找不着北

迷糊老外单枪匹马独闯中国； 在这儿人生地不熟，对中文一窍不通； 却偏偏艺不高人胆大，东游西逛、四处历险...... 咦？那位指路的好心人为什么竖起三根手指？这在我的国家可不太礼貌哦。 哎？中国的菜单怎么把动物的胃、肠子、脚丫子直接译成英文了？这叫人哪还有胃口啊！？？ 想知道这个可爱老外的更多新鲜事吗？那就翻开本书慢慢品味吧。 The bushy side of my head had been removed and I was not left with "yidianr", but almost nothing!! I had never seen a squat toilet befor coming to China. Now this could be a problem, I decided, when confronted with my first sighting of a public squat!! 目录 GETTING LOST IN BEIJING AND LOVING IT...SORT OF 爱上找不着北的感觉 MUSIC IS LANGUAGE TO THEIR EARS 音乐——通用语言 BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN -- BEIJING BICYCLE STYLE 整装上“马” I ADMIT IT -- I CAN'T DO WITHOUT A MOBILE PHONE 好吧——没有手机我确实过不下去 ASPECTS OF LOCAL HABITS NOT WORTH DIDDLY-SQUAT 要命的习惯 BEIDAIHE BY HOOK OR BY CROOK 费尽周折的北戴河之旅 FOOD FANTASY 美食中国，吃嘛嘛香 DENTAL DRAMA 牙的悲喜 BEATEN BY FRAUDSTERS 惨遭骗手 HAIRY ENCOUTERS OVER THE COUNTER 险象环生进银行 STANDING OUT IN THE CROWD 与众不同的感觉 LINGO LEARNINGS CAUSE FOOT IN MOUTH 笨嘴拙舌学汉语 RADIO WANDERINGS TURN UP BANDWIDTH BOUNTY 淘宝记 KEEPING FIT IN CHINA 健身实录 NATIONAL HOLIDAY REFLECTIONS 国庆随想 CHINA'S SENIORS -- THE GROWING AGE PROBLEM 中国的老人家 A SHOCK IN BEIJING 一桩尴尬事儿 Yidianr...TAKE OR LEAVE A LITTLE “一点儿”的麻烦 POSTAL MAZE BAMBOOZLES BROADCASTER 汇款迷局 A HARMONIOUS SOCIETY 和谐社会 SCARY TRAVEL BY TRAIN 提心吊胆坐火车 A CHRISTMAS CAROL IN CHINA 圣诞欢歌 AIRPORT ANTICS 机场的滑稽事儿 My China Daily By Edwin Maher Care in the time of longevity I have solved one of the mysteries about China and its people - to be more specific, its senior citizens. When I first came here 16 months ago, I wondered where the "oldies" were. Everywhere I looked, young people dominated the streetscape, walking briskly to work, riding their bikes to universities near my apartment in the Haidian District, but few elderly people appeared among them. Some elderly people stage a performance in Taiyuan, North China's Shanxi Province October 14, 2004. [newsphoto] When I asked a local resident, she explained: "They come out early in the morning, and you'll see them again at night, often exercising." Were they some kind of nocturnal species, I wondered, unable to face the light and pace of day? I decided to investigate. Across the road from the Friendship Hotel is a set of exercise bars and swings. I had seen them during the day, mostly unused. Like Sherlock Holmes trying to crack a most puzzling case, I sneaked over to see for myself on a warm summer evening. It was about 8 o'clock and as I crept closer, there they were. People in their 60s, 70s and probably 80s, stretching, bending and exercising in ways that would cause creaks and groans in their much younger offspring. This was indeed grey power in action. As I watched, I could hear distant music in the still night air - not rock or pop but something more melodic. Heading towards it, I found myself outside a paved open space near the Beijing Modern Plaza, filled with about 60 mature-aged women holding fans and stepping out in a most elegant way as an instructor guided them through a traditional dance routine. Since then I have found even more, especially in the early morning, on my way to work at CCTV. As the car passed the Zizhuyuan (Black Bamboo) Park, seniors danced together and by themselves, moving effortlessly. Hardy strokes My biggest surprise was while walking with friends around the Houhai Lake on a fine but bitterly cold Saturday afternoon last winter. Still the detective, I was alerted to what sounded like water splashing, followed by people cheering. This lead to an even more amazing sight - elderly men wearing only their bathing costumes, as onlookers rugged up in thick coats, applauded. I stood open-mouthed, pulling my own coat tighter against my chilled skin, watching these thick-skinned seniors dive and survive their near-naked plunge into the freezing water. I had indeed found the Beijing equivalent of the Bondi Icebergs in Sydney and the Brighton Icebergs of Melbourne, elderly men who swim in those cities' famous beaches throughout winter. But the water in Houhai Lake must have been much colder than the Australian beaches because it was only days away from freezing over. My detective work had paid off. I had now uncovered the evidence and found the answer to my mystery: Elderly people are alive and well in China. But in finding the answer, questions arise as the population not only ages longer, but grows to numbers that put added pressure on the society to which we all belong. It is not just a problem here, but in many countries, developed and developing. In China, these problems seem exacerbated in urban areas where the load of looking after ageing parents is now falling on their one-child offspring, many being handed opportunities greater than their parents ever envisaged when they were young. Some of these young people are friends of mine. One who was offered a post overseas last year, said: "I feel guilty." When I asked why, she replied: "Because my parents cannot come with me and I will worry about their health all the time." I assured her that everyone who leaves home shares the same concerns, but for her, the only child, there are no siblings to help. It weighs heavily even at a time when Mum and Dad are in good health, not yet needing special care. Only a few days ago, another friend explained that keeping both parents literally under his own family roof, "will provide an environment of love and warmth. It is my duty," he added emphatically. While Western countries may promote family independence by offering a range of options for those who can afford it, China's tradition of keeping the family together through interdependence seems as important today as ever, no matter how wealthy individual members may become. In the West, retirement homes are a favoured option by a growing section of the community, often for sound reasons. They provide various levels of care ranging from independent accommodation in small villas where residents look after themselves, to dependent care in which everything from meals to medical facilities is provided within the complex. At the same time, it is a big business with huge money to be made, and a set of conditions to ensure residents "will back" each dwelling to the operators. Passage of time My mother-in-law has just entered one of these homes in New Zealand after a series of falls which made living alone a worry not only for herself, but her family living in the same city. A few years ago she told me: "I will never live in one of those places." But while her body is now not as sound as her mind, she admits the previous situation was untenable. As father of two sons and a daughter, I presently have no plans to live with either of them (they may be relieved after reading this). But after the recent birth of my third grandchild, I have become acutely aware of the passage of time. Adding to my concern is the regular appearance in this newspaper and other media, of stories about the rapid increase in China's ageing population and the burden it places on health and welfare services. A report in China Daily last month made clear how quickly China's ageing society is growing. It said the number of Chinese people aged 65 or older will rise from less than 100 million in 2000 to more than 200 million by 2007. By then, the elderly will make up 14 per cent of the total population. While those with one child may need help from other relatives, I have also met a growing number of young people who will face a different situation when they become aged. For reasons of cost and career, these married couples have decided not to have any children, opening up a new dependent sector as China, like other countries around the world, plans social welfare systems for the future. The outlook is not all bleak. As parents, we can sometimes prolong the period in which we remain lively and independent through diet and exercise. Looking after ourselves as we age becomes as important as when we were children. Hopefully with good health enhanced by active minds and bodies, we will add to our years by continuing to work in a society that can benefit from our skills and experience rather than simply retire and withdraw from it. Perhaps our children can pursue their own endeavours without feeling guilty, while still keeping an eye on how we are faring. Last month I heard an interview on China Radio International (CRI) with a leading expert on ageing, Professor Wu Cangping, who confirmed the growing problem for parents of one-child families especially as the tradition of looking after them continues. On the other hand, they might not have to worry so soon. According to Professor Wu, who holds a university position, travels and lectures regularly, one should keep active and become involved in all things like work, paid and voluntary. The good professor should know. He is only 82! Postal maze bamboozles broadcaster Edwin Maher 2004-12-08 06:12 Since my last story, I have been swamped by mixed messages which have led me to a state of Chinese confusion. The twists and turns of this tale are many, but if you concentrate it will, hopefully, be much easier to follow than it was for me. Last month I received a check as payment for recording some identification announcements at Beijing's new English language radio station 774 AM. When the check arrived at the office of my apartment, I had to sign for receiving it - a perfectly normal procedure. I planned to take the check on my next visit to the bank and deposit it in my savings account - another perfectly normal procedure in the West. But my language inability guarantees nothing is as simple as it seems. A few days ago, an attendant in my apartment block at the Friendship Hotel asked me to sign for a form which he then handed to me. While I do not like putting my signature to just any piece of paper, this seemed necessary. He could not explain in English what it was about, but waved me towards the same nearby office where I signed for that check three weeks earlier. On the way out I met one of my neighbours, an American woman who is very fluent in Chinese. I showed her the form to see if she could read the Chinese characters and give me a clue what it was all about. "Oh, you have some money to collect," she explained with a wide smile, adding, "lucky you." When I asked her where I should go to receive it, she looked again and told me to take it to the hotel post office. Waving goodbye, I wondered who else had sent me money, assuming it may be an early Christmas present from a relative. But when I showed the form to the woman behind the post office counter, there was no financial reward. Instead, she pointed westward and said something in Chinese indicating I must go to another post office. Before leaving the hotel compound, I called in to the office of the biggest apartment building, knowing the attendants there can speak some English. Perhaps they could shed some light on this looming paper chase. The woman on duty studied the form then told me I needed to go to a post office about half an hour's walk along the main road west of the hotel. Puzzled as to why I should have to travel to another post office so far away, I followed her instructions and always the optimist, decided to take the opportunity of getting some exercise at the same time. Rather than just walking along the flat footpath, I stepped out briskly, running up all the pedestrian overpasses two steps at a time, and completing the journey in just 20 minutes. It does not require deep psychoanalysis to understand how the thought of receiving money can generate physical as well as mental enthusiasm. Compared with the normally quiet atmosphere of the hotel post office, this branch of China Post was buzzing with noise and people. I joined a short queue, and when it came to my turn, I explained to the young attendant I could speak only a little Chinese. She smiled, took the form and gave it to an older woman who seemed to be her supervisor. Studying the details, the supervisor made the first of three phone calls, and while I had no idea what she was saying, the tone of her voice during the first conversation indicated my enquiry was not going to lead to the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She put down the receiver, then dialled another number. I heard her say "Youyi Binguan" (Friendship Hotel), and a thought bubble with dollar signs appeared over my head. But there was no sign of a red envelope as she placed the handset down again. Her third and final call was the longest, and now her voice seemed buoyant enough to make me think I was not going to leave empty-handed after all. I was right. She wrote some figures on the form which she returned to me, then proceeded to explain why, not in English, but in rapid Chinese. I should have interrupted her with a "Qing wen" (Excuse me) followed by "Wo bu mingbai ni shuo shenmo" (I do not understand what you are saying), but she was in full flight, barely stopping for breath. When she paused for a second, my mistake was to say "oh" which gave her the clue that I did indeed understand what she was saying. I simply gave in and let her continue. To make sure she was offering some hope, I pointed to the figures 10.29 she had written, and asked "Youyi Binguan?" (Friendship Hotel). She responded affirmatively, so I thanked her and left. The paper chase had now become what we Westerners call, a wild goose chase. Not only was I going around in circles and getting nowhere - this was more like being in a maze from which I could not exit. At least I was getting more exercise. Walking briskly and climbing the steps of the overpasses again, I returned to the hotel apartment reception room to show the rewritten form to the woman who had directed me to the post office an hour earlier. She was both surprised and apologetic for having sent me so far without a satisfactory result. I pointed to the figures 10.29 and explained how the supervisor had indicated I should take the form back to the hotel post office where my journey had started almost two hours earlier. Asking me to sit down, which was just as well because I now felt quite weary, she called the hotel's post office to try to sort things out once and for all. After a brief conversation, she suggested the numbers 10.29 might be the time I would receive the money. Presumably it would arrive at my apartment the next morning - at precisely 10.29 am. But the look on her face was not reassuring, as if she too was uncertain. I thanked her, and on the way back, again passed the American woman who had been positive the form was my passport to a pot of gold. "Did you get the money?" she called out. "Not yet," I replied. "It will be delivered tomorrow." The next day came and went, and as I write, more than a week of 10.29 ams have passed with no sign of that money. But wait a moment, I think I can solve this mystery and end the madness. I still have the check I received from the radio station. Maybe it has a serial number which will match the numbers on this form I was given. Excuse me while I take a quick look. I am back at my keyboard. Sure enough, the figures are the same. I think I have been on a mission impossible. When I picked up the check three weeks ago, it was mid-morning - possibly 10.29 am. Yes, that must have been the time I collected it and the woman at the busy post office was merely confirming it and explaining that if I had not picked it up, someone else certainly had. Dear reader, this is not the end of the tale. It is about to take another, incredible twist, so stay close. Today I went to the bank to deposit that check. But the teller would not accept it. Why? Was it fake? She tried to explain but could not find the English words. Calling for help, one of her colleagues responded with two words so familiar, I listened in disbelief: "Post office." I walked out smiling. It finally dawned on me. This was no check - it was a money order, payable only at a post office. Why had I been waved on by the hotel post office in the first place? They must have been trying to explain they could not help if I did not have the actual money order. But now I would take it there and simply get the cash. Riches were still beyond my grasp. The cashier explained I needed to produce my passport. I did not have it on me, so I returned to my apartment for what I hoped would be the exit to the maze in which I had become trapped. The tale has been almost straightened out. After some clarification of a discrepancy in the spelling of my name on the money order compared with my passport, I had to write my signature in the "received" box in Chinese - a task difficult for me but happily performed. After carefully counting the 100 yuan bills twice, the cashier gave me the money, and the final act in this comedy of errors was over. Some questions remain unanswered, such as why did I have to sign two separate forms weeks apart for the same remittance? I may never know, but as my watch ticks over at 10.29 am each day, I am reminded of one certainty: Money never comes to those who sit and wait. After all the confusion, I think Confucius would agree. 'Tis the season to be... stressed Edwin Maher 2004-12-22 06:14 As a journalist and broadcaster from "down under," Christmas and New Year herald the starts of "the silly season." It is that time when the print and electronic media are peppered with stories which normally would not make the grade during the rest of the year. While Santa may be exciting people with his "ho, ho, ho," newsrooms where I have worked in Australia and New Zealand will be wrapping their own goodies of timeless tales not subject to tight deadlines or likely to go out of date. Softer stories making up for the lack of hard news are stored to fill out the time slots of television and radio bulletins, and pad the pages of newspapers which need articles on the other side of full-page advertising of holiday sales. With government departments and major enterprises closed for almost three weeks, someone's huge butterfly collection or a survey of people's dream patterns may be just what an editor needs to get through the slow-news days. Yuletide stress As a foreigner working in China, the approach of Christmas brings conflicting emotions. Feelings of anticipation are mixed with a longing to be with family members far away. At the same time, there is release from the physical and mental pressures which Christmas often brings. China's celebration of Christmas is not as demanding on its people as in countries like my own. When December 1 arrives, I am accustomed to joining long queues in post offices as people start posting their Christmas cards. The arrival of the first card can generate feelings of stress rather than joy, knowing you wanted to get in before anyone else. Blood pressure rises as time ticks away and there is so much to be done. Not only do cards need to be sent, but presents bought for family, relatives and close friends. The stress increases as catalogues from department stores arrive in the mail, suggesting bigger and brighter gifts than last year. Flat screen plasma TV screens, computers, or for that person who has (almost) everything - why not a new car? Turn on the TV or radio and the barrage of Christmas commercials is at full throttle. But isn't this a time for peace on earth and goodwill to all men (and women)? Try looking for a parking space on a hot day in the big shopping centres of Sydney and Melbourne and it is sometimes hard to realize this is the season to be jolly. Once inside, the jostling for last-minute gifts can raise stress levels to bursting point. Christmas is certainly a time for children, and while the young may be inexperienced at most things in life, they are masters of the art of making sure Santa fills his sack. Visits to department stores are mandatory to see Father Christmas, sit on his knee, and whisper what you want. And in case he does not hear through all that white hair, send a letter through the mail, or telephone him on the Santa hotline. By now, parents hav