is ever present, that I am reminded of how incredible my life is; even after three months, I still can’t wrap my head around the concept that I live in China. Can this really be my life? Ever since I was very young, I’ve dreamed about traveling abroad and immersing myself in the world’s diverse cultures, and I can hardly believe that dream is finally coming true.

Again and again I thank my Lord and everyone else who aided in my coming here. I am indebted to you and love you all.

Next stop was a Revolutionary War Martyrs’ Cemetery. The sign neglected to note which war, exactly, but it was probably for either the War of 1912 (the end of the dynasties and the founding of The People’s Republic of China) or the Chinese Civil War (1946–1949). We climbed 299 (we counted) stairs up to what we were led to believe would be the cemetery, but all we found was a tall monument. Like many things, we presumed the translator confused monument with cemetery.

After descending the 299 stairs, we proceeded toward Wanfo Cave. Some 23,000 stone-carved Buddhas, bodhisattvas, disciples and guardian kings lurk in Wanfo Cave alone. These statues and carvings are those which date back to the Sui Dynasty. Outside the main cave is a smaller cave, which has been transformed into a shrine. Dozens of small (about half the size of a shoe box) golden Buddhas rested on terraced shelves; the Buddhas held lit candles, which cast an eerie glow throughout the room. Incense burned on a short table above a silk-covered kneeling stool before the Buddhas. Reverent Chinese music played in the background, creating a serene, sacred feeling.

After meditating for a few moments, Kelli and I left the shrine and proceeded to enter the main cave. Immediately, we were surrounded by ornate carvings of Buddha, Bodhisattva, and their guardians; some were carved directly out of the cave walls, while others stood alone in the pathway as if they had been placed there to guard the rest; all were imposing and tremendous. Along with stone-carvings, there were aged and faded paintings and inscriptions in ancient characters.

Besides the obvious astonishing aspects of the cave, there was another fact that shocked me: everything, even the crumbling antique Buddhas, were available to touch and breathe on: nothing was covered with Plexiglas or even blocked off by chains or ribbon. Kelli and I were alone in the cave; if someone so wished, they could easily graffiti the entire exhibit and get away with it. Knowing the Chinese, people may have even peed on the walls.

It was disturbing to know such beautiful historical artifacts weren’t being properly preserved. (Sad thing is, I touched a few of the carvings, just to say I touched something that was 1,400 years old.)

The cave was a single pathway that led through numerous caverns, some of which had ceilings that were forty feet high. One of the things that amazed me the most was how, in many of the caverns, the walls were entirely—entirely—covered in mini-Buddha carvings, like the walls and the ceilings were made of tiles. There’s no wonder the cave boasts 23,000 carvings.

A couple of the caverns had giant Buddha heads (whose noses were higher than my head), and one cavern had a reclining Buddha that had to be longer than a bus, which was supported by a dozen giant heads.

It was all very awe-inspiring and exciting until the very end, where the lights darkened and the tunnels shrunk; we were far into the underbelly of the mountain and utterly alone except for the ancient, ever-watching Buddha sculptures. Needless to say, we became apprehensive and took more caution as we proceeded through the snaking tunnels.

Of a sudden, we entered a giant cavern—the largest yet. In the center of the cavern was a large golden Buddha; beside it was an illuminated, spinning, obnoxiously red Christmas tree-like thing. This thing was comprised of tiny golden Buddhas in Plexiglas boxes; it was like a Buddha Christmas tree—a tacky, Las Vegas-meets-Buddhism-esque Christmas tree.

After seeing this, the caves weren’t so intimidating anymore. However, the time was getting late and we knew the sun would be setting any minute and we still needed to find our way out, so we turned around and headed for the entrance (and exit—the Christmas tree marked the end of the caves) of the cave.

We found a guard who spoke English and asked him if he could write down the directions to the popular shopping center in Jinan, which was, as we’d been told, underground. He willingly complied, but when we showed a taxi driver the information, he did not understand it. Therefore, I pulled out my handy dictionary and attempted to say, underground shopping center. This, shockingly, the driver understood.

Before long, he pulled up in front of Parc 66, a brand-spanking new shopping center in the heart of downtown Jinan. Outside of the shopping center was a gorgeous fountain and statues of ancient Chinese royalty or philosophers, like Confucius. To reach the shopping center, we crossed a fancy bridge with flashing lights and escalators; underneath us was a deep canal with colorful lights reflecting on the dark water.

Parc 66 is white, silver, and shiny—it is probably the cleanest, fanciest building I’ve visited in China. Also, it’s gigantic, with seven floors; it is home to two cinemas, western restaurants, and stores like Coach, Chanel, Armani, and Lamborghini—Corino Lamborghini, that is, the fashion designer, not the car brand (we discovered this after searching for it specifically, only to be rudely disappointed).

We ate at McDonalds, and, much to my surprise (and innate disgust), it actually tasted really good.

As we were tired and my feet were aching, we decided to return to our hotel. We asked the receptionist there when we were supposed to check out the next morning. Of course, she didn’t understand but a nice lady in the lounge offered to help. After much struggle, she was finally able to tell us that check out time was noon.

Our receptionist was so embarrassed and apologetic; Kelli and I felt bad that we could not communicate with her.

I asked for more bottled water, and in about five minutes a man brought it to our room. I felt so grown up, asking for room service; I never have before, as I usually travel with my parents. Kelli and I agreed that it was almost weird traveling together: there were only two of us and we’re so young. Neither of us are accustomed to this kind of experience.

Exhausted, I fell asleep almost instantly, though not before reminiscing on my friendship with Maren and wishing she was there with us.


November 27:


After checking out of the hotel, we hailed a taxi and showed him the directions to the hotel where a fellow Mormon lived. We had contacted Judy Judd through our connection to the China International District Branch, and asked her if we could attend Skype Church with her that morning.

We weren’t sure that the taxi driver knew where to go, because he kept on taking us down strange roads and back tracking, all while the meter continued to rise. Kelli and I agreed that we were in one of those situations where you can either be bitter or better; you can hate your situation and complain and make it into an awful experience, or you can consider it one of life’s many wild adventures. We just hoped this adventure didn’t leave us broke or stranded.

Finally, we arrived at the Hanlin Hotel. Judy’s apartment was on the top floor and so we hauled our belongings across the marble floor and into the shiny elevator. The hotel was by far the most posh we’d been in while in China, with beautiful wood walls and clean carpet and wide windows (complete with glass!).

When we reached Judy’s suite, we knocked on her door. There was no answer, so we knocked again. And again. By this time, we had begun to feel nervous, for if Judy was not home, what would we do until we caught our train at 6 that evening?

We were in possession of Judy’s phone number and so we returned to the lobby and asked the receptionist to call the number. There was no answer, so the receptionist simply called up to the room (why didn’t we think of that earlier?) and finally reached Judy. Kelli spoke to her, and it seemed as if Judy had not been expecting us, much to our surprise. She told us to wait fifteen minutes so that she could dress properly.

We waited in the lobby, though we weren’t particularly anticipating meeting Judy because the situation was so awkward. “Hi, we’re a couple of random Americans you’ve never spoken to in your life. We’re going to barge into your home because we have nowhere else to go.”

However, when we finally met Judy, we found her to be most pleasant. She was an older woman, probably in her fifties, with strawberry blonde hair and a sweet, grandmotherly demeanor. We felt instantly welcome and grateful that she was a normal, personable woman, not some crazy cat lady.

We joined her for Church over Skype. There was a primary program, which was unique and sweet. One of the speakers talked about choosing to make life a positive or negative experience; he pretty much reiterated what Kelli and I had already discovered that morning: you can either be bitter or better, make experiences into a terrible situation or an adventure. We found this irony very interesting.

After church, Judy offered us leftover turkey dinner from Thanksgiving. It was real turkey, cranberry sauce, yam casserole, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie—it was delicious and reminded us of home. Judy told us how she had two Chinese friends over for Thanksgiving, and the female wanted to be helpful and was helping Judy prepare the food, but when Judy walked out of the room, the Chinese woman poured the turkey broth down the sink. Judy came in just in time to witness this and couldn’t believe it—the turkey gravy had been poured down the sink! The Chinese, of course, don’t celebrate Thanksgiving nor do they usually eat turkey, so the Chinese woman didn’t know that the broth is used for delicious gravy.

Judy and her Australian friend, Josie, had to deal with eating canned gravy on their mashed potatoes.

We sat around the table discussing traveling, and telling all of our horrific stories from road trips and public bathrooms. Relating tales from my family’s many road trips made me nostalgic and reminisce on how my childhood may have been rough, but it was definitely unique and worthwhile.

Josie came over right as we were preparing to leave and I asked her to take a picture of Judy, Kelli, and me. Josie was hilarious and I loved listening to her accent, but we were running late for our train.

Kelli and I said goodbye and Judy invited us to return on Tuesday, the day we would head back to Weihai. We agreed that this was a great plan.

It took us a while to catch a taxi, and we became very anxious. If we missed our train, there was no telling what we would do—we wouldn’t be able to communicate with the train station personnel. When we finally hailed a taxi, we found ourselves lost in rush-hour traffic. Rush hour is the same in China as it is anywhere else: 5PM. The city was shrouded in smog, and even as we drove through the heart of it we were barely able to see the buildings only thirty feet away. I can’t imagine living there.

Arriving at the station, it was actually relatively easy to find our platform. We waited in line for the departure time, and when that came we shuffled along in a sea of Chinese, or as I told Kelli, “the yellow river.” It reminded me of the videos of concentration camps, like we were among the prisoners of a Chinese concentration camp. Oh, our twisted humor.

On the ride to Tai’an, I pulled out my dictionary and began teaching myself random Chinese phrases. My favorite was wo yao weiyizhe naga shuei ke, “I want to snuggle up to that cute boy.” I’m learning such useful phrases. I’m sure the Chinese around us just loved my self-taught lesson.

For the record, the ce suo, or restroom, on the train was a nasty squatter. At least it was a squatter so I didn’t have to actually touch much inside the restroom.

When we reached Tai’an, it was dark and cold. Outside of the train station we were met by a nice Chinese woman who sold us a map of Tai’an for six yuan. After this, she directed us to follow her and she led us across the street to a large hotel. We then understood that she wanted us to stay there (she probably was working off commission) and I pulled out my dictionary to tell her we already had a hostel. She was persistent, however, and tried to make us a deal: the hotel would cost us the same as the hostel if we stayed there. However, as it works with hostels, if we don’t cancel 24 hours before the first day, we are required to pay for the first night even if we’re not there.

We declined her offer and walked toward the street to find a taxi. She followed us and helped us hail a taxi; we thought she was being genuinely sweet for helping us out. She conversed with the taxi driver and showed him the address that I had written down in my notebook. After a moment of conversing with the woman in Chinese, the taxi driver said that he didn’t know where the hostel was.

Disappointed and worried that perhaps I hadn’t transcribed the characters correctly, we allowed the woman to help us find another taxi. However, the exact same scene played out: the woman and the taxi driver conversed for a few minutes, and then he said he didn’t know where the hostel was. By this time, Kelli and I were getting the clue that, perhaps, the woman was actually telling the taxi driver to refuse to drive us so that we would give up and allow her to take us back to her hotel.

We attempted to tell the woman we no longer needed her services, but she followed us and continued to yak in Chinese. We eventually ducked into a nearby convenience store to get rid of her. We felt rather ridiculous, but agreed that we would get nowhere with the woman’s ‘help.’ Before long, the woman finally left and we were able to leave the convenience store and hail our own taxi.

The first taxi we stopped knew exactly where to take us, confirming our suspicions about the woman’s schemes. The hostel was actually only minutes away.

The alley in front of the hostel was quite creepy, and Kelli and I prayed that we were on the right track and that our driver wasn’t actually taking us to a brothel or some other awful place. However, when he stopped the car I recognized the hostel from its website picture. We paid our driver and hurried inside.

The hostel workers spoke relatively good English, and it was very simple to sign in and get our room. Our room was clean looking and smelling, with three bunk beds, a large dresser with six lockers, and wide windows. We were given keys to our locker, unlike the hostel in Shanghai where there were no locks on the lockers. The beds had clean linens, a good pillow, and a thick quilt. The mattress was soft for Chinese standards.

We would be rooming with two Chinese women and a stranger who was not in the room at that time. Kelli and I fantasized that it was a deliciously handsome European man. In the end, it was actually another Chinese woman. (Shucks.)

After dropping our belongs in our lockers, we wandered the hostel. There were public restrooms with a toilet/squatter room and one room with four private shower stalls. Outside, we discovered the hostel was designed after traditional architecture (it was too dark to see much) and must be very visually attractive in daylight. Across a walkway was a cozy bar with TV and reading loft. The hostel was nearly silent

As we were starving, we decided to wander the area for a restaurant. The alleys around the hostel were quite intimidating at night, with groups of men huddled at the corners and in darkened shops. I pulled out my pepper spray for the first time while in China, as it was the first time I actually felt I might need it. As it turned out, I didn’t.

We discovered a small noodle shop with pictures on the wall (that’s the only way we can intelligently order food here) that resembled those at our Muslim restaurant in Weihai. We ordered the two egg and tomato dishes. The shop was owned by a young couple, who were smiley and friendly. They made the noodles right outside the door: they get a big lump of dough and bang it against a metal counter until the dough shreds naturally into noodles—it’s the craziest, most ingenious thing I’ve ever seen.

Our dishes were hot and fresh and oh my Gouda cheese delicious! Absolutely to die for; in fact, I would kill for some right now. Plus, everything there is extremely inexpensive, with an average of eight yuan per dish, and the dishes are large. Ironically, the best meals we had on the whole trip were the least expensive.

After dinner, we bought ice cream cones at the McDonalds down the street and then retired to our rooms.

I was becoming very nervous for our adventure the next day, as we intended to climb Mount Tai, or Taishan, one of China’s holiest mountains with 6,600 stairs to the summit. It would be a full day trip. Apparently, back in the time of emperors, whenever an emperor began his reign it was tradition for him to climb this mountain. Confucius once climbed it, also.

It would be a worthwhile experience, but I wasn’t sure if I’d survive.



November 28:


We ate breakfast at a local restaurant, which was recommended by the hostel staff. May, the Chinese woman from our room, joined us. The restaurant was a dingy little place, like most restaurants in China, but for wu yuan (five yuan, about $0.80) we got unlimited bowls of egg-drop-like soup and various kinds of breads/rolls. It really was rather delicious and since it was a chilly, grey day, the hot soup was especially pleasant.

May, who speaks very good English, explained to us that she is on an extended holiday. She is from Shanghai, but has been traveling for five months all around Asia: North and South Korea, Egypt, Mongolia, Tibet, and all over China. She was to continue traveling for about a month more. Apparently, her husband was very supportive of this decision: all her life, it has been her dream to travel Asia and her husband told her to go ahead and do it.

This was quite surprising to Kelli and me, since Chinese men don’t usually give that type of freedom to their wives; also, May was the first Chinese we met who had actually traveled around Asia. It’s difficult for Chinese nationals to get permission from the government to leave China and most Chinese don’t have the funds to travel.

From what we could tell, however, May had a good career in Shanghai; plus, with her English speaking skills, there is no doubt she is an asset in her field of business. She is proof that my efforts in teaching Chinese kids English is actually beneficial: Speaking English will open so many doors for them, especially when choosing a career.

May had already planned to climb Mount Tai that day, so we decided to climb it together. It was a chilly day, so I wore lots of layers so that I would stay warm but I would have the option of stripping down if the physical exertion of climbing 6,660 stairs warmed me up. I bought a couple of water bottles at the base of the mountain because I heard the prices go up the higher you climb. After purchasing our tickets, the three of us began our ascent of the holiest mountain in China, Tai Shan.

Kelli and I were afraid that May would do the “Chinese Shuffle,” that is, would walk super slowly, but we actually had to work to keep up with her. Kelli and I, who are apparently not as in shape as May, knew we would not be able to maintain this pace for very long—especially as we were constantly rising in elevation and we poor Americans were used to living at sea level in Weihai. I had to use the ce suo, so Kelli and I veered off the path. May told us to hurry and catch up, but Kelli and I knew that was impossible. That was the last we ever saw of May.

Before long, Kelli and I were forced to remove layers as the day was warming up considerably. The sky was overcast, but the temperature was pleasant; we figured it was the perfect day to climb the mountain.

The stairs on Taishan are made of grey stone and are all different heights and widths and lengths—you have to constantly watch where you’re going or your toe will snag on the stair ahead of you. Every kilometer is marked by the appropriate number carved into the stone.

Alongside the stone path were Buddhist temples and sanctuaries. Inside these temples, the air was thick with incense ash. Most of the temples smelled so strongly of incense that it was difficult to breathe. There were innumerable gold locks (like that you would use on a locker) hanging from the trees and statues and I wondered what their purpose was—no doubt a ritual to their gods.

Besides the temples and (of course) the vendors selling wares that would be nonsensical to purchase and carry all the way to the summit (like jade Buddhas and stone carvings), we were surrounded by natural beauty. To our right was a river gulch, where lovely waterfalls fell into peaceful pools before the clear water rushed down the side of the mountain. In the distance, we could make out the silhouette of mountain peaks, shrouded in illustrious fog.

Pines were the prominent tree on the mountain and, when outside of the temples, sweet pine-smell wafted through the crisp air; it reminded me of home, of family vacations in the Colorado and Utah mountains, and I experienced true bliss.

Ever since I came to China, I wanted to experience rural China. I spent so much time in the cities (Weihai, Beijing, Shanghai, Jinan), which was super awesome and totally worth it, but I’m a born and bred mountain girl and I was in desperate need of nature. Plus, the natural China is renowned for its beauty and I wanted a piece of it.

Granted, northern China is dramatically different than southern China (the latter of which is more popular) but Taishan was gorgeous in its own right. There were attractive, traditional-Chinese architecture bridges, pretty outcroppings of multi-colored rock, tall cypress trees, and wild flowers.

The higher we climbed, the steeper the stairs became. My calves began to tighten and my breathe became haggard, and I admit I began to doubt my sanity in choosing to climb so many freaking stairs; I wondered if I had the ability to accomplish this task. Nevertheless, I pushed on because I didn’t want to say I traveled all the way to the holiest mountain in China and then gave up before I reached the summit. How lame is that?

Kelli and I had packed snacks, and to encourage ourselves to keep climbing, we awarded ourselves with cookies once we reached various “check points,” like the next kilometer or the top of an especially steep set of stairs.

I daresay our faces were a bit red from the exertion, which the Chinese vendors and our fellow climbers (who were mostly Chinese) thought was hysterical and worth taking pictures of. Some pretended to be taking pictures of other things, though it was obvious to us that that’s exactly what they were doing, pretending to be taking pictures of things other than us, while others forwardly planted themselves in front of us and snapped our picture.

I just love the Chinese.

There was one Chinese couple with whom we kept playing leap frog: we would stop for a breather and they would pass us; later, we would pass them as they took a breather. This went on for at least an hour. Before long, we all started waving/acknowledging each other and it became a sort of game.

We came to a certain section of the stairs that appeared to never end…and felt the same way. Halfway up, three elderly Chinese men caught up to us. Although we were unable to communicate verbally, body language got our points across. The kindly old men (probably in their fifties or sixties +) encouraged us to keep going, to persevere. They gave up thumbs up and pats on the back and then…passed us up.

If elderly Chinese men pass me up while climbing stairs, I am really pathetically out of shape. How did they do it? My legs were killing me after 4,000 stairs. The Chinese continue to surprise me.

Finally, we did reach the top of the endless flight of stairs, only to find, of course, more stairs. Taishan is a great source of discouragement…but Kelli and I pushed ever on. We saw strange but beautiful light blue birds, who’s wingspan resembled an open Chinese fan, and magpies. One of the vendors had the most oddly adorable pug puppy, whose eyes were crooked and lazy.

The higher we climbed, the more majestic the views became: a deep, vast gorge separated the path from the mountains, creating an unobstructed view of the jagged, beautiful, misty mountains in the distance.

If I remember correctly, about five hours into climbing, more than halfway to the summit, we finally reached a main check point on the path. The steep incline suddenly transformed into a plateau, where small shops and restaurants offered shelter from the sudden drop in temperature—the plateau overlooked canyons on every side with the mountains rising in the distance all around us, which exposed the plateau to the elements. A light snow fell, and Kelli and I threw all our layers back on. I even had to put on gloves to keep my fingers from freezing.

In the center of the plateau was a stone arch. A group of Chinese women asked to have their picture taken with us under it, and we agreed as long as we got a picture, too.

As we were tired and cold, we considered taking the cable car the rest of the way to the summit. We watched as the cable car rose higher and higher and drifted into the fog; it would be cold, but the view would be worth it. However, by the time we reached the cable car station, it was pouring rain. In seconds, we were drenched to the bone in freezing water and wading through rivers ankle deep until our shoes were filled with water.

We took shelter in a noodle shop, where we ordered la mein (noodles in broth) and waited for the rain to clear. The noodles were grainy and not very tasty, but it was enough to bring up my blood sugar and to warm my insides.

As we watched the rain dump from the sky and rush down the road like a miniature monsoon, Kelli and I reluctantly accepted our fate: the weather wouldn’t be clearing up anytime soon, and even if it did the stairs would be slick and far too dangerous to climb. Dry, the stairs were slippery enough to bring you to your knees; wet, they’re a useful suicide tactic. Plus, we were told that the last part was the steepest. We had maybe 2,000 stairs to go (of 6,660). In the beginning, we didn’t want to go home and tell everyone we had given up due to pansy-ness, but we were able to accept defeat when it meant life or death (or at least a few broken bones, bruises, etc.).

It was actually fortunate that we had decided to stop and check out a few of the shops before continuing up the last 2,000 stairs, because if we hadn’t, we would have gotten stuck climbing the slick stairs in a miniature monsoon. (Bu xiexie—no thank you.) Also fortunate was that there was a bus station at this checkpoint: climbers could choose to take a bus from the bottom to this check point and then climb to the top or they could climb to the checkpoint and take a bus down if they didn’t want to continue to the top.

Kelli and I purchased brightly-colored home-made Chinese bags as our souvenirs and then purchased bus tickets. The ride down was windy and smelled of wet, sweaty people, but it was nice to sit down and rest.

Once we arrived at our hostel, I took a hot shower, changed into my pajamas, climbed into bed, and passed out until dinnertime. For dinner, we ate at the little noodle shop from the day before. The sweet couple recognized us and warmly welcomed us in. As always, the food was spectacular and exactly what I needed after a long and somewhat disappointing day. Alongside our usual dishes, we were given a bowl of off-white watery stuff, which tasted like dishwater. We thought maybe it was to wash our chopsticks. Through body language, we were told it was soup. Needless to say, I couldn’t finish it.

After dinner, we relaxed in the hostel. It was nice to be lazy and cozy and out of the cold.

I missed my students. In the beginning of the semester, weekends were always anticipated; it was a relief to get away from the stress of school and dealing with head-strong students. However, nearing the end of the semester, I miss my students all the time and wish I had more time with them.

I’m kind of nervous to go home, actually. I’m not sure what to expect with my living situation, school, friends, work, etc. I’m excited to find out whether I’ll be a Head Teacher next autumn. If I am, I wouldn’t mind coming back to China, though I’d request southern China. I love the culture, the architecture, the history, and the people. I’d take Mandarin classes in the summer to prepare for it. I think any of the countries with ILP schools would be amazing, but I wouldn’t mind if I was assigned back to China. I’m going to miss Zhong Guo.


November 29:


For breakfast, we ate at the egg-drop soup place. It was yummy, as usual.

It rained all day today. Since our train back to Jinan didn’t leave until early afternoon, we decided to brave the wet and wander downtown Tai’an. We explored a nice, five-story bookstore and glitzy, girly stores.

When it was time to head to the train station, we collected our bags from the hostel, checked out, and asked for directions to the train station. The hostel staff told us how to get to the bus station and to take the 7 bus. Once we caught this bus, we realized that we never asked nor were we told at what station to get off. Several stops down, the bus driver announced something that sounded like station, so we hopped off.

I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder to keep it from getting soaked in the river of rainwater that filled our shoes, and pulled out my map of Tai’an to show to someone who could direct us to the train station. He pointed us in the right direction and we sloshed through the river until we came to a bridge, where we asked someone else for the directions to the train station. They confirmed that we were on the right path.

After walking about a kilometer more, we asked a woman for directions, just to make sure we were still on the right track, and she told us to go back the way we had come. This news was shocking and disappointing. As far as we could remember, there was no turn off street from where we got off the bus to where we were then. We back tracked until we found a small alleyway and decided to chance it. The water was up to our ankles now and it rushed down the stairs like mini Niagara Falls.

Needless to say, we were quite miserable.

Much to our luck, the alleyway led us straight to the train station. We hurried in and found our gate.

On the train, I sat squished between Kelli and some random Chinese man with bad personal hygiene. We sat facing another row of people, which just added to the awkwardness of the situation. Chinese usually stare at foreigners; imagine having the same people stare at you for a solid hour. It was fantastic!

When we arrived in Jinan, it was sleeting/snowing/raining. There was a huge line waiting for taxis, and so we were forced to stand out by the side of the road in the freezing cold for a good twenty-thirty minutes. The biggest difference between standing out in the cold in Jinan and sloshing through freezing rivers in Tai’an was our attitudes: in Tai’an, for whatever reason, we were miserable and found it nigh impossible to find humor in anything. In Jinan, we must have just subconsciously accepted our fate and recognized our luck as absurd and decided to make the best of the situation. In a way, we were just slap happy from exhaustion.

In short, we started singing songs to help us forget the cold. It was either that or cry, and we preferred belting out Justin Bieber to a crowd of curious yet aghast Chinese. It was great. I wanted to sing I’m a Child of God, but Kelli didn’t think that would be appropriate.

In the line, we passed two African-Americans. We noticed them first when one of them said, “This is ridiculous!” Kelli replied, “Yeah, it is!” I immediately thought, “The back of yo’ head is re-dic-a-lus!” but didn’t voice it.

The ladies were from Georgia and were very nice. It was fun to chat with them for a moment until the line moved on.

Finally, we caught a taxi and showed him Judy’s address. Judy had invited us back to her place when we returned to Jinan, and now we were especially grateful for her hospitality. If we hadn’t known her, we’d surely be screwed—our train back to Weihai wouldn’t leave until 12AM and it was 3PM.

Our taxi driver was crazy: even with inches of snow on the ground, he still didn’t slow down. We silently prayed that we wouldn’t die. Thanks be to Shan Ti (sorry, I just had to), we finally reached the Hanlin Hotel and Judy’s suite. She welcomed us in with open arms and directed us to take off our wet clothes and change into dry things. She even gave me a pair of slippers to wear.

Unfortunately, the rain soaked through my bag and waterlogged my camera. I hoped that if I set it out to dry long enough that it would still work. (It does.)

Kelli and I helped ourselves to yet more turkey dinner leftovers while Judy taught English to Lucky, a little Chinese girl, and her father, Clay. It was interesting to see how Judy taught English, compared to my training as an ILP teacher.

Before long, Judy’s adult daughter, Taralee, came home from work with her Chinese friends Yang and Joy. We had a lot of fun drinking hot chocolate and chatting. Yang and Joy spoke English quite fluently. Taralee was a real hoot and a fire cracker. I adored her.

When it was time to leave to catch our train home, Kelli and I expressed our gratitude to them for taking us in. Seriously, without them we probably would have frozen to death. They are such sweet people!

Since it was 11:30PM, we were concerned whether we would be able to catch a taxi, since few were still running. However, as soon as we stepped out to the curb, a taxi turned the corner. For some reason, our fortune had changed and blessings were being poured out upon us—plus, this taxi driver actually drove with caution!

We found our gate with ease (another blessing), with time to spare, nonetheless. We were afraid we’d be late. We sat on smelly old bags of whatever as we waited for the train. I was quickly fading—it had been a very long day, to say the least.

On the train, we discovered that we had the bottom bunks, which was nice because we wouldn’t have to risk breaking our necks like we had on the train from Weihai to Jinan when we had the top bunks. I took off my wet shoes, changed into dry sweat pants, and collapsed in my bed.



November 30:


I set my alarm to wake me up at 7AM so that I could watch the countryside. I wanted to see more rural China. This countryside was not was I expected, though I should have known better. I expected to see lush, green rice patties and crazy looking mountains and old temples hidden away in a thicket of trees, but, of course, those types of things are only to be found in southern China.

Northern China is dry and quite brown. There are beautiful terraced gardens and orchards; most of the countryside, at least that I saw, was reminiscent of the Midwest United States: wheat and corn and other such fields. After watching it for about a half hour, I grew bored with the monotony of it all and went back to sleep.

I awoke next when we arrived in the Weihai train station. It was snowing lightly and the chilly sea breeze was especially icy. We caught a taxi and before long we arrived at Da Guanghua. Since Robin had offered to cover my class that day, I didn’t have to teach. I took a nap and cleaned and prepared to get back to work the next day.

Overall, my vacation was enjoyable, though if definitely wasn’t a relaxing holiday! I saw some incredible things and went to some unbelievably amazing places, but it’s good to be “home.”



****


And now my account of my experience in China is officially done! Thank you all for reading them and supporting me. You're awesome!


Sincerely,

Jillian

I'm an ILP Head Teacher!

Ni hao, everyone! I hope all is well with you and that the new year is treating you right. For the most part, I've adjusted to living in America, but every day I miss China and especially my dear students. I wish I could see them again!

Well, recently I heard some fantastic news: I have been accepted as a Head Teacher for International Language Programs for the Fall 2012 Semester! My director/boss, Casey Glade, has put me into the Russia/Ukraine pool; I won't know where I have been assigned exactly until sometime in May. However, I do know that I will be going abroad again next autumn and I'm super stoked about that! If I get assigned to Ukraine, I will be in charge of two schools in Kiev. If I get assigned to Russia, I will be over a school in either Moscow, St. Petersburg, or Voronezh.

As a Head Teacher, I will be in charge of the volunteer teachers (what I was last semester, a first timer), which includes training, advising, etc.; act as an ambassador between the ILP program and the host school; write evaluations of the teachers, the students, the school, etc. and do lots of paperwork and other fun stuff.

I can't wait! I absolutely love traveling and I'm excited for a brand new experience. Of course, I will inform y'all when I hear more news and details.