I have a headache the size of China…

I swim through humid smog while dodging garbage, vendors, café furniture, amateur construction and “backyard” motorcycle maintenance along the Chaoyang District sidewalk. This is very unfamiliar territory.

In this adventure, walking from my room at the B&B Inn to the Beijing University of International Business and Economics, a new smell affronts my senses every fifteen feet; sesame oil, sewage, burning charcoal, B.O., concrete dust, vinegar, sizzling beef, cigarette smoke and those one or two unidentifiable scents. The air is close and unavoidably communal. The intense heat catalyzes this soupy gas into a thick aerosol lunch that my body, not so much inhales and exhales, but sucks and spews.

‘A parallel mosaic of human behavior. Everything appears out of control and yet, curiously entertaining: lanky, attractive women friends with parasols holding each others’ hands (but only as friends…); old ladies bouncing their pantless toddler grandchildren on their knees; half-shirted grown men sitting on the ground, drying their sweat soaked bellies, loudly clearing their throats and spitting into the gutter; couples selling peaches, grapes and watermelon halves from parked trailers; militias of punk enthusiast teens modeling unique variations of the Mohawk and wearing cliché print t-shirts of American nonsense; the ubiquitous motor scooter – weapon of choice for transporting everyone and everything from helmetless infants to forty cubic feet of reclaimed plastic. Certainly, no one appears to be afraid, lonely, bored or embarrassed.

I have to cross the street now, dammit. The road is a rapid, chaotic stream of carelessly swerving motorists. Crossing it seems a cynical game of chance. Are there traffic laws? The only consistent, non-hazardous driving maneuver is honking.

In China, honking seems to translate into myriad positive and negative meanings: “Get out of my way!” “I’m passing you so, watch out!” “I don’t like the way you’re driving!” “Thanks for letting me pass.” “Oh yeah? Well, I can honk just as loud as you can!” “Hey, I’m an empty cab! Do you need a ride?” “Hey, my cab is full. Find another.” “Move now, or I’ll run you down!” No wonder, when I arrive on the University campus, do I see signs depicting a trumpet with a red line through it meaning - honk free zone. “Everybody shut up! Please!”

Oh yeah. Did I mention that I have a persistent headache? I’ve been trying to diagnose it for the last two weeks. Possible causes include: diarrhea, jet lag, sleeplessness, hot/humid weather, pollution, aggressive air-conditioning, learning Chinese, singing Chinese opera, eating Chinese food, negotiating prices at the Chinese silk market, understanding Chinese waitresses… Why is China giving me a headache?

Perhaps it’s just the language. In every foreign country I’ve visited, I’ve been able to speak enough to get by. In France, I speak French. In Germany, I speak German; in Italy, Italian; ‘Austria, Austrian and in the UK, pretentious. But here in China, the language is covered in metaphorical barbed wire. It’s practically inaccessible from the outset.

At the beginning, one must start with small steps to understand the system of tones and the Pinyin (Roman-icized) alphabet. I call it the “fisher-price” version of Chinese made for foreigners to actually start talking. And one must be careful to say the correct tone because the meaning changes with the change in tone or relative inflection of the voice (high, ascending, low, descending or neutral). ‘Case in point, shì, shí and shiˇ, although spelled the same, but with that magical change in tone, respectively mean, “to be,” “ten” and “sh-t.” ‘Watch-out, kids!

Besides the inflection issues, the actual execution of the language seems unnatural to our Western mouths. In all the languages I speak, there is a nice, leisurely legato to the phrase. By contrast, Chinese is an athletic series of quick jabs, punches and slaps. Indeed, during the first week, I was saying to the other Americans that, “…speaking Chinese is like doing Kung Fu with your mouth.”

To understand word order and meaning, assembling comprehensible phrases seems a burden because, not only does it all sound like gibberish coming out of my mouth, there are no cognates; nothing resembling any Latin or Germanic based language whatsoever. Entire phrases have to be learned by wrote and a lot depends on context because most words, even with the same tone, mean different things, (‘rì’ for example, can mean ‘day’ or ‘f-ck.’ Be sure to listen carefully).

‘Never mind the most impossible step; that one must also understand the hieroglyphic-derived characters upon which these pronunciations are based in order to even read or write anything. “Wo de hanzi bù hao!”

Despite it all, my greatest frustration thus far with Chinese is the actual nature of the grammar. It’s a primeval language. There are no auxiliary verbs. To say, “I am hungry,” one says, “Wo è,” (ironically pronounced, ‘woe ugh,’ and literally translated as, ‘I hungry’). One can’t help feeling like a Neanderthal when asking a friend how he’s doing, “Ni shenti hao ma?” (Literally, ‘you health good?’).

At the very least, I now possess the gift of empathy when I recall my impressions of Chinese friends in America, threading their native grammar through the English tongue to say things like, “You no like I drive car?” or “You wife very pretty!”

Alright. China isn’t all that bad. I make it sound like it’s awful. I’m actually having a good time. The food is fine, and when it isn’t, there are many different kinds to choose from. The people are warm and accommodating. Everything is very affordable. I feel lucky to be here.

Having lived in and visited most of Western Europe and North America, I recognize that I must have a lot of prejudice on my first journey to Asia. Knowing that in the past, I have had to suspend preconceived notions of foreign cultures in order to operate in those countries and even assimilate (albeit blissfully), I am willing to, again, reserve all those potentially harmful judgments, both of the people and of the language. This is a continual process.

Having said this then, there is a lot here that foreigners need to wake up and recognize. Chinese are assimilating to a global community faster than we realize.
For example, I think most Americans would be stunned to understand that in order for Chinese students to receive admission to University, they must first pass an English proficiency exam.

I’m also surprised by work ethic. The same employees at the local restaurant serve breakfast, lunch and dinner. Do they sleep there too? Amazing!

People here do more with less. A block down the street I saw a man who, two days ago, bought the raw materials to make his own metal front door, which he did, using basic tools. In America, we would have just gone out and bought a door. Or, bought it on the internet and hired someone else to attach it to the house.

After having passed the halfway point of my time here, I feel like Beijing is not the China I expected. Beijing is a global community; a “world clique” where everyone comes to learn Chinese and about each other (and maybe pick up a custom made suit). To be honest, I truly feel like making Chinese a life-long pursuit; certainly beyond the boundaries of this summer program’s obligations. I’m encouraged by the challenges it presents.

We all want to learn Chinese. When we pass another Caucasian on the street, there’s sort of an unsaid deterrence; as if to say, “Don’t start introducing yourself and telling me how much you miss your home in Oklahoma. I’m trying to assimilate here…!”

Back to my condition, while I could perhaps believe that my headaches are the result of something medical or environmental, I instead choose to think that my brain, through this Chinese experience, is expanding and that new neural pathways, though painful, are bridging the hemispheres (metaphor intended).