Just finished Deborah Fallows book, Dreaming in Chinese: Mandarin Lessons in Life, Love and Language. Fallows earned a degree in Linguistics and so approached her time living in China, naturally, from the vantage point of language. The book wasn’t stuffy or scientific, in fact it read like a combination of travel narrative and personal essay.

Fallows systematically guides the reader through her three years in China, related to her three year study of Mandarin. She offers up her own struggle with the language with real-time observations and great first-hand accounts.

As for whether or not she found herself Dreaming in Chinese (a question I had upon entering the book) she never made any mention of the fact. Its a thing when you find yourself dreaming in another language. I have spoken Mandarin many times in my dreams. However, a few night ago while in a dream, I sat at a slot machine winning mountains of quarters. Finally, when I was literally, pregnant with quarters I looked around for a cashier. I had to approach a stranger who only spoke French and instead of dzai nar I had to do something like ou est…cashier etc. I will save the reader the details of the hairy security check that followed!

All in all, if your in love with language, read this book. Its short, easy to read, and who knows you might find yourself speaking in some new tongue in the middle of night at some strange etherial casino.

It’s been a while since my last posting.  A while. Seems when you are traveling you want to share more about the sights and sounds of the moment.  I suppose because they feel so new.  Especially when you are in a country so different from your own. Excitement takes over. There really is a kind of childlikeness that you want to share with your community in a sort of “look mom” fashion.

When you’re at home.  Less of the new and more of the familiar. Which is a relief sometimes.  Or, not.

I went to Beijing, China last week.  A long way to go for just a week, however, the opportunity presented itself quickly, and I decided rather quickly.  In all my journey’s I have never seen Beijing.  If you study Chinese language like I did, there was naturally the dream of going to Beijing.  I tried to go there many years ago, but the timing was off. Guess the timing was on this time.  And so, crazily, one day, like a dream, I awoke in one of the largest cities in the world, clocking in at 22 million people.

I can say, honestly, that I have never seen a bigger city in my life. How many Salt Lake Cities would fit inside Beijing?  That would be something to measure.  The city went on and on and on.  The traffic went on and on and on.  I traveled there with a very old friend, Mark Griffith who was scouting schools and housing for his family who planned to move to Beijing in February.  I helped him scout.  And in the meantime, assimilated the city.

While there Mark and I spent a harrowing day in the police station for taking video footage of a Military Complex (it looked like condominiums I swear).  My Chinese got ten times better that day after having to explain myself a few times, pulling out all the humble terms I could muster, trying to explain exactly why we were taking pictures (to bring then back to his wife to see).  Four hours later, Mark and I were let go, after it seemed like the whole Military Industrial Complex, came to the police station to scrutinize us.

I took a full day to walk the Forbidden City.  Beautiful.  Old. It was something to veer of to the side alleys to discover the less looked at parts.  There were some interesting displays about Concubine life in the Forbidden City.  The Cypress trees back in the garden were beautiful.

I ate luscious food.  Three stints at Din Tai Feng, and their excellent dumplings.  Had, funny enough, crazy good Peking Duck.  The plum sauce, the duck, the garlic and side dishes, yum.  Mark and I ordered a very expensive mushroom that night that one could dip into a tomato beer.  Wasn’t as good as we hoped.  Very expensive mushroom.  One night we went to eat Hwo Gwo (hot pot), and another night lamb skewers and spicy tofu and green beans near some friends Hu Tong.  I did eat a couple red bean paste dumplings. I seem to have developed a taste for these that many other foreigners just don’t share.

I spoke Chinese non stop for an entire week and that was really good. Admittedly, I had lost alot of my vocabulary, but it came back slowly but surely.

Back home now.   Jet lag lingers a little.  There is always the strange thought of, was I really there?  When it comes and goes so fast, digestion comes later.  The trip was a metaphorical eating.  What sticks around and what sloughs away will remain to be seen.

If you go to Beijing just a friendly reminder from the bathroom police “Please don’t throw toilet paper down the toilet, it gets stuck in the pipes and it is a harrowing experience trying to retrieve it.”.  That was a real quote on a real bathroom stall. Harrowing. Harrowing.

When we travel, there is always a time when we say, well, its time to go home.  We don’t know how long we will be home, or what home has in store, we just know when it is time.  It is time.

Yet, tonight with a full moon over the Seine at the Pont d’Alma I feel just a tiny little bit of home right here, in Paris.  I cannot exactly claim this city.  I know so little French to really claim it.  But it does get inside you.  It is a city you can fall in love with, even knowing all its faults ( and believe me Paris does have its faults).

I will not miss the dog shit on my way to the Buzenval metro station.  I will not miss empty faces staring at me inside the metro stations.  I will not miss the grime of each days forays, how black my hands are at the end of day.  I will not miss the lines at the supermarket, the tourist masses at St. Michael, tired tired legs.

I will miss the opportunity to stare at art until my eyes pop.  I will miss the Parisienne baguette sandwich, ham and cheese with a crust that cuts up the roof of my mouth.  I will miss noisette at Cafe Varenne.  I will miss channeling the ghost of Rodin at the Hotel Biron/Musee Rodin.  I will miss the river.  I will miss the river.  I will miss the river.  I will miss the folks in the 20th on the Rue Vignoles.  I will miss adventures with Gaby on the Velib.  I will miss the accessibility of the Louvre, naps on grassy squares, the bells of Notre Dame.   I will miss Paris.

So, Paris seems to say to me in return, that indeed I will return, perhaps sooner than later.  The river, the moon, the very walls of the buildings seemed to laugh tonight, saying that once Paris is in your blood, it isn’t so easy to stay away.  That’s okay. I don’t need to stay away from you Paris, as if you are a stalking lover.  And if, I can’t boldly claim you,  I don’t mind, in the end, if you claim me.

Merci beaucoup

Salut

a bientot

Have a couple of days before I fly back to Paris.  Heather and kids have moved on to Bangkok for the next week or so.  I stayed behind to catch my flight on the 15th.  Must admit, it will be hard to leave Asia.  Feel there is so much more to do and see.  However, the Paris Literary Festival awaits, plus a few more days with Rodin as well.

On my way back from Chinatown at dusk, in the plaza outside my condo, I ran into a group of Chinese senior citizens doing the Western swing…yes, Country and Western line dancing–honky tonk in the Quay.  I sat on the sidelines to watch. 

Our seniors are very active one woman proudly told me.  Instead of Tai Chi, these folks were swingin’ to the sound of he drinks tequila and she talks dirty in Spanish.  Some of them were endearingly decked in tight jeans, red and white starred scarves, cowboy hats with feathers, and belt buckles the size of durian fruit.  When they got tired they retreated to the sidelines for jasmine tea and raisin buns, shrimp chips.  They squatted, fanned themselves and sang in sinc all about New Mexico, the land of enchantment.   

These were hip seniors!  Age no deterrent.  They were as lively as school children, as romantic as teenagers, as active as a sports team.  Some of them looked in their 80′s, shuf shuff shuffling around the floor singin’ I ‘m a pull pull pullin for you.  Watching these folks was, how do you say it other than, a delight.  They were delighted, I was delighted, they laughed, I laughed, and soon I was being offered jasmine tea, raisin buns, and a chance to learn how Chinese elders, spin honky tonk, with Asian flare.