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ISBN 1-59201-031-8
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
http://www.booksunbound.com
Publication September 2004
Cover Art by D. Lee
Who Moved My Rice?
Michael LaRocca
Copyright 2003
All Rights Reserved
In the past, dedications have been easy, as each book was written for or about
or because of a certain person. That isn't true in this case. I just felt like
writing this one.
But it occurs to me that I've never dedicated a book to Daddy, so this one's
for Big Jim. Even when we weren't together, you were always there.
Prologue
My cat is from Hong Kong.
My wife is from Melbourne,
Australia.
Before I moved to Asia, I lived
in a place called Watha, North Carolina, USA. Population 98.
How, you may wonder, did this
old redneck wind up teaching English in Hangzhou, China?
Or maybe you just wonder why we
brought a cat with us. Everyone in Hangzhou wonders the same thing, as do fans
all over the world. Fans of the cat, that is. She was featured in the SPCA's
A-Cat-A-Day Calendar for 2002 (she got three days), and friends in Hong Kong
have shipped her Japanese cat food.
I spent thirteen years in North
Carolina, all up and down the east coast. Then thirteen years in Tampa Florida.
Then 10 years in Watha.
I had a great job. I owned a
beautiful house that Daddy and I built. We drew up the plans over the kitchen
table as we emptied a case of beer.
I had the love of two beautiful
ladies. One was a mostly-black Border collie mix and the other was a black
half-dachshund/half-Doberman. (That's not a typo.)
So you may wonder how I wound
up selling my house, giving away my dogs, flying halfway around the world, and
quitting my job via email.
(Years before that, we had an
employee quit by fax. I joked then that I'd be the first to quit by email. When
I said it, I was only joking. Really.)
It started with a holiday. My
first in over twenty years. It was a one-month holiday in Hong Kong. (China
with English subtitles, I thought. Wrong!) There, I met a lovely Australian
lady who was teaching English. We fell in love and I never left. Instead, I
married her.
The hardest thing about leaving
the US was giving up those dogs. I love dogs. More importantly, I love
those
dogs. But I gave them to Daddy. He gave them to a buddy who has a three-acre
spread with many cows. The border collie, Daisy, was born to herd cows, and she
taught her trusty sidekick, Bebe the Wonder Weiner, how to do the same.
Okay, you're wondering how I
could mention giving up my dogs ahead of leaving my family. My brother killed
himself when I was 22. Mom died of a burst aneurysm when I was 26. Both these
events happened on Mom's birthday. Part of moving back to North Carolina and
building that house with Daddy was getting to know him again. He's my family
now, and I gave him my dogs.
I spent a little over two years
in Hong Kong. While my wife worked her butt off as a teacher in a system that
could stand an overhaul, I stayed home and turned myself into an author. A
childhood dream. I couldn't legally work in Hong Kong at the time, so I used
the Internet to work in America.
I wound up publishing four
books. My least favorite of the bunch was an award finalist. My favorite sold
less than 50 copies. Go figure.
I became an editor for several
North American publishers. I became a book reviewer and a judge for the Dream
Realm Awards. I briefly became a reporter and editor for an English-language
educational magazine in Hong Kong.
Then, finally, my wife and I
decided we'd had enough of the Hong Kong rat race and moved to Hangzhou. Now
we're both teachers. I still edit for some US publishers in my spare time.
Sometimes I telecommute back to Hong Kong as a legal transcriptionist. My
wife's been teaching all her post-university life. I'm learning from her by
osmosis, or something.
I'd always wanted to be a
teacher when I grew up. I can't say that I've grown up yet, but at the ripe old
age of 40 I'm a teacher.
When I was an elementary school
student, there was such a thing as a scholastic scholarship. Fine by me. My
grades were quite good. But by the time I finished high school, the only
scholarships available were based on financial need.
There were four of us in the
household, and three of us had full-time minimum-wage jobs. Yes, I was one of
the three. Meaning, we were too poor to afford university but too rich to get
financial aid. So, I went to a tech school instead and picked up an A.S. Degree
in Electronics Technology. I used it six years later, at a wonderful job that
lasted about a year and a half. I haven't used it since.
So, to make a long story short,
this old boy isn't qualified to teach in the US. But in China, since I speak
English as my native language, I can teach it. And I do.
Which is more boring? Teachers
talking about teaching to non-teachers, writers talking about writing to
non-writers, or Al Gore in Speedos? I don't know, but rest assured you will see
none of those here.
Okay, I wrote two paragraphs
about writing, so now I'll write two about teaching. None about Kim Beasley in
Speedos.
I have taught Oral English, a
veritable trial by fire. No papers to correct, but lots of preparation and lots
of classroom resistance. "We are Chinese. We do not speak in class." I overcame
their shyness, and mine, and am glad I no longer teach that subject. Advanced
Audio-Visual, which involved selecting movies my students would like and which
I could watch six consecutive times without getting bored out of my skull, then
showing the DVDs and discussing them afterwards. And the grand prize, Advanced
English Writing for 18 months and counting. Lots of papers to correct
there--154 a week for 16 or perhaps even 32 weeks--but I still love it.
My students have finished
secondary school, what people in the US would call high school. They're
attending the Zhejiang University of Science and Technology. And they're stuck
with me. A crazy old redneck out of small town North Carolina. The Deep South.
There are a number of excellent
books about the China. Authors such as Nien Cheng, Peter Hessler, Bill Holm,
Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, and Xinran come to mind. They are
observant, knowledgeable, literate, and analytical. They bring understanding
and intelligence to a difficult subject.
I don't.
According to reporter Jimmy
Breslin, who interviewed the gravedigger on the night John F. Kennedy died,
"The bigger the story, the smaller your focus." China is a subject too big for
this ole boy to focus on, so I'm not even trying. I'm writing about hot beef
noodles, cold beer, cats, veterinarians, loud noises, and learning to mime
because my spoken Chinese is downright pathetic.
It's possible that you'll come
away from this mosaic having a feel of what our lives are like here, and how
much this country has changed me. I don't promise it. I'd be happy if you
laughed once every few pages, even if you're only faking it.
This mosaic may also strike you
as a bit chaotic. To me, Hangzhou is like that. Heck, I'm like that. Again, I
don't promise you that this book is 100% accurate. It's just what I saw, what I
felt, what I thought.
My wife and I are having lots
of fun. This is our story. Mostly, it's my story. Many of these articles
originally appeared in my free newsletter, Mad About Books, which evolved from
a monthly to a weekly. In reading them again, I have to laugh at how naïve
I was when I first arrived here.
And, don't forget, this story
involves a cat. A very special Calico cat. She sits on my shoulder to watch me
pee. Her name is Picasso. She's a work of art. To know her is to love her.
So kick back, grab a coffee or
a beer, and enjoy. I know I have.
Michael LaRocca
August 9, 2003
Chapter One
First Impressions of Hangzhou
February 6, 2002
The short version can be stated
in four words: I love it here!
Some of you may have read what
I wrote about our Guilin honeymoon in a previous book. Many of those things
that I loved so much about Guilin were immediately evident in my new home. Some
I'd forgotten.
Beautiful scenery, no
skyscrapers, and so much quieter than Hong Kong. Nicer people, and I don't
really mean to insult Hong Kong with that statement. But folks in Hong Kong
tend to be close to their families, obsessed with doing their jobs and
accumulating wealth, and willfully ignorant of anything else about their
surroundings. Hangzhou is different. Same thing I noticed in Guilin. Here,
people like talking to other people.
A common vehicle in Guilin is
the Volkswagen Santana. They're also common here, and now I know why. They're
the result of the first successful joint venture between Shanghai and the
Germans. Every taxi (and every police car) I've seen here is a Volkswagen
Santana. I love that name, even though it probably has nothing to do with the
musician.
Here we also have the bicycles
that have been converted via chain or belt drive into three-wheelers and
covered with sheet metal to act as mini-trucks. Some have seats back there.
They're called pedicabs. And there are also the motorcycles that have been
likewise converted, the motorized pedicabs.
The bicycles. Remember that
little rack across the back fender for carrying things? People sit on them
sideways here. Folks with kids strap chairs back there, and the tiniest little
dudes can hang on without any trouble. I've seen a new modification. Now those
chairs are covered in case of bad weather, usually with flashy plastic things
that have cartoon characters on them.
Another new thing to me.
Bicycle lanes. In Guilin, I saw all kinds of vehicles sharing the road in
harmony. Here, if you stand in front of a building, you see the sidewalk.
Beyond that, the bicycle lane. Beyond that, a barrier. Beyond that, the road.
Beyond that, another barrier, another bicycle lane, another sidewalk, and then
more buildings.
Another new thing here is the
buses running via wires strung up high like cable car wires. Talk about
innovation in environmentalism.
I love our flat. Standing in
the sunroom, looking out the window and just watching traffic. Folks can ride
their bicycles side by side and carry on a conversation. Plus, the flat's much
roomier than what I'd gotten used to in Hong Kong. The tallest buildings I've
seen are about six stories, not the glass and steel monstrosity that is Hong
Kong.
You know how some places
preserve the old buildings in a historic district, and elsewhere they just tear
down everything and build new skyscrapers? I prefer the Hangzhou approach. If
the old building works, leave it. If you need a new one, pop it in. So I can
see old concrete and new glass-steel side by side.
It took me at least five
minutes to realize we were driving on the right side of the road. Just like
back home in the US. Opposite from Hong Kong. Not that it's really a big deal.
I haven't driven in over two years anyway.
Hangzhou, incidentally, has six
million people. Three million in the city, three million in the suburbs. That's
a long way from where I lived before traveling to Asia. Watha, North Carolina,
population 98.
Back in Guilin, my tour guide
told me it was a very small city. Only 200,000 people. Very small. I whipped
out Watha's population and watched his eyes bug out. I will do that to someone
in Hangzhou.
Our plane landed, and we hauled
out the luggage, in the ridiculously large weight of 90 kg. About 200 lb, I
think. I want to kiss the man who thought of putting wheels on suitcases.
We were met by our future
employer, "Harry" Huang Haijun. Our Foreign Affairs Officer. The man most
responsible for determining whether our lives in China would be heaven or hell.
I didn't know it when I arrived, but he may be the best there is. He genuinely
cares about people. His name is known by many Westerners who have never taught
at this school. Most schools have less than six Westerners, and most FAOs have
at least two assistants. Harry was working with eight Westerners and no
assistant, and he still met us at the airport personally.
Harry also brought a driver.
Three bags, three men. No problem. Into the van, then through the city.
My first sight was of some
beautiful homes mixed in with much farmland. When I say beautiful, think
dollhouse. It's the best analogy I can come up with. Four stories high, not
exactly large, decorated as if there were wallpaper running along them. Many
colors, many with polka dots and such. No two alike. Laundry drying on the
bushes and trees.
Then, the suspension bridge.
Then the busy city, and finally our flat.
That's where I met my first
non-English speaker. Right at the entrance to my apartment is a locksmith's
stand. He does almost no business that I've seen, but he has a comfortable
leather chair and people come visit him all day long just to talk.
I was finally able to say "Ni
hao." I learned that phrase three years ago when a coworker went to Beijing.
But that's Mandarin, and the folks in Hong Kong speak Cantonese, so I couldn't
use it before.
When we arrived, four or five
security guards joined us to haul up the luggage. They didn't want me to help,
but I did anyway. Gotta be a redneck, you know.
One hour later, we had unpacked
all that stuff and were going out for dinner. My wife and I, another Western
couple who teaches here, and Harry. At the restaurant we met the head of the
Foreign Languages Department. That's our department, as English is a foreign
language here.
We were a great mix,
incidentally. By nature, my wife and I aren't big talkers. Neither are Harry
and his associate. But that was fine, because the other Western couples love to
take over a social gathering.
We were escorted past the
public dining area and into a private room. Total privacy to talk about the
job, the fact that four countries were represented by the six people at the
table, snow, or whatever. Yup, it may snow here. I haven't seen snow in about
25 years, back when I used to see it every year at Christmastime.
In the center of the round
table was a rotating gizmo, where the servers regularly placed different
dishes. Hangzhou is known for its country cooking. As I've written elsewhere,
my favorite Chinese food is country cooking.
I had to shake the rust off my
chopstick skills again, and then I ate many foods I can't name but which were
wonderful. I even tried the Mountain Frog, brought to the table on a steaming
plate and with a dramatic flourish. Excellent. I chose not to eat the skins,
though. Likewise on the fish.
On my third bowl of soup, when
I picked out the bird head, I simply put it to the side and ate the soup it had
been in. Yummy.
Seriously, it took me two years
of living in Hong Kong (China Lite) before I got up the courage to do what I
should've been doing all along, which is trying new things.
That's one thing I love about
living in Asia. You know how you do stuff the same way you've always done it,
just because that's how you've always done it? Nothing wrong with that, but one
should try looking at that stuff from a different point of view sometimes.
It's also great fun to look at
building after building, sidewalk stand after sidewalk stand, bustle of
activity after bustle of activity, and have absolutely no clue what any of it
is.
At one point, Harry asked his
colleague (in Chinese) where one could buy cat food. Actually, he said dog
food. His colleague misunderstood the question, and told me (in English), "Yes,
you can get dog meat at this restaurant."
Yes, our cat was definitely the
center of attention long before her arrival. The other Western couple asked us,
"Is she a special breed?" She's not, but she's still quite special.
Culturally, China's not so far
from Hong Kong. The only adjustment for me is that almost nobody speaks English
and the signs aren't bilingual. But for the other Western couple, all is new
and different.
Chinese toilets seem to be a
big deal. They're a hole in the ground that one must squat over. Also, one
always carries tissues because there is no toilet paper in them. The lady has
no kneecaps, thus she can't squat. Instead, she has to take off her pants and
aim at the hole standing. But that's only in public and on one of the campuses.
In all our flats are Western toilets. I can use either type just fine.
As for the language, Mandarin
is one I can learn. I'm picking it up slowly although I usually get the tones
wrong, I've got my phrase books, and Harry was kind enough to give us a printed
list of places we might want to go with the names in both languages so we can
point for the taxi drivers.
Many years ago, I found myself
working on an all-Mexican hog farm. As I taught my coworkers English--they were
quite eager to learn--they taught me Spanish. I've forgotten it since then,
except for the profanity. But I can see myself learning Mandarin as quickly as
I once learned Spanish, so I know I'll be fine.
The next morning, we piled into
a van along with Harry, the other Western couple, a driver, and a professor
from the IT department. We were told it was to go to a supermarket. This is
another joint venture between the Chinese and the Germans.
It's not a supermarket, folks.
It's a massive venture that makes Sam's Club back in the US look small. I kid
you not, it sells anything and everything known to man. So now, when Harry pops
off for his vacation, nobody will die of starvation while he's gone.
Before we left for that
supermarket, a lovely old lady grabbed my arm and spoke to my wife and me in
Mandarin. She pointed at our flat and at the campus. Just that fast, she knew
where we lived and where we worked. She's wonderful. I must learn her language
simply to talk to her.
Since then, I've been to
another large supermarket. Three stories. Clothes on the first floor. Then up
to the third for hardware, bedding, bathroom and more clothes. Then down to the
second for food and checkout lanes. Utter chaos. They shop like they drive.
They're loud. People with bullhorns advertising their wares. My legs are
bruised and my ears are ringing.
We were given many apologies
about the condition of the flat. No microwave or shower curtain yet, for
example, and the TV didn't have cable yet. This is because we arrived in the
middle of the Lunar New Year celebration. Many of our co-workers are on
holiday. As is everybody. But we knew that before we got here. We just wanted
to get out of Hong Kong.
Harry was obviously afraid that
we'd be left alone wandering the streets or something. But guess what? We like
it that way. That's why we're here now and not in three weeks when the job
starts. Time to play tourist! Oh yeah, and settle in and such.
The flat is larger than what we
were renting in Hong Kong. The school is providing it to us. They have
on-campus housing and off-campus housing. We chose off. Meaning, right next
door to the campus where we can watch guards marching or kids playing and such.
There is always something interesting to watch out the windows. Who needs cable
anyway?
The flat has a large bedroom, a
kitchen with dining room, a shower and laundry room, a small bathroom with
Western toilet, and an office/workroom almost as large as the bedroom. Leading
from there is an enclosed balcony with windows all around. We call it the
sunroom. Also known as the cat's room.
I saw that we had a brand new
washing machine, but no dryer. Did you ever wonder why you use an electric
dryer when air-drying works just as well?
So I looked up at the ceiling
of my sunroom and saw a metal thing on each end that looked something like an
inverted, five-pronged pitchfork. Aha! I walked around the corner and bought
some rope for 50 cents US, then tied it up there to make a clothesline.
In the corner, on the floor,
was a metal, pronged thing that I'd originally thought was a barbecue tong.
Which made no sense, as nobody would barbecue there. Not so. It's for grabbing
hangers and slapping those wet clothes up onto the line.
And that's something else I
missed when I was in Hong Kong. I'm a builder and a handyman, a totally useless
skill in Hong Kong. Now if we'd moved in here after the holiday, that line
would've been ready for us. But it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.
I'm a celebrity here, by the
way. I go out and walk for about an hour every day, partly to shop and partly
just to see the place. People regularly yell at me. "Hello!" One shoeshine man
yelled "Hello! You are very cute!" Soon after, I let him shine my boots.
Is it my hair, which is a bit
long and therefore curly? Is it my new beard, which is red? Or is it just that
I'm a Westerner, and there aren't a whole lot of us here? Probably all of that.
When my wife and I go out
together, it's a toss-up who's more worthy of stares. I've got this hair, and
I'm taller than most southern Chinese. My wife is tall and blondish, with broad
shoulders and lots of freckles. We're a traveling freak show.
I often see people riding their
bicycles without looking at where they are going because I'm more interesting
to look at. One person actually stopped and stared. And when my wife and I were
standing on the sidewalk with the other Western couple, one fellow couldn't
help but stare at us, his head at a 135-degree angle from his body. We all
waved at him.
I can't help but wonder what
would happen if Big Jim ever came to Hangzhou. That's my daddy. He's 6'4",
maybe 280 pounds, almost triangular in shape. Nobody in the world has a chest
as big as Daddy, certainly not in Hangzhou. And if they think I've got a hairy
face, they ain't seen nuthin' yet. Probably bicycles would be crashing all over
the place. Maybe even a car or two.
I've been teaching for a week.
The kids are wonderful. Okay, not kids--this is tertiary education. But I'm
gonna call them kids anyway, and I mean it in a nice way. We're still getting
to know each other, of course, so it's too soon to write about them. But I'm
loving it.
My wife, needless to say, is
doing just fine. She's teaching. That's what she does. She's been doing it for
fifteen years, I think. She spent three of those in Hong Kong, but really
that's not teaching. That's rote memorization and regurgitation for exams. Here
in Hangzhou, we teach. I'm also learning.
So it's possible I'll write
about my students next month. It's even possible that they'll all meet Picasso.
I've also seen that they have
basketball courts, and I bought a basketball. No doubt I'll join my kids for a
game and tell them that I went to school with Michael Jordan. It's the truth.
However, I guarantee you that I will not slam-dunk.
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This is a sample chapter from
Who Moved my Rice?
by
Michael LaRocca
We at
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
www.booksunbound.com
hope you will enjoy the entire book!
Author's Biography
Michael was born in North Carolina, USA. He teaches Spoken English at Shaoxing
University, Zhejiang Province, China. Five of his books were published in 2002,
including two EPPIE finalists and two Sime~Gen Readers Choice Awards for
nonfiction. This is his first foray into "China travel writing." He's proud of
the fact that he rarely writes in the same genre twice.
Michael moved to China in December 1999. He edited an English-language
educational magazine in Hong Kong, then moved to mainland China and became a
teacher. He has worked as a fiction editor for several U.S. publishers via the
Internet, and has been involved with the publication of almost 200 novels. He
also works as a legal transcriptionist for a Hong Kong firm.
You can learn about Michael and his books at
http://freereads.topcities.com
, which was listed in Writers Digest's The 101 Best Websites For Writers in
2001 and 2002. His email address is michaellarocca@yawweb.org
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