Chinese Puzzles

May, 2010

My husband, Rich and I were riding our bikes along the Inner Mongolia, Hohhot Ring Road, when he noticed his front tire was flat. We had travelled a number of miles from Rich’s University apartment. Though he knew where we were, I was lost and somewhat unnerved. How would we get back?

I had been visiting Rich for the first time since he started teaching at the Inner Mongolia Normal University (IMNU) 5 years before. Each of these years, for one semester, he taught writing to undergraduates majoring in English education. Most of his students aspired to teach at the middle school level. To say that Rich loved the experience is an understatement. Six years before, after returning with a small group of Vermont Educators from a Chinese professional conference, he described the experience as “Life altering.”  

My two week visit afforded me the opportunity to meet my husband’s colleagues, students and friends as well as do some sightseeing. It was a wonderful trip. I quickly appreciated his attachment to this small capital city of 1.5 million people. Hohhot may have been unimpressive to those from big population centers like Beijing, Shanghai or Xi’An, but we found everything about this Chinese/Mongolian bi-cultural city fascinating. 

Rich’s friends immediately became my friends.  Everyone wanted to wine and dine us, introduce us to their families, accompany us to museums, and show us the best places to shop. Given that neither Rich nor I knew a smidgeon of Chinese, we depended on our friends for translation. This was mutually beneficial. Though fluent in English, these educators had little opportunity to use their language skills other than in the classroom. They loved being able to talk with and interpret for us. On the one hand, this symbiotic relationship was wonderful. On the other hand, without our friends, we were in a language vacuum. 

On the morning of our bike ride suddenly interrupted by a flat tire, we quickly realized that other forms of transportation such as busses and taxis were inaccessible without local language skills. Trying to read Chinese or Mongolian transportation signs was like looking at hieroglyphics, beautiful but incomprehensible. Among the million plus people in Hohhot, it is fair to say that precious few could greet us in English with,  “Hello, how are you?” let alone ask, “Can I help you?”

As my anxiety rose, Rich remained his calm self. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Practically every street corner has a guy who can help repair bicycles.” He explained that there were “guys” stationed on corner sidewalks who made keys, repaired shoes and provided other fix-it services. Their income was meager, but their worth was great. 

He was right. Directly across the street were two men sitting under a beach umbrella with a worn red rug placed on the sidewalk in front of them. On the rug were a couple of bike pumps and several plastic bins holding all things bicycle. Rich approached the men, pointed to his tire and without any verbal communication, one of the men pulled out tools to fix the flat. Rich repaired the tire himself. The man then held up his fingers to indicate what we owed him for parts. Quick as a wink we were back on the road riding home. This was a happy ending, but the bigger issue remained. Without Chinese language skills we were vulnerable.  

My visit resulted in a mutual decision to come back together to teach at IMNU. However, if we were to return to Hohhot, we needed to have more than a basic understanding of Chinese. For the next 3 years, Rich and I tried to learn the language of the Han. A Middlebury College student from China tutored us weekly during her last two years of school. A friend of hers subsequently took over after the first graduated. Our two young tutors were smart, kind, and enthusiastic. However, despite their linguistic skills and effort, we returned to Inner Mongolia with embarrassingly inadequate Chinese skills. Rich could only say “Hello” and “Thank you” with confidence. I was limited to a few sentences. 

In the Fall of 2013, we were both very excited to be back in Hohhot. Our colleagues and friends again re-asserted themselves as our personal interpreters, accompanying us when needed, but they were not always by our side. Frankly, we liked our alone time in the neighborhood. We particularly enjoyed walking to our favorite grocery store, Carrefour, a French supermarket that had branched into China during the “Reform and Opening Up Era”. We loved this store. Not only could we buy excellent Chinese produce but also western treats that were more than occasionally craved. 

We would walk to Carrefour at least twice a week along a side street lined with small businesses. I often stared at shop signs above the doors trying to figure out, without success, what the Chinese characters meant. One particular sign really appealed to me. It was the creative font that drew my attention. Rather than the ubiquitous apostrophe-like dot strokes within several words, they were replaced by miniature hearts. Seven of these cute little hearts were incorporated into the characters. Despite being unable to read the sign, I wanted to tell someone in the business how much I appreciated the whimsical creativity above their door front. With my very limited Chinese vocabulary, it took me several days to figure out how to express my thoughts into a single sentence. Once sorted out, I privately practiced saying it aloud.  

Finally, one day as we were passing by, I steeled myself to the task and walked into the one story building. The only person inside was a woman sitting at a counter watching me enter. I stood just inside the shop and said in my best Chinese while pointing up above the door, “Excuse me, I love your Chinese character. It is very cute. Bye.” At which point, I walk outside to catch up with Rich who had continued walking toward the supermarket. I cannot convey the excitement I felt at my accomplishment. I had said a complete sentence in Chinese to a Chinese person.  It didn’t matter that the woman, who resembled a deer caught in head-lights, did not move an inch, change her expression or try to respond. I had made a comment in Chinese. I was proud!

A few days later, still feeling the glow from my accomplishment, Gaowa, a friend and I were driving on that same street to an English class we were co-teaching. As we passed by the store with the hearts, I told her about the experience. To help replicate the scenario, I repeated my Chinese sentence. Gaowa, in the front seat, turned back to me and said, “Gail, don’t do that again.” She wasn’t angry, but with the voice of a stern teacher explained, “The vowel sounds of the words were correct, but your tones were wrong. What you really said was, ‘Please kiss. I love your man. He is very cute. Bye.’”

Oh my, oh my. It was as if Gaowa had thrown ice water in my face. No wonder that poor woman’s expression was frozen. Here she was, seeing, possibly for the first time, a western woman telling her that her husband was cute and asking for a kiss.  Oy vey! What was she thinking as I walked out? Very much chagrined, I also found it extremely humorous, though I didn’t share that with Gaowa.

From this embarrassingly funny experience I had several thoughts. First, I was extremely disappointed in the results of 3 years studying Chinese. Not once did it sink in how important tones were in the language. Second, I realized that being skilled in communicating a language is not the same as knowing how to teach that language. If I wanted to learn Chinese, I needed to find educators trained to teach. Finally, all aspects of Chinese —speaking, reading and writing— were puzzle-like and I happened to love puzzles. Rather than being dissuaded by my exasperating error, I decided I wanted to double down and learn this language. 

This resolution was made at age 60. I knew it would be much more difficult than learning American Sign Language, which itself took 9 years before I felt fluent.

My goal was to became proficient enough to have a meaningful conversation in Chinese. My plan was to continue learning until I either stopped improving or stopped living. 

As of this writing, I have completed more than 10 years of excellent language instruction. Does this mean I have accomplished a high level of Chinese fluency? Not by a long shot. By most standards I function at an intermediate level. Many more Chinese language puzzles remain to be conquered. 

That said, I do believe that if Rich and I were now in Hohhot with a flat tire, I would be able to have an enjoyable chat with the guy sitting on the corner while Rich fixed his bike.  I’m even confident that if I were to say “excuse me,” the man would not think I was asking for a kiss.

Addendum:

1. Below are the two sentences referred to in the story. 

   1. The top sentence is obviously English. The second row left is Pinyin, the Chinese phonetic Alphabet.  The second row right are Chinese characters called Hanzi —汉子—. See if you can find the differences between A and B:

      
      

   A)   “Excuse me, I love your Chinese character. It is so cute, Bye.”

        Qǐngwèn, wǒ ài nǐ de hànzì hěn kě’ài.          “请问，我爱你的汉字。很可爱。再见.”

    B) ”Please kiss, I love your man, he is so cute. Bye“

        Qǐng wěn, wǒ ài nǐ de hànzi, hěn kě’ài.        “请吻，我爱你的汉子，很可爱。再见.”

2)   The business referred to with the hearts in the sign was a Children’s vision center.  

           Shixin (See New) children’s vision care.

Shìxīn shào'ér shìlì zhù bǎojiàn                   “视新少儿视力保健”