Arrival

My departure from home was not exactly what I was expecting. Due to last minute car difficulties, my family was unable to accompany me to the airport. So, a distant friend of my father’s gave me a ride and I was forced to say a hurried goodbye to my family before I left the house. I was not alone at the airport, however. Far from it.

Three cars of some of my closest friends willingly dragged themselves out of bed and drove to another city to see me off. They must have left home no later than 4:30am, all to see me for only half an hour. Among them was Duck King who’s final speech was so fitting, I will do my best to reproduce it here. “In a standard dubstep remix, you start with a song that is familiar. Then, after a while, you have the drop, where the beat gets really intense and fairly unrecognizable. Then, afterward, you return to the familiar song again, with some elements of the drop mixed in for good measure. That is all.” I cannot express enough how much their presence, reassurance, and love meant to me. On the first leg of my flight, I could think of nothing else.

Anyone who has flown for twenty or more hours knows pains of such a travel, and mine were no different. Aside from a few weather-related delays, the journey passed without incident.

I arrived in Shanghai, walked through the wide, sterile airport, and left to meet my driver. He was holding a garish pink sign which bore my name and was texting. I wordlessly waved my hand before his face to get his attention. Together, we walked to his car.

I had been alerted that the driver would speak no English, but I asked him anyway. He responded that he did, in fact, speak zero English. (He didn’t even seem to understand the word “good” when I used it.) So the drive was spent around 30 – 40% in silence, while I carefully constructed sentences and he spoke to me slowly and with very basic vocabulary. Nonetheless, he was impressed that I knew any Chinese at all, at least enough to make conversation possible, if a bit strained. I remarked upon the reckless nature of Chinese drivers, my inability to fully comprehend the scale of Shanghai, my lamentable Mandarin, my fascination that he spoke Shanghainese, and perhaps a few other subjects.

When we arrived at the school at which I would be teaching, I felt as though I had truly arrived. Until I found a proper place to stay, I would be staying in the dormitory upstairs. Downstairs reeked of old fish from the market. The school is located on the second story of the building. I entered and met a number of locals, attempted to be charming and polite, and left my things in the shared living quarters. The next twenty-four hours were a whirlwind of activity in which I learned a few things about my new home.

Chinese bureaucracy is unfathomable. In the time it took to exchange traveler’s cheques for local currency, I could have hand painted a similar amount counterfeit bills individually. The sky is tinged somewhat gray from pollution, somewhat like a white shirt washed with dark laundry, ashen from unwanted dye. Even if they somehow manage to relieve Shanghai of this, I don’t think the sky will ever return to its former color. Toilet paper is a luxury. There are security guards standing idly at almost every corner. Also, I get stared at. A lot. It’s difficult to exaggerate just what lengths the Chinese will go to in order to stare at me. People riding bicycles twist to my direction, drivers lose focus on the road, people hit their friends and family on the shoulder and point openly. I don’t think I could garner more attention if I had blue skin and a psychotronic tail. Actually, I kind of like it. Makes me feel important. Finally, I learned that there are more attractive men in this city than I was expecting. Let’s see if I can’t snatch up at least one before my time here is done.

At night, down the street, there’s a large gathering of middle-aged and senior citizens playing music and dancing. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I walked over to them a few hours after I’d arrived and they invited me to dance with them. Feeling that my Chinese was yet too inadequate to fully immerse myself in their midsts, I declined, but dancing with them is certainly now a goal of mine. This, along with the typhoon that’s currently playing itself out outside my window, reminds me happily of home. I can honestly say that I’ve experienced not the slightest trace of either jet lag or culture shock thus far. I’m settling happily here. I think I’m really going to like Shanghai.