Women's Day, 2006

This holiday is a pretty big deal, here. My students tell me to be sure to go shopping, that there will be good sales. Just like home, I think. Holiday equals marketing frenzy.

Our faculty celebration was co-ed, a predictable but no less pleasant hot-pot dinner punctuated by toast after toast.

The young teachers, all in their early twenties, are always good company. I've gotten to know a few of them well. The young women fascinate me, and the fragility of their futures keeps me awake at night, sometimes.

I came of age in the 1960's, a time of dramatic change in the status of women in the U.S. and elsewhere. I remember negotiating some conflict among expectations -- of my family, of my academic mentors, of myself. But I do not remember ever feeling fearful that the past would be a millstone around my neck, keeping me from achieving whatever I chose to attempt.

The status of women in China is changing, but not fast enough for some of the bright, ambitious young women I know. Consider Leah: her boyfriend belittles her publicly, over her objections. (Yes, she could dump him, but a girl who has had more than one boyfriend is considered, well . . . shopworn.) Consider Linda: her father is in the process of deciding whether to choose a husband for her or send her abroad for graduate study. She has no say in the decision. (Yes, she could revolt, but it would mean permanent estrangement from her family.) Consider Lyn: her boyfriend's mother stopped by recently to pressure her to fast-track the wedding. Lyn would rather concentrate on her career right now. "Once I marry," she says, "I must have a baby. If that one is a girl, I will be forced to have another." The expression on her beautiful, intelligent face is a mix of distaste and despair.

Demographics are on their side. Fallout from the one-child policy, women of marriage age are in short supply. Yet this reality isn't translating into bargaining power for my friends. They are educated and socialized for the twenty-first century, but shackled by social traditions that are centuries old. I pray for them every day.

The Slowly Evolving Reading Room

I am ecstatic that some cartons of books for our students have arrived from the U.S. Thank you, good friends! Ruth and I have been working to turn the bedroom of our office suite into a reading room. Yes, we have a bedroom. Most faculty have beds in their offices here; sleeping on the job is not frowned upon. China, at least in this traditional area, operates like a tropical country. The mid-day break is over two hours long, and one is expected to take a good, refreshing nap. The merchants snooze in their shops and market stalls; we have beds in our offices.

Come on in and take the tour.









The main room is decorated with students' artwork.














You can probably guess whose desk is the messy one and who threw her stuff on the sofa. The chairs are folded up so they won't get dusty; it takes only a few minutes for the grime to settle. We hope to induce students to help us clean the cement floors. There are janitors for the hallways, but not for the offices.









Our bedroom had been used to store cast-off items since long before our arrival. We have stacked up most of it and cloaked it with a mosquito net that was part of the collection.

















Now we plan to add some green plants, posters for the walls, and of course a bookcase for the mini-library our generous friends are helping us create.

Holy niu rou mian, (beef noodles) Batman! We're in the New York Times!

Source: New York Times (3/4/06):http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/04/international/asia/04china.htmlNoodle Prices Rise, Along With Chinese Tempers
By JIM YARDLEY
LANZHOU, China
‹ One difference between China's remote west and the rest ofthe country is what people choose to put in their stomachs. Noodles, notrice, are the favorite dish, none more so than the steaming bowl of beefnoodles named after this decaying provincial capital on the Yellow River.Noodle-making performance art: Maya Gubo swung, stretched and slung thestuff that would feed Lanzhou.So in February, as noodle patrons across the city arrived for their morningfix, an unexpected notice awaited them: The price of a bowl of Lanzhoupulled beef noodles was going up. A large bowl, once only 27 cents, wouldnow cost almost 31 cents."Beef Noodle Price Hike Touches Off Nerves Everywhere!" declared The WesternEconomic Daily, a feisty local paper.And so it did. A full-blown noodle controversy arose, with price fixing by anoodle cartel being alleged. Polls gauged public opinion (Answer: notpleased). Even People's Daily, chief mouthpiece of the Communist Party,registered its indignation. Local officials promised to investigate.But on the streets of the city's Anning District, where more than 70 noodleshops are crowded into several square blocks, the noodle contretemps wasalso a reminder of the millions of Chinese who still live on margins soslender that a bump of 4 cents for a bowl of noodles constitutes real money."There is nothing I can do about it," said Yu Songling, 50, a manager at anoutdoor market in Anning. The neighborhood, in the midst of being rebuilt,is like a carcass left over from the old socialist economy: decrepitstate-owned factories, many of them now closed, and vast numbers of laid-offworkers, many scraping by on minimal welfare benefits."There are a lot of wolves," said Mr. Yu of the struggle faced by manypeople in the neighborhood, "and not enough meat."There have always been enough noodles, though. Noodles served in ascorching, spicy broth in the winter or al dente in the summer, tasty, warm,filling and cheap. Lanzhou beef noodles call for chives, red peppers, beefbouillon and noodles, a recipe that to the unschooled seems mundane but onethat many locals consider a subtle art."There is a big difference between noodle shops," said Wang Xiaoxia, 29, ataxi driver. "The taste, the color, the aroma. On days I drive, I always eatnoodles. It makes me feel good."For people in Anning, the Black Sunday of the noodle controversy was Feb.12. Posters suddenly appeared in noodle shops announcing a price increase of3 mao, or about 4 cents. Higher costs, wage increases, taxes ‹ even China'sembrace of market economics ‹ were blamed. A day later, the price rose.Inside one of the biggest shops in the neighborhood, the Gazhang Halal BeefNoodle Shop, the poster with the price increase hung beside a small tablewhere the manager sold boiled eggs and tickets for noodles. In the smallkitchen, a cook in a blue smock pulled noodles into long strands, twistingthem in his hands like yarn before tossing them into a cauldron of boilingwater that filled the room with steam.Kitchens like this one can be a first step out of rural poverty for somemigrant workers. At the Gazhang shop, all the workers are from the owner'shome village, a typical arrangement. An owner gets cheap, reliable help; amigrant worker gets a trade and a start. But where last year a trained cookmade $60 a month, the rate is $90 or higher this year because of increasedcompetition for low-wage workers. At the same time, the price of flour alsohas risen."All the expenses are going up," said Zhang Yuxiao, 31, the owner of theGazhang shop. "We're just following the market."But was it really just the market? The number of noodle shops in the cityhas risen, increasing supply. In early February, price increases in otherdistricts of the city had already attracted attention.Then a day after the increase in Anning, The Western Economic Daily broke amajor scandal: "The Beef Noodle Price Hike, a Price-Fixing Scheme." Thepaper documented a coordinated pricing scheme, led by a small group ofnoodle shop owners, who had made threats against any owners who resisted.One owner, Ma Ali, taking a break from his kitchen after the scandal hadbecome public, confirmed the pressure tactics. "They came over and handedthis to me," said Mr. Ma, showing a two-page agreement that called for everyshop owner to raise prices. "They said, 'If you don't raise your prices,we're going to tear down your shop sign.' "But, Mr. Ma added, noodle shops face a problem of too much supply and toolittle labor: "Of course, what they are saying is true. We are not making alot of money. And it is hard work."It also made a good story. The Western Economic Daily, a private newspaper,wrote editorials, commissioned a poll and continued a barrage of headlineslike "Ruthless Competition Leads to a Vicious Cycle" and "Beef Noodles:Price Collusion Is Illegal." Finally, the city price bureau opened aninvestigation.None of the ringleaders are confessing to any wrongdoing. (Mr. Zhang, ownerof the Gazhang shop, is one of the owners listed as an author of thetwo-page agreement calling for the higher prices. Asked about price fixingand the newspaper stories, he replied, "Journalists have nothing else todo.")So far, nearly all of the noodle shops in much of the city are stillcharging the higher price. An exception is Master Zhang's Beef Noodle, adingy storefront in the Anning District that opened in late December. Theowner, Zhang Wei, 41, has struggled to make a living since losing a factoryjob more than a decade ago. He thought noodles might work.He, too, got a visit from the noodle cartel, and his wife even signed anoath with a thumbprint, pledging to raise prices. But after Mr. Zhang sawthe newspaper coverage, he returned his prices to the lower rate. "I had alot fewer customers after I raised the prices," he said.And he has other worries. A new shop just opened around the corner. "Andthey are giving away eggs," he said. "People here are really poor. Theydon't make any money, so they go there because they give away the free egg.If I start giving away eggs, I start losing money."So, like owners of every other Lanzhou noodle shop, Mr. Zhang hopes tosucceed by giving Lanzhou residents what they most seem to want ‹ goodnoodles."It's all going to depend on the taste of the noodles," he said. "If peoplelike the taste, they will slowly start coming."

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/04/international/asia/04china.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&adxnnlx=1141651467-0xq+cwxAN+p6DLj9Wbhiiw