I apologize if I seem a bit out of it in this post. I just woke up from a nap. I’ve never been very good at taking naps, I always wake up feeling a bit groggy, and never quite recover. This is something that my fellow teachers don’t seem to understand. China is a country that believes in the siesta. At our school two and a half hours are given for lunch, with the expectation that once the students are finished eating they will return to their rooms for a mandatory nap. The school provides a bed for each teacher to use during this “rest” time. I however, do not usually indulge, in fact I haven’t ever even seen my assigned bed. Though I did only find out about it a week ago. I just find if I lie down and take an hour nap, it’s virtually impossible for me to recover afterward and be perky enough to teach more classes. It is hard for me to explain this to my co-workers, who always inquire on my absence in my bed and offer to take me to it around nap time which I always refuse. So they just think I’m crazy. Oh well, at least now you know my official feelings on naps.
About two weeks ago, as I was informed that two teachers at the school had gotten married the day before. And since I am such a closer personal friend of the couple (i.e. had never met them and am still not quite sure who they are) I was invited. Actually, I think all of the teachers in the school were invited. They don’t mess around with their receptions here. The lunch was huge, 34 courses at least. Last time I went to a wedding reception I was sitting with a table of American teachers and only one Chinese teacher. This time I was not so lucky, and it was not quite so easy to avoid the less pleasant looking dishes. Each time they brought something out the teachers (all English teachers, and therefore actually capable of voicing their peer pressure) would say “try some, just a bite.” Luckily they were momentarily not interested in me as the spicy pig intestine went around. I was not so lucky with the chicken feet. And so, I ate chicken foot. Delicious. In case the opportunity arises, to eat a chicken foot, you must simply pull one out of the dish with your chop sticks, and eat the whole thing. Bones and all. It’s really quite a sight. I escaped with only taking one bite. Mostly, it didn’t taste like anything but spicy, as it was marinated in super pepper sauce, and crunchy, due to the fact I was eating bone. It wasn’t until after I finished crunching down my chicken foot that I remember hearing once how you aren’t supposed to give dogs chicken bones due to the splintery nature of the bones. Consequently, I was convinced for the rest of the day I had a spire of chicken bone lodged in my throat and would soon likely die, similar to an unfortunate hound. Turns out, I didn’t.
I suppose it’s easy to poke fun, because it seems so strange, but one of the teachers I was sitting with had a good point. As the dishes went around, she often asked me if we had anything like it in America, and usually I told her no. She asked why we didn’t eat the blood and the feet and the intestines etc., and asked if instead we just throw it all away. I guess I don’t really see how a foot or neck or head is any different than any other part of the chicken. But we are American, and we can afford to be wasteful and only eat 100% boneless chicken breast and send the rest to the trash. This is one of the reasons in American I just don’t eat meat at all. Though, this hasn’t really been an option in China. I’d probably starve to death. So I’ll just get up on my high horse instead. So now you know my official feelings on chicken feet.
I don’t have much more exciting news. A small bite of chicken foot is the most interesting thing I’ve got to talk about apparently. Mostly, I just go to work and come home, just like I would in the states. The only difference is I generally never have any idea about what is going on around me. Nothing takes me by surprise anymore. One morning loud booming sounds filled the city, it sounded a bit like we were being bombed. One of the more excitable American teachers freaked out and called to ask what it was about. I was with a group of other American teachers at the time, and we just shrugged and said “meh”. We weren't being bombed obviously, but who knows what it was. When you never know what’s going on, it’s hard to separate out the things that are actually out of the ordinary. It would certainly be helpful if I could only ask. But unfortunately, the only question I know is: how much does it cost? Which is a bit limited. Every evening I see groups of old men with scraggly beards three hairs thick walking through the park clutching a cane in one hand and a caged bird in the other. It’s really a sight to see four old men slowly weaving through the park while holding up small wooden cages on the ends of their frail fingers. I know they aren’t selling them so what are they doing? Somehow I don’t think “how much does it cost?” is going to get me any closer to the answer. This is why I’ve been living in China for two months, and so much of it still seems a mystery to me…
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