From my Tingzijian

These days, our own lane has been getting a facelift as part of the ongoing city beautification project. This is what I picked my way through one morning last week:

Jian Guo Lane 56

When I hesitated as poles slid down, a worker waved impatiently and yelled, “Come on, foreigner!”

I had reason to be careful. Last week, another worker in a different lane motioned for me to pass on the left of a space just about as wide as my lane.  As I emerged on the main sidewalk seconds later, a whole load of boards came clattering down on the right side. Close enough that I could see the nails sticking out of them.

Yesterday I was upstairs just before my knitting group was to arrive (in the pouring rain) and the phone rang once and quit. Then did it again. The third time it started to ring, I dived for it. I figured it was the potential new member, lost in the lane in the rain. But all I got was a dial tone.

Then there was a great pounding on the outside metal gate, so I raced down the 2 long, 2 short flights of stairs to let whomever in out of the downpour. It was the water delivery guy, who acknowledged that he had been repeatedly ringing the house, and would get a busy signal after one ring.

I told Wang ayi, our housekeeper, that I thought the phone was broken and so she called Xiao Gu, our landlord’s Mr. Fixit, who came in a jiffy  They discussed the problem and Wang ayi repeated Xiao Gu’s opinion to me, as if I didn’t understand him when he said it, “He says it must be that a phone isn’t hung up right.”

“That’s not the problem,” I answer them both. “You wouldn’t hear it one time.”

Nonetheless, Wang ayi went upstairs to check. When she came down, I wasn’t surprised when I heard her report to Xiao Gu that, in fact, she had found a cordless phone in my room lying on my bed. Of course, that’s where I tossed it after the the third try when I charged down to open the gate.

But neither of them said anything to me, and instead just stood there. Did they think I didn’t understand what they were saying? “I know the phone wasn’t hung up properly, but that isn’t the problem.” I say again, and they still don’t say anything.  I want to say, “Listen, don’t be ridiculous, you know full well that you don’t have to hang up a cordless phone, you just have to turn it off. And if this was the problem, it would never ring, there would only be a busy signal. What’s wrong with you?”  I’m tempted instead to look up the word for “moron.”  But it would be too hard to think all that up in Chinese.

I simply suggest to Wang ayi that she try her mobile, and eventually gets that I mean, call our house phone on your mobile. Our phone rings once and cuts off in the middle.

“It’s broken,” says Xiao Gu.

The China Telecom repairman arrives in the middle of our meeting and drips through the house. At the end of his visit, he tells me that he has gotten the phone in my tingzijian to work, but that the other two are broken. “It’s a problem inside the house,” he says. “You’ll have to call your landlord.”

Yeah, and I’ll have to get back to work studying Chinese, too.  I just left the US and all the annoyance of waiting at home there for repairs. But one thing I miss is being able to fly off the handle  — fluently!

Yesterday I was strolling near the Ruijin Hotel just a few blocks from my house  and I wondered about this little scene enough to take a photo, albeit from a distance, embarrassed as I was. If you can, note the large cans of water on a wheeled platform, and the guys in dark suits on the ground.  They are washing out towels in the water and tossing them wet to the man up the ladder. Who then wipes off one or two of the grimy white globes on the light fixtures (it’s very dirty in Shanghai just now), tosses the towel down for a rinse-out and catches another on the way up. What’s weird is that these guys are all wearing suits, white shirts, and ties!

On my way back past the same place, I note that one of the guys even has his mobile phone out and is taking photos of the guy up the ladder, which he shows the man when he climbs down for a moment.So now I am a little less inhibited, too, and snap away with my own phone.

In a moment, the photographer turns to me with a smile and shows me his shots.“Getting ready,” he says, and I nod. “You know, our holiday.” (On October 1, China will celebrate 60 years since the foundation of the People’s Republic.)

“Yes,” I say.

“He’s Party.” He gestures up the ladder. “You know Party? Communist Party. It’s very important that Party members do this work! This is news. So I am taking photos. I am sure it’s same in your country.”

Well I’m not so sure. I can’t recall seeing any government officials up any ladders in the US lately.

And anyhow, none of the other passersby seemed impressed. So there we were: Just one Party guy using his cell phone to take pictures of another up a ladder washing light fixtures. And me, scratching my head.

So… did you miss me?

I’m back in Shanghai now after a month in North America. Changing from one home to another is a curious thing. Although it happens every time I return, I still don’t understand why I don’t remember where I keep utensils in the kitchen here, or why I am just astonished when — thank goodness — I open my mouth and Chinese (Chinese!!) comes out. I know I am glad that the person who was me when I was last here leaves copious notes, details of items left for repair that must be picked up, lists of foods to be acquired at the grocery store. Otherwise, still immersed in the US as I am, I would have zero recollection. I know this because the last time I returned to Shanghai after a month away, I visited a favorite shop and asked about an item I’d wanted to buy for my husband. You picked that up already, my shopkeeper friend told me. No recall, but sure enough, I found the thing stashed in the cabinet where I keep presents I am going to give. Maybe this is what jet lag is — the body moves, but the mind and spirit take a while to catch up. Or at least for me. I have no idea whether this happens to anyone else, but I no longer worry that I am going crazy. I know, well I’m pretty sure, that I will eventually be here in one piece.

I thought I was doing pretty well this time. I didn’t sleep at all on the plane over and made it all the way through dinner time here awake, and slept Saturday night, thanks to a little blue pill. Was on track unpacking Sunday, slept well again Sunday night, and stayed awake and accomplished a lot yesterday .

I was even feeling pretty smug about the dinner I pulled off last night– grilled tilapia with a mango/avocado/grilled onion salsa (okay, at the market, I had to look up how to say “avocado” in Mandarin, but hey) accompanied by asparagus and orange couscous. But then we got to the dessert I made — a tart filled with fresh peaches. My husband took the first bite. Oh, it’s salty! he said. He sounded surprised. So was I. It’s not supposed to be! I reached for a fork.

And then it hit me. Those three tablespoonfuls of sugar that I added from the little white sugar bowl. I ran into the kitchen. Yup, I took them from the little white salt bowl. Kept in an entirely different place. I was so annoyed with myself that I went to bed without the little blue pill. And was awake at 1:30 am for an hour, then again at 4:30 for good.

So I’m gonna take it a little easy today. And not sign any important documents for at least another week. My head still has some distance to travel. I’ll let you know when I am really back.