A Study Abroad Guide That Will Tell You to Get Lost in China
(and why you should listen)
By Liz Lyon
This article was printed in Abroad View magazine spring 2006
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| The author pictured in China. |
My response to the question “Why are you in China?” had always been “To learn Chinese,” but I could never explain what had led me to study in China in the first place. I usually chalked it up to the karmic forces that draw people away from one big block of land and towards another, like becoming culturally—savvy in a foreign environment, exploring human rights and environmental injustices, and the irresistible draw of 25-cent bubble tea.
When I arrived, like many Americans who study abroad, I was too busy being disappointed with my program, becoming annoyed with my fellow students and myself, and complaining about my teachers to realize what a unique opportunity I had.
After the program, I couldn’t stop thinking about other students who would come to the program and probably make the same mistakes my classmates and I had made—spending too much time together, being grumpy, complaining, and, in general, acting like middle school students on the class trip to Washington, D.C. With this in mind, I offered to write a guidebook for others studying abroad in China.
The paradox of a guide to study abroad is that it ought to convince the reader to stop reading, go outside, and figure things out by him or herself. Study abroad is an opportunity to immerse yourself in a new culture, to learn by experiencing instead of reading, and to actually use a language you’ve pounded into your brain for ages. Put down your textbooks and communicate with people who have spoken Chinese their entire lives. The more you do by yourself the more worthwhile it will be. Be uncomfortable, be confused, be embarrassed; get lost, and tough it out.
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Laughing monk at the Daoist Temple of Mystery in Suzhou. Photo by Susan Lyon Expectations? HAH! |
CULTURAL SENSITIVITY, POLITICAL CORRECTNESS, AND OTHER MYTHS OF STUDY ABROAD
Everyone will tell you that, “After the reforms of the 1980s, China continues to become increasingly liberal,” but that’s not all there is to it. Homosexuality was considered a mental illness until recently, anti-Japanese sentiment remains, and there is often a lack of “political correctness.”
People won’t hesitate to say what’s on their minds for fear of offending someone. This may lead to unsettling encounters, like telling someone you are Jewish and finding that they are surprised that there are still Jews left after the Holocaust, being asked if the English word “Negro” means the same thing as ‘slave,’ or having a little girl who just called you “big sister” smile sweetly and say, “Just like the ones on TV!”
Regardless, you can’t change what people you haven’t met will think about you before they know you. The best thing you can do is not let it get to you. The person who you hated after one sentence may become a close friend. Like everyone else, the Chinese like to make friends, even with “the other.” And, don’t forget, cultural sensitivity goes both ways. Use the opportunity for cross-cultural exploration and friendship making.
THE PATH TO COMPROMISE (OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE MYSTERY MEAT)
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| The Great Wall of China. Photo by Susan Lyon |
The compromises you make will depend entirely on you. What habits do you have? What ironclad belief systems are you working with? How controlling are you? This may not be instantly apparent, so just wait until you are horrified, shocked, and appalled.
I was a vegetarian for ten years due to spiritual, environmental, and health reasons, but, as soon as I got to Hangzhou, I discovered it was not worth the hassle. Will my hiatus have far-reaching effects and soil my inner being? Not likely.
Vegetarianism, like any other ‘ism’ with strict guidelines, is just a way to add order to the chaos of existence. But in a new culture, any attempt to control outcomes results in a lot of stress. As a dumpling-eating vegetarian, I would strongly advise reconsidering previous constraints in the context of a new culture.
HOMESICKNESS, ISOLATION, FRUSTRATION, AND OTHER THINGS THAT WILL MAKE YOU GRUMPY
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| Photo by Susan Lyon |
Now you are away from your loved ones, learning one of the hardest languages out there, adjusting to a new culture, and often feeling helpless. You want to ask questions, but you don’t know what they are or how to say them. You feel frustrated at your inability to express complex thoughts and emotions in, of all things, a tonal language written in characters. Every time you open your mouth, you see confused and disdainful looks. It’s like being thirteen again.
Who said learning Chinese would be easy? Embrace confusion and go with the flow. The more willing you are to say, “I don’t know, can you help me?” the more China will seem like an opportunity instead of a grueling test.
If you’re feeling homesick, isolated, frustrated, or grumpy, don’t go to Pizza Hut with a friend and use big English words to explain that your grumpiness has to do with, like, the Cultural Revolution. Cope rationally, and in Chinese. Ease out of your funk without disconnecting from China.
Don’t stress out, blow things out of proportion, or become annoyed with things that are beyond your control. If you can’t put things in context, ask a friend. Go easy on the unhealthy coping skills, and search for positive outlets in a new environment, like keeping a diary. Looking back on a journal filled with emotional snapshots will help you sort through things later.
 Crossing the stream outside of Hangzhou's Dragon Well. Courtesy of Luo Tiruo |
GET YOUR FEET WET Before you go, collect e-mail addresses, prep pen pals and package-senders, say tender goodbyes to loved ones, and make sure your relationships are fairly stable when you leave. You want postcards from overseas, not unnecessary stress. Academically, how can you prepare? First and foremost, you can’t cram for China. You’ve been learning Chinese for a while now, and you can’t magically go back in time and maintain absolute studiousness since the first “Ni hao.” Be reasonable. Look over final tests, breeze through note cards, review some tapes, or have a heart-to-heart with your favorite teacher, but don’t attempt to manically study everything you’ve ever learned the night before you leave. It will only make you question your language skills. When you get to China, you want to be calm and at peace with the state your Mandarin is in. Come to terms with the fact that you are in the process of learning an extremely difficult language, and that it’s about to get a lot harder in some ways, and a lot easier (or at least logical) in others. |
ON NOT BEING A NATIVE CHINESE SPEAKER
(OR DEALING WITH THINGS YOU CAN’T CHANGE)
Generally speaking, the less you appear Chinese (depending on your size, your mannerisms, and the color of your hair, skin, and eyes), the more attention you will receive. You become a walking attraction. In every interaction, you are the sole representative of your ethnicity and/or home country. Everyone stares at you. If you’re with an Asian friend, no one talks directly to you. If you start to speak in Mandarin, no one believes that the words coming out of your mouth could possibly be Chinese. And they’re still staring!
Get over it. You can’t change the fact that you, a non-Chinese person, have decided to study Mandarin in a country made up almost entirely of Chinese people.
Conversely, students of an Asian background (especially of Han Chinese ethnicity, but in general, for all Asian students) can blend into crowds. People won’t practice their English on you, but they will tell you how poor your Chinese is—often in the same breath that they’re complimenting your non-Asian friend’s Chinese. You’re an anomaly: a Chinese person who can’t speak the Chinese language. People are confused by you, but you don’t have the exotic mystique of your classmates. You may fit in more easily but still feel out of place, even if this is the land of your ancestors.
Don’t take it personally. The more positive (perkiness is not required) you are, the easier everything will be. Have a sense of humor and a sense of humility, and it will be a lot easier to have a good time.
EXPERIENTIAL LEARNING
Take advantage of opportunities to learn Chinese. Read newspapers, magazines, and kids books. See what you can learn by context and by guessing. Talk to cabbies, bored salesladies, the guy next to you on the train, the pirated DVD seller, the kids tabling outside of the cafeteria....see a pattern? Open your mouth!
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| A salon in Hangzhou. Photo by Liz Lyon |
Listen, too. Eavesdrop in crowds, ask your cab driver to turn on the radio if he’s not a talker, rent Chinese audio guides at museums, and watch movies without subtitles. Don’t give up when you hear words you don’t recognize.
Go out alone as much as possible. Take trips to nearby cities and make friends once you get there. Go to small restaurants with one or two customers—it’s very likely someone will want to talk to you. Get lost and ask for directions. Go shopping, whether you need to or not. Ask the salesperson what is popular, what is a good present, what will make your thighs look smaller, or what will make you look more muscular. Meaningless chitchat is a constructive way to pass time.
Don’t translate. When learning language and observing culture, resist the urge to put things in your own words—there usually isn’t a direct translation. Understand things in their own context, not within a warped mental paradigm.
Love your pop music. There are stands of dirt-cheap pirated CDs everywhere you look, and almost every CD includes a copy of the lyrics inside. Buy them. And when you play music, actively listen: read the lyrics, sing loudly, dance along, and let the spirit move you.
To get the most out of your time in China, talk, listen, read, write, absorb, and don’t be afraid to mess up. Challenge yourself to learn the language, and be proud of yourself when you meet the challenges: when you can order food for a party of people, figure out how to work the karaoke machine, read a bus schedule, understand what the radio deejay is saying even though you’re not paying attention, comprehend a newspaper article, laugh at a joke in Chinese that is actually funny, or dream in Chinese. Push yourself, but don’t be so hard on yourself that you can’t see your own progress. Just because you’re always trying to improve doesn’t mean you can’t feel really, really proud of how far you’ve come, and how well you’re doing.
IN THE CLASSROOM
Some of the biggest cultural shocks may come during class. A teacher may ask you an inappropriate question, something you say may shock or appall classmates, or a teaching style may seem so archaic that you are unable to believe it could evolve in a country advanced enough to have digital cameras—anything can and will happen.
These things are normal and to be expected. Use moments of awkwardness to learn, move forward, and get a bigger picture of the world. Be open and have a sense of humor.
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| Commuters biking over Hangzhou's Wenhui bridge. Photo by Luo Tirou |
Less vaguely, what can you do? Arrive at class on time (or early, even), do your homework, listen attentively to your teacher, ask questions when you’re confused, and so on. Be an active student.
If you’re frustrated, don’t brood—have a chat with your teacher. Get the class together to take him or her out for lunch. All problems are resolvable, once you address them. Your teachers don’t want to make your life miserable, they want to teach you Chinese. Let them.
GET LOST ALREADY!
What are the important things to remember? Pay attention, and don’t be afraid to be confused and uncomfortable. Try new things, especially if they seem weird, horrible, or terrifying—they’re probably not. Be open-minded, be delighted, and don’t be so serious. Getting lost was never so much fun.
At the time this article was written, Liz Lyon was a senior Economics major at Middlebury College. She lived in China for a year, where she spent a semester with the Middlebury/CET Program at Zhejiang University of Technology in Hangzhou, two months as a waitress/tutor and daughter/older sister in a Hangzhou family, three weeks as a backpacker with an unusual foot fungus, and four months as a trial Beijing resident.