As I write this, I’m in Vancouver, Canada on a much needed 12 day vacation. We just ended a Chinese group tour of some of the national parks. It was incredibly beautiful, with spectacular views of the Rocky Mountains, culturally interesting, and stuffed full of amusing experiences with Chinese people. If you have never experienced something like this, these are some of my experiences and what you might expect.
But before I get deep into my account, let me be clear about a couple of things. Although my naturally sarcastic brain found many things to keep myself amused (some outright ridiculous, some simply culturally funny), that does not mean that I didn’t have anything less than a wonderful time.
The tour guide was an amazing man who did a great job, and said everything in both Chinese and English only for my benefit, since I was the only non-Chinese speaker there. The people were mostly very friendly and respectful, and this type of group is a hidden travel secret to visit many places without having to drive yourself, and paying less money than you would almost any other way.
Having said that disclaimer, here’s what happened:
We met at the bus at 8 AM. On vacation, one would expect to get to sleep in a little bit, but the 8 o’clock time was actually our latest of the whole trip. We got on board a standard tour bus, the kind with areas to stow your carry-ons above your seat and the little fold down foot rest. There were two more stops for others to be picked up as well.
By the time we were ready to go, the bus was full of excited and chatty Chinese people…well, except for the seats directly around the two of us. Those sat empty as a sort of buffer zone from the white guy, apparently. I wasn’t really offended. This meant more space for me.
Our collective DMZ was short lived though, because the tour guide quickly announced that we had been given assigned seats. These would change each day according to who had made him the happiest the day before (or something like that), and we would need to move to those seats after the first rest stop.
Yes, on vacation…assigned seats. I had returned to Mrs. Zimmerman’s second grade classroom. I was sure there would be homework later, but I looked forward to some dodgeball during recess.
Actually, it is sort of like your first day of school, or summer camp. You are anxious about how your teacher/tour guide will act, and you know there will be certain roles each person will play. Some people you will like, some you won’t. There will be the popular kids, the nerds, and a group of bohemian iconoclasts who do their own thing. I was in that group, naturally. I was after all, the only white guy.
To Be Continued…
Peichi’s Amma must have decided to put all of the events I mentioned in my last blog entry behind her, though, as she was very welcoming to me as we showed up for Chinese New Year. She didn’t even keep much of a watchful eye over me, as I might have expected. I cannot be sure that she hadn’t carefully noted the home’s entire inventory and each item’s place prior to my arrival.
and put your house shoes on. In Japan this is clearly marked by the presence of bamboo mats. In Taiwan, this place is marked by some sort of sixth-sensed hoo-bah, that I apparently do not posses.
A few minutes later, I went to view the kitchen and again was told that it was safe. I was very confused. I had never made it this far without using house shoes before. I did not know how to act. I shrugged and enjoyed my good fortune.
In Tainan, I met Peichi’s grandmother for the second time. “Amma” is “grandma” in Taiwanese, which is exclusively spoken in most of southern Taiwan. It is far different than Mandarin Chinese, sounding a lot like Thai would if it weren’t nasal. Short staccato sounds punctuate each word. Peichi and her immediate family of origin speak both languages fluently. I don’t. I barely speak some Mandarin, but know only a couple of Taiwanese words. I have very few occasions to speak it at all. Amma speaks no English and very little Mandarin. This means that we cannot communicate at all without someone interpreting. I often say, “Two people can always communicate if they want to badly enough.” Amma is a slightly different story. In some ways it doesn’t seem that she recognizes that I am not developmentally disabled, but just speak a different language. I’m not saying she isn’t bright. She is Peichi’s stock. She must be. She is just from a world that is much smaller than mine in some ways, and the idea of what happens so far away must be unimaginable to her.
It seems that the Information Age has been one of the most aptly named epochs in history. The popular meme may be true, that the average American accesses more information every day than was accessed by our grandparents in their entire lifetimes. But even if it isn’t, no one can deny that everywhere we turn some advertisement, announcement, print ad, or electronic message is vying for our attention. The advent of the Internet has done nothing but make matters worse. Now, instead of a couple dozen pieces of junk mail in my mailbox, I have an email box full of “cheap replica watches,” “free iPods” and unmentionable others. Unfortunately, the church is doing a worse job at communicating that most of these spammers in my inbox. Here are 10 ideas for your church to improve communication.