Ah…Changsha! Moving to China
Well, after three months of sheer frustration and TV binge-watching, I’ve finally arrived in China – Changsha to be precise. For those of you who don’t know, I shall be teaching English to nursery kids, or kindergarten as it’s called here. More often than not, my attempts at speaking English, despite having a degree in English literature, are often abysmal. No doubt, this will result in a class of 5-6 year old children that can’t properly pronounce the words power, shower or hour (in true Northern Irish style) as well as countless others. Those who know me will no doubt know, that there is no way this could possibly go wrong…
At the time of writing this, I’ve been in China about three days and despite being armed with the written account of Karl Pilkington’s, An Idiot Abroad, my attempts to prove that I’m not quite as moronic as Karl himself, have already began to fail miserably. But more on that later.
My first impressions of China were actually quite good. Despite a gruelling number of flights to China that ended up taking nearly thirty hours, when I arrived in Changsha, I was absolutley spackered. However, I was impressed with the infrastructure and the city’s modernity, all the same. By the time we reached the inner city, however, I found myself wishing that I’d used the bathroom back in the airport, as the combination of traffic and driving can only be compared to something like a scene from Zulu. Not to mention that there was also a three car incident parked along the main road. I’ve since been told that taxi drivers are the worst of the lot, so I’ll probably be pre-emptively investing in a pack of adult nappies for whenever I first need to use a local service.
That’s another thing I should say. If you’re reading this blog, expecting to hear a detailed account of China’s life, economy and infrastructure, you may as well stop reading now. I’m simply a carb-loving, normal Northern Irish bloke who will be doing his best to stumble through Chinese life for a year and avoid becoming the latest barbeque snack at the market.
After almost relieving myself in the back of the car, I was then taken to my apartment for the next year which is quite similar to the sort you get when you rent a holiday home in Europe. In essence – it’s not too shabby. All was going well until I was shown the bathroom, only to be presented with – what I’m calling – the hole of doom. I knew these were commonplace in China, but I wrongly assumed I’d be getting a western toilet, making me wish, like Karl, that I’d also packed a Pilko Potty Chair. However, despite having a thin mattress which is harder than Gandhi’s feet, I went straight to sleep after my long day.
I spent most of yesterday doing what my Nanna used to call the ‘messages’, getting the likes of a sim card and other bits and bobs. Needless to say, I got leered at everywhere I went, but I’m yet to work out whether I’m drop-dead gorgeous or, in fact, an utter grizzly freak. One kid in the kindergarten actually cried at the sight of my beard, so I fear it may be the latter. This became even more embarrassing when I went out for lunch, as my boss watched me fail miserably with my first attempt at noodle soup and using plastic chopsticks. All of this occurred whilst simultaneously spattering both, myself and her in what I think was chicken stock. It wasn’t until I had to be specially given wooden chopsticks that I actually managed to look somewhat respectable and the family in the corner of the restaurant eventually got bored and went back to their food. I decided it was best not to venture out again that day in fear of more humiliation, so, ashamedly, I went home with a strawberry donut and an horrific bacon sandwich to eat in the safety of my own home, later that night.
The similarities with Pilkington have sadly continued today as I ventured out by myself, for the first time. Hoping to find something nice for breakfast, I walked around the local shopping complex, but all I could seem to find was what looked like battered faeces. Unwilling to linger too long in one place because of the excessive leering, I eventually did something which I wouldn’t even do in the UK – I visited a Starbucks. Thankfully the menu had English in it, so I ordered my green tea, chocolate muffin and underheated quiche; the barista wished me a happy birthday -wasn’t even my birthday – and I made multiple trips to my table with my shameful purchases. For those wondering, the food I had yesterday was lovely, I just don’t know how to order anything, plus, there’s always the overriding fear that I may accidentally order a platter of lamb bollocks and a rabbit head.
As I write this, I’m currently watching the Chinese version of The Voice, as a 60-a-day, suspiciously foreign looking man struggles to sing, unable to change the channel and still desperately hungry.
Until next time…
x
Update: Five years on from publishing this article, I’m both relieved and disappointed as to how things have turned out. Whilst my period of ‘being’ Karl Pilkington lasted, arguably, until I left China, it’s crazy to see how little expectations I had of myself then, compared to now. What I see is someone writing without care and, sometimes, respect for the culture that he’s living in. Was I ever likely to become the ‘latest barbecue snack at the market?’ Obviously not. It does show, though, how little I knew about the environment I was moving to, at the time and without the good people I was lucky to meet there, how much trouble I could’ve been in.
Whilst I do feel a degree of embarrassment about my thoughts, at the time, I also feel a degree of envy. When you first move abroad – especially to somewhere like China – everything is insane. It’s such an adventure and every aspect of life feels so unusual and novel that it does fill you with excitement. The metropolitan area where I lived contained over 7 million people, so it was by no means a small town. However, everywhere I went, people would stare. It’s hard to put into words what that feels like but at first you do feel quite like a celebrity and it’s both flattering and hugely embarrassing. Without any grasp of the language, it did make it difficult to find places to eat as you would attract groups of eyes studying your every action, waiting for confirmation that you’d either try to order a hamburger or not be able to speak Chinese.
Reading what I wrote over five years ago, I sometimes yearn for that younger creative guy that was excited by everything the world had to offer – when moving to China felt like moving to the opposite end of the earth. Nowadays, I feel like I could move anywhere – bar maybe North Korea – and take it in my stride which is good, in a way, but also lacks that little bit of previous magic. In comparison to China, there are very few downsides to living in Japan but, whilst on the outside Japan can seem open and creative, the reality can be much different. Senpai culture – where seniority and age take precedent- stifles creativity and prevents younger innovators from truly expressing themselves. I’m not immune from that and reading my words of the past I realised I need to do more to be more creative and step out of my comfort zone. Next stop: North Korea.