The #82 and the #128 . . .

Please indulge me while I get my obsession with public transportation out of my system.
The public buses in Lanzhou are ubiquitous and cost one yuan (about twelve cents) to ride. I am having a romance with the buses, to the point of annoying some friends who favor the comfort and convenience of the (likewise plentiful and cheap) taxis. Yes, I’m obsessed. Discovering a good multi-route bus stop and jotting down its location and bus numbers in my notebook makes my day. I give the buses so little, and they give back so much. I can people-watch, listen to spoken Chinese, practice mine on tolerant strangers, memorize street names, look at the urban landscape – and even, in some cases, indulge my taste for reverse snobbism.

There is a caste system on the public buses. The Brahmin buses are sleek and modern, clean and quiet, with coin boxes for correct change and card readers for savvy commuters who prepay. These buses serve the upper and middle class neighborhoods and business districts. Below those there is a whole range of mid-caste buses, even some cable cars. Then there are the Untouchable buses that serve the poor neighborhoods. They are ancient and filthy, and each one is presided over by a conductor dressed in well-worn street clothes, who performs a variety of functions, including collecting fares, making change, shouting out the details of the route when the bus stops, and sometimes hauling passengers aboard the moving bus at an obscure place that the driver deems unworthy of a complete stop. There are many of those places.

The 124 is one such bus. It is the only route that extends to our university campus; we are, in fact, the end of the line for the 124. My Chinese colleagues are always assuring me that the 124 will soon be upgraded, all the buses replaced. I grieve when I hear this, for I love the 124. There is usually a 124 bus waiting at the college gate, pointed toward town. It’s unclear to me why it waits, perhaps satisfying some precise timetable, or, more likely, hoping to attract enough passengers to justify overcoming inertia.

One day when I boarded, the engine compartment was open and a committee consisting of the driver, the conductor and some passengers were assessing the motor. They soon slammed the lid, and then most of them got off the bus and lit up cigarettes. This looked like a social occasion, but it turned out that the cigarettes were for strength and courage. The men then began to push the bus down the lane while the driver steered and tried to start the engine by popping the clutch. It took four lurching tries before the engine sputtered to life. The stalwart bus pushers had to dash along and jump on the moving bus; I honestly can’t remember whether they were charged full fare.

Another day I boarded late. The freight of passengers had nearly reached critical mass, and the only remaining seats were at the back. On the rutted road, this is a bad deal even on a bus with shock absorbers. On the 124, it’s very bad news indeed. To make matters worse, of the five seats abreast across the rear, the backrests of three had toppled onto the floor. I grabbed the remaining window seat, and a student plunked himself down beside me. We exchanged woeful grins. After a moment, the conductor came over and hoisted the backrests into place on the other three seats. He tried his best to dust them off, especially the antimacassars on the headrests. It was a comical act, since these haven’t been laundered, it appears, in the whole life of the bus. His final act of valiant housekeeping was to remove them all and turn them around. More passengers piled on, we all paid our one yuan, and the 124 bus plied its usual route.

Yet another day, I went to the gate and was disconcerted to find the bus facing the wrong direction and the driver prone underneath, wrench in hand. After a few minutes, he emerged and shrugged in response to my inquiry. He boarded the bus and soon re-appeared to sit on its step and sip from a large bottle of beer. (I have seen no small bottles of beer in China.) I adopted the demeanor of the other people standing around the bus, which can be described as patient forbearance. (I find this imitative behavior to be useful in many settings. I just wait, adopt the posture of the locals, and see what happens.) After a while, another bus materialized, made a tortured K-turn in the narrow lane blocked by the disabled bus, and took us all aboard . . . and so . . .

My students chide and gird me before I board the 124. They cinch my scarf against the cold, button my coat, and most of all try to sew all my money into my underwear to guard against pickpockets. I love the students’ protectiveness, and I also love riding among the poorest people in Lanzhou. One day a young family boarded the bus with their toddler, making fond good-byes to the leathery grandfather as they boarded. Their belongings were crammed into a bulging rice bag; they waved and called out their farewells until YeYe (Grandpa) was out of sight. The little one was plump and happy, and gladly played games with me.

I have been in Gansu a very short time – two and a half months that feels like a lifetime. It is one of the poorest provinces in China, and I know there is much I have not seen. But I am happy to report that the poorest people look optimistic, and all of the babies I see are fat.

The Lexicon of Bus Language

(Note: Taxis speak a dialect that has a specialized vocabulary and emphasis tailored to the smaller vehicle .)

"Bip...bip...bip...": (three quarter notes in a high register). "Pedestrians and bicyclists, if you hustle up and get out of my way, I promise not to run you over."

"Bleat, bleat . . ." (two half notes in a middle register). "To those of you who can’t see me yet around this blind corner/curve, I’m huge and I’m coming full speed!"

"Bleat, bleat, bleat . . ." (three half notes in the same register). "I’ve reached cruising speed, against all odds. Please don’t get in my way!"

"Blaaaghhhh!" a terrible, sustained blast. "I am now going to turn left into your path (or cut you off, or run you off the road). Do not even consider challenging my decision if you value your life."

Today the university bus knocked a woman off of her bicycle on the unpaved lane between Yan Tan and the Huang He. The driver jammed the bus out of gear and vaulted over the engine hub into the street; people piled out to see. She was OK, and we were on the way again in seconds. I marvel that anyone ever survives this journey, on or off the bus, let alone day after day. One afternoon the driver stopped, hopped out, and brought on board a ten liter gas can about two thirds full of gas. He set it on the floor behind the engine, right near my feet.* We bounced along, and the gas can bounced along. As it quickly warmed to interior temp, pressure began to build, and gas to ooze around the cap. Every now and then, the driver reached back absently and tightened the cap, which only made the pressure and the oozing worse. Bounce, bounce. Ooze, ooze. I pray quite a lot on the bus.

Every month, the university changes which of its five buses will serve each route. Is this to evenly distribute wear and tear on the buses? But all of them must traverse the unpaved kilometers to campus. Maybe it’s to keep all of the drivers familiar with all of the routes? That’s possible. My own theory is that it’s so that everyone on the faculty is familiar with the personalities and mood swings of the five drivers, and to expose all of us in a democratic way to the roulette of risk factors that their temperaments, in combination with random traffic conditions, may produce. Yes, I pray a lot on the bus!

*There are reserved seats at the front of the university bus for the foreign teachers. The antimacassar on the seat says so in Chinese. Our efforts to mingle are routinely rebuffed.

What was the date of my last blog? September 22! Please forgive me! I have a whole catalog of excuses, but I’ll skip that and just tell you what has been going on here in Lanzhou.

I have just sampled my second attempt at making pizza. It was a slight improvement over the first. To begin with, I had to buy an oven; that occurred around the end of October. (It’s an oversized toaster oven, an exotic appliance in a culture whose cuisine doesn’t include baked foods.) Then, there is the flour to contend with. The flour here interacts with other ingredients in very unpredictable ways, at least for this cook. Finally, there is the cheese challenge. There is cheese here, some domestic and some from New Zealand, obtainable at stores that cater to foreigners. But mozzarella? Forget it! So tonight’s pizza featured a light mild cheddar, which at least had the good grace to melt.

Not much time is dedicated to perfecting my Chinese pizza. Teaching, as I noted last time, takes up most of my time and energy. I teach three different courses to a total of eight classes. The textbooks are virtually useless: outdated, inaccurate and didactic. So I pull my material out of thin air every week, with considerable help from my old friend the internet. In mid October I gave midterm exams; marking those for my 350 students amounted to three weeks of pure drudgery. That fiasco helped me to appreciate the circumstances of all teachers in China, whose staggering class sizes and teaching loads make it impossible to individualize instruction or measure student progress except by objective tests. I gave my 200 second-year students a modified essay type exam that required the writing of three paragraphs on three separate topics. Reading them all was a chore, but I was borne along in the task by comic relief. There was this on the legend of King Arthur: "But Lancelot was keen on the king’s wife." And this on the colonization of North America: "In the beginning people believed the earth was square." Overall I was reassured that my students understand the course content and have the language to articulate it – things a multiple-choice test would not have revealed.

I spend a couple of evening hours every other week participating in English Corner, an informal gathering of students to practice speaking English. The kids are very committed to this process, and groups meet just about every weeknight, whether or not any foreign teachers are available. One problem our students grapple with is that they are learning English in an environment where only Chinese is spoken – even by most of their English teachers! It’s incredibly difficult for them to get any authentic speaking practice. I have also spent some time assisting the Red Ribbon Society, a student-led group that conducts HIV-AIDS awareness workshops on campus. I am constantly wowed by the dedication and initiative of the students. They have few resources, but don’t seem hampered in the least.

This past weekend the Amity teachers in Lanzhou – Ruth, Kendra, Rae and I – hosted a regional conference for all twelve Amity teachers in Gansu Province. Conference planning was our grand obsession for weeks. I’m pleased to relate that the meeting – much of which was held in my apartment! – was an unqualified success. We swapped teaching strategies, tales from the field, joys and woes. We worshiped together and reflected on our spiritual lives. And, of course, we found time for tons of shopping and great meals.

I am constantly composing blogs in my head that need to find their way to the keyboard. I want to tell you all about:
public buses in Lanzhou, esp. the 124. . .
pet dogs in the city . . .
the amazing contrasts everywhere between old and new . . .
Ruth’s and my quest for a church home here . . .

I’ll get to those, and more, as soon as I can. Please keep me in your prayers; you are all in mine.