Walk This Way: A Day in Qingtian

I wake up early, before it gets too hot. The heat is oppressive after 9am, even in the second half of September, something about Eastern China I was completely unprepared for. If I make the walk to school too late, it's waterworks, baby. Usually I keep an extra shirt in the office; no matter how hard I will myself not to sweat it's a futile wish.

Breakfast is sometimes in the school canteen, sometimes something quick in my kitchen. I throw on a pot of coffee after I shower, both as a way to hold close a routine from home and partly because I haven’t broken my addiction. The smell fills my two-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor. While I stand at the sink, eating eggs scrambled with leftover fried rice, I gaze out at the construction site behind my apartment.

Construction is happening all over Qingtian, a sign of growing wealth at home and money being sent in from abroad. More than half the people in the county live overseas, primarily in Europe. There's wine and import stores all over the city as a result, which surprised me immensely. Maybe nothing better exemplifies life in Qingtian than the old traditional style homes backed on one side by cranes and flanked on the other by the newly built city stadium.

Qingtian stadium in the background.

As I step out into the hallway, the heat hits. It engulfs me – and nobody else?? – no matter how early it is. But as I leave my building, I have the privilege of seeing the mountains that surround the city, creating a bowl that has me feeling like a cooked noodle down below. Typically shrouded in clouds from early morn, the view makes it all worthwhile. The mountains look even better from my window, where I watch the layers of darkening shades of blue far into the horizon. From my room, too, I can see the high school across the street: stately, brick, green. A boarding school, it’s home to nearly 2,000 high schoolers. I teach English to 640 of them.

Even in this heat, I walk everywhere. By the time I step into the air-conditioned office, I’m drenched. The teachers will talk about it in Chinese, which is totally fair. Conversation in the office is almost exclusively in Chinese; I strain to catch words I know. There aren’t too many, at this point, but as I carry on with my lessons, I tend to hear one or two now-familiar words. I fist bump myself. Everyone in the office is helpful and nice, even when I clearly have no idea what’s going on. Their teaching experience has been a godsend during my rookie season.

The kids stare as I stroll through the halls, but not maliciously. I would if I were them. I think I'm the only American here. As the semester progresses, more students greet me in the hallway or on my way to lunch instead of watching me walk. Today, I throw on my work shirt and head to class – prepared to give my soul once again to the ‘chalk gods.’ I see each class once every week, so I have no choice but to make each 40-minute period count. I see the younger grade first, making a mental note to speak slowly. They’re well behaved. I get through my lesson without any major issue. Next, the older kids. I’ve got to corral them a bit, but their English is generally better so when it’s good, it’s good. With these students, I feel more natural; I feel like a teacher.

Lunch is quick in the cafeteria. I love dumplings – every kind – and eat greedily, keeping my head down and shoveling rice into my mouth with my chopsticks. Usually, I eat alone. Occasionally, another English teacher will join me, and I’ve been making an effort to eat with more of my colleagues. I grab a cold coffee on the way back to the office to hold off a headache as I knuckle into my afternoon class. After it’s over, I work in the office for a while longer, both to review my Chinese terms and to allow students to drop in with questions. It’s nice to spend time with the other teachers, too, who often work long hours.

Outdoor court at school.

Basketball is the highlight of my day, though, outside of teaching. It gives me a chance to be myself, to pit myself against the students and get some of my energy and frustrations out. It also encourages the student players to speak English, even if in jest. When I show up, they’re all in matching school uniforms and I really stick out. They know my jump-shot is weak, giving me the space to drive to the hoop instead. I try to pass more than shoot, anyway. By the end, I have no idea what the score is, and the crowd watching has dispersed. I’m dripping sweat. It’s the best sense of community I have so far. A lot of evenings I play until it’s dark – working on my cursed jump shot – long after the students’ break is over.

After the game, though, the evenings often get lonely. I walk home, even though there’s not much to come home to but updates from back home and practicing a seemingly impossible language. I see the same dogs, farmers, and construction workers every day. I throw myself both into work (and reviewing my flashcards), glad to be making a difference here while also learning a language.

Without a university in the area, the nightlife is limited – and almost exclusively in Chinese. Sometimes, at a coffee shop or bar they'll bring me paper to write my order but more and more I can get my point across. I like to talk to the shopkeeper from whom I buy beer and snacks. Our conversations are painfully short, but they’re growing – and I’m proud every time they do. I like to think he is too.

Tonight, I order xiao long bao (小龙堡) for dinner. I write while I wait for the delivery guy. Sometimes, I cook, but not tonight; I’m too tired. Outside, the sun slides behind the school observatory and the mountains behind it, covering my quiet street in orange light. Maybe I’ll have a beer while I eat. I listen to a lot of country music at home: like the coffee, it keeps me close to the person I was. While growth is good, it’s frequently uncomfortable and challenging. Country music is easy.

My students writing in class.

For National Week, at the beginning of October, I’ll take the high-speed train one stop east to Wenzhou. My roommate from orientation week in Shanghai will meet me there, coming in from Quzhou, where he teachers. It costs something unreal, like $6 to get there. It’ll be good to have a few days of hanging out and speaking English, maybe even eating cheese again! We’re getting an AirBnB in the downtown area: the man loves to go clubbing and I’m ready for some long nights. I think we both need it, especially coming from our new, smaller cities. This trip, hopefully, will tide me over till the next time we meet up. This weekend, though, I’ll take my camera out. Partly to stare back at the people here and partly to capture more of the city. It’s hard to explain a place nobody back home has heard of, let alone can pronounce. I need to plan another lesson, too.

The day isn’t over, though. The lady from upstairs knocks and barges in as soon as I open the door, speaking rapid Chinese. She’s on a mission, but doesn’t neglect to take off her shoes before coming in. We communicate (barely) about her laundry that’s fallen onto the ledge outside my laundry room. Grabbing a mop and a hanger, we inch the kid’s onesie closer, both of us holding it from a different angle. It’s perched precariously and I’m starting to sweat. She’s still speaking Chinese. I’m just praying it doesn’t fall further. Eventually, we get it close enough to grab. She thanks me and leaves. I laugh, certain that I was the last person she expected to see in the apartment below hers.

My last ‘walk’ of the day: to my room. I fall into bed shortly after preparing my backpack for tomorrow, exhausted, closing the bedroom door even though the sound of construction will wake me regardless. It’s pretty early but I can’t sleep in much anymore. I think about my lessons tomorrow; I’ll see both freshmen and sophomores.

It’ll be a long day… and I wouldn’t change a thing.

再见