One heck of a start indeed...

So when I wrote last week's post I honestly did not intend to just go AWOL on everyone for a whole week. I'm sorry if I made you all wonder if I had just quit my job, the south, and my blog in utter frustration. Just to let you know, no, I haven't. I'm still here. I'm like those southern roaches I'm always blogging about, no matter how hard you try, I just keep sneaking back into your garage.

No, the reason I have been away is because last week was one heck of a week. It was a week with a star. Or a sticker. A week that, if there were such things, would win the prize for suckiest week of the year.

For starters, there was the whole invitation to kiss someone's backside. Then, there was that same student throwing a major temper tantrum in my office later that same day. A temper tantrum of such epic proportions, police had to be called, classes had to be cancelled, and reports had to be filed. Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I, after 2,5 months of let's say, being without any sign of womanhood (OK, fine, after ten weeks of not having a period, happy now?), thought that maybe I had somehow, miraculously, through nothing less than act from God had gotten pregnant, was once again proven wrong. Not only was I not pregnant, but the lack of periods as well as some other great symptoms could possibly be the sign of something else. You know, something not-pregnant, physically not quite right with me. And as if that wasn't enough, Jimmie started to exhibit the same symptoms that landed him in the hospital two years ago, and on Thursday, I found out, by accident that not only was I up for promotion and tenure this year (as opposed to next, as I had been told repeatedly for the past few years), my portfolio is due in three weeks. Well, two and a half now.

So, we're kind of in DefCon 5 over here in the Dixiechick house. We'll make and will do just fine, but for now, just bear with me.

One heck of a start...

This semester is going to be one of its kind. How do you know, you ask? Well, it wasn't the sophomore advisee who barged into my office without knocking this morning. It also wasn't the fact that she demanded I printed out a form that I told her she needed to bring in two weeks ago. And it also had nothing to do with the fact that when I told her no, she proceeded to lament about the fact that she had no money at all, and I was being incredibly unhelpful. Nope. It was her telling me to kiss her ass right as she swept out of my office five minutes later (on her way to the office to complain about me). As my next-door-neighbor told me later, that had to be some sort of record. Asses were already being whipped around, and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet.

I would love to say something funny, ironic, or deeply insightful about this, but after five years of being told to kiss ass, show some sympathy, be reasonable, and stop dressing like a banker, I've run out of smart comebacks. I honestly thought that whenever I wrote about incidents like these several years ago, that would be the one and only time they would happen to me.

Unfortunately, they're not.
There was the student who threw a chair across the classroom when he found out that due to our class rotation, he wasn't graduating that semester. There was the student who, upon hearing her graduation portfolio did not meet the requirements, threw such a tantrum that people from adjacent departments stepped in to see what was going on. There was the student who was so mad at his quiz grade, he tore a sheaf of papers out of my hand, and then wouldn't let me pass him on my way to the office (campus police had to come in and deal with him). There were countless other incidents were students were rude, disrespectful, or just downright mean. And at one point, writing (and reading, I'm sure) about them is just not funny anymore.

So, why do you stay? You ask.
I would love to say it's the students. It used to be all about the students. Many of our students are fiercely bright, and deserve a chance at college, at a career, at life. These students used to be the reason I would deal with the crazy outliers. But in recent years, it seems as though these crazy outliers have become the dominant group on campus. They're customers, and they'll behave every damn way they please, because they're paying our salaries, thankyouverymuch.
So as I ponder another semester, I can't help but wonder if this year's batch of sophomores will be better, smarter, more respectful, less demanding, less myopic, easier to like. If they'll be the ones to restore my hope in this particular generation, my career, and whether or not what I do actually makes one iota of a difference.

I sure hope so.

Learning from China..

I have been back at work for a week today, and surprised to find that one week was all it took for the glow of my trip to China to fade. A week of endless faculty meetings, compliance workshops, IRB proposals, confused freshmen, more meetings, five brand new syllabi, and some awesome! new! software! and China appears a million miles away. Whenever I get in my car to drive the 90 miles back home, I sometimes muse on the awesome commute I had in China (eight flights of stairs). And whenever I walk past our main dining hall, where the smell of fried food makes your tastebuds tingle, I yearn for the succulent sweet and sour chicken the dining hall in Xiamen used to serve.

I realized I needed to write at least one final post to round off my China tales. I mean, I couldn't leave everyone hanging with my stories about Taiwan, and then just move right into "the ten strangest questions asked by college freshmen". But writing the final post would mean that summer was really over, and normal life had really started up again, and for the past week, I have not been quite ready to face that reality. However, with a million-an-one blog ideas running around in my head, I realize I don't have a choice. So, as a final post about China, I give you: The top ten things I learned from China:

10. Using chopsticks is great for portion control. When you're a clumsy idiot like myself, this is mainly because you don't know how to properly use the damn things, and all the food you finally get between the little sticks keeps falling off. If you are a little more adept at eating with chopsticks, or if you, like me, finally do get the hang of it, you realize that they will only carry so much food to your mouth at a time. So chicken is eaten one piece at a time, rice is consumed in portions no larger than your thumbnail, and broccoli needs to be consumed in small little tendrils. Since eating with chopsticks does take more time (and effort, initially) than eating with a spoon or a fork, you actually find yourself experiencing that "Oh, I think I've had enough" feeling before your plate is empty, instead of twenty minutes after dinner when you've already started munching on something else because you still "feel hungry".

9. Central Air Conditioning Rocks. Nuff said.

8. Walking in the rain can actually be really nice. I know that out here in the US we either sprint to our car or avoid going to outside altogether when it rains, but when you don't have a choice (because you're in the dining hall, and it's about to close since lunch just ended), you find that walking in the rain (with an umbrella) is actually quite soothing. There's something quiet about walking amidst the rain drops, seeing everything get wet, and then experiencing the instant relief when you step into a building.

7. Being surrounded by nothing but nice people can be annoying. Although I didn't care much for the surly "leave me alone" attitude displayed by many Chinese out in public, being back on campus, surrounded by people who all say "Hi, how are you" and expect an answer back has made me rethink that. Call me Scrooge, but I kind of enjoyed being able to walk somewhere and not have to worry whether or not I was offending people by not saying "hi". On the same note, it was also somewhat of a relief to not have to worry about queuing or personal space, and just go about your business without having to worry about everyone else's feelings and opinions.

6. Having a dry towel to use after your shower is a luxury. Truly, it is.

5. The same goes for clean bathrooms and toilet paper. The most disgusting public restroom here in the US can't hold a candle to what I saw in China, and that is something to be very, very grateful for.

4. Bureaucracy can always get worse. Yes, we have it pretty bad here in the US, we do. Especially her in Georgia, where the state legislature recently passed new regulations for acquiring a Georgia driver's license (I think it involves sacrificing your firstborn as proof of citizenship, but I could be wrong), but it's got nothing on China. I mean, on our last night in Beijing, the hotel almost wouldn't let us check in, because some of the stamps we had received at the Beijing airport when we arrived in China weren't completely legible. If it hadn't been for our Chinese translator losing his cool, we would have probably spent the night at the airport (which considering the state of the hotel rooms - think hairs in the bed, stains on the sheets, and dead bugs on the floor and the walls - wouldn't have been so bad).

3. Walking everywhere in 100+ heat is something you can get used to, and learn to enjoy after a while. Sure, the first few times you feel like you will die if you don't get into some AC stat, but after a few days, when you've learned why Chinese people always carry an umbrella, why water is sold in 1.5L bottles, and that sweating is way of life, you do learn to like the slow little sojourns you have to take on a daily basis.

2. Religious freedom should not be taken for granted. In China, I had the opportunity to attend an English-speaking church, where I learned how much the Chinese government has limited religious expressions, outreach, and ministry. It doesn't permit bible studies, small groups, or church-sponsored activities, and foreigners are not allowed to discuss religion with Chinese nationals. This doesn't mean that all of this doesn't happen anyway, albeit underground, but it did make me appreciate the fact that while those fundamentalist bible-thumpers back in Georgia might shun you if you tell them you're - gasp- not a baptist, at least they don't have the power to throw you in jail, or send you off to do forced labor. And that's worth something. 

1. Even though I might be a little older than I was when I first traveled to Southeast Asia, and I might feel a greater need for creature comforts, traveling around the world really still is "my thing". I think I've spent enough time exploring Georgia, it's time to start exploring the world again.

Learning to love China. I mean Taiwan. Or China?

I believe it's impossible to visit Taiwan and China on the same trip and not write about it. The experience of visiting two countries that used to be one, and that would rather be one (albeit under very different conditions) is both historical and slightly schizophrenic, while visiting Taiwan after having spent over two weeks in China is also a welcome breath of fresh air.

Now although I use the term "Taiwan", this is a definitely a word you don't want to bandy around lightly when visiting that part of the world, as it's a word that makes very few people in Asia happy (except perhaps some ignorant tourists). You see, the Taiwanese prefer to refer to themselves as "the Republic of China" (as opposed to the "People's Republic of China" across the strait), using the term "Taiwan" to only refer to the actual island of Taiwan, while the Chinese are still trying to get the Taiwanese to understand that the party is really over, and it's time to return to the fold.

The story of how Taiwan, or the Republic of China came into existence varies greatly depending on whom you ask. When visiting Jimei, a historical site outside of Xiamen, our tour guide waxed lyrical on the victory of the People's Liberation Army that defeated the nationalist dictatorship and established new China. If we leave out the  euphemisms, she was basically getting excited about the fact that the communists defeated the nationalists in the decades-long civil war, and China has from then on been ruled by the communists. Chang Kai Shek's final defeat came in the fall of 1949, on the island of Xiamen, when the Communists successfully drove the nationalists off China's mainland.

What the tour guide failed to mention, however, was that Chang Kai Shek withdrew to Jinmen, an island that was then part of the province of Taiwan, and only an hour away from Xiamen. He established a nationalist China in Taiwan, successfully (and quite bloodily) defeating the communists when they tried to take Jinmen. Up until the 1970s, most of the west did not recognize the People's Republic of China (i.e., the communists), but instead saw Taiwan (you know, the Republic of China) as the "real China". Tour guides in China usually don't tell you that.

Tour guides on Jinmen, however, are more than happy to relate that part of Chinese history, and will insist that Taiwan (or the Republic of...oh, whatever) is the "real" China. They will also gleefully point out that unlike the mainland, Taiwan went through a process of democratization after the communist defeat, and is now not only as democratic as most Western nations, but also maintains close ties with those same countries.

In practice, this translates to an island that, although it's distinctly Chinese, has western-style bathrooms (and pipes!), sports Western stores (my students almost swooned when they saw a 7-11) and goods (same for an ad for Goodyear tires), and has a Western attitude towards customer service (the statement of the day being, "Oh my God, Professor, that lady just smiled at me! She smiled!").  After two plus weeks of living in less-than-sanitary conditions, dealing with overcrowded everythings, and perpetually crabby people, our visit to Jinmen was a breath of fresh air. Here people were, to use my students' words, "just normal".

Obviously, the sights were quite impressive as well. There were abandoned bunkers, wetlands, ancient towns, and beautiful temples. But the most impressive thing we saw, was an enormous building constructed by Chang Kai Shek himself. It was as wide as it was tall, and sported beautifully decorated ceilings and doors. When we asked the tour guide what the purpose of the building was, he explained, "Once Chan Kai Shek realized he was never going to be able to return to China, he built this house so that on days when he was really homesick, he could walk to the top floor and look at China across the sea, and feel like he was home just a little."

Even though we all realized probably never know which reality about Taiwan-China relationships is true, that last sentiment is one with which everyone could agree.

Temple-crazy or how I learned to love China

The first opportunity I got to see the beauty of China came at the end of our first week in Xiamen. After a week of rain, my fellow professor and I decided that rain or not, it was time to take our students out of the classroom and show them a slice of China that didn't involve campus. So on Friday afternoon, we told our students to put on their walking shoes, bring their umbrellas, and meet us in the lobby of our building. We were going to explore the temple to the north of campus, rain and wind be d%^$ed. Heck, if the rain were to let up, we might even hike up the boulder-strewn mountain behind it. The initial grumbling we heard behind us as we trekked across campus in the rain immediately subsided when we entered the temple grounds, for it was gorgeous.

As we explored the different temples and then, when the rain finally ceased, trekked up the long and soggy mountain, it was as though someone flipped a switch inside our heads. Yes, we were on a study abroad. One that involved class time and projects and deadlines. But it suddenly hit all of us: we're doing all of this in China. In China. Yes, we're taking/teaching summer school, but holy cow, we're halfway across the world. On a different continent. In China.

Suddenly all the difficulties of the previous week, the horrible rooms, the paperwork, the rain, all of it became less important as we realized we were exploring a country most people only got to dream about visiting. This feeling persisted all throughout the weekend, as we visited two other temples, a historical site across the river from Xiamen, and had lunch with a local family. All of a sudden, we started to notice the bright colors that Chinese people used in everything, from their buildings to their temples to their foods. We noticed the small little temples hidden away in the parks across Xiamen. Instead of having to scramble for the bus exit when we realized we were at our stop, we were able to recognize the name of our bus stop as it was broadcast on the bus ("xia da bai chen" for those interested). Danger became a competition ("my taxi driver didn't have his lights on last night", "yeah well mine decided to drive on the wrong side of the street"), nuisances became entertaining ("oh, it looks like we're going to play the very popular 'how many Chinese people can we squeeze on to a bus' game again"), and creepy became a source of discussion ("I think I just saw rats crawl under that dumpster", "You sure? It looked like a cat to me", "Really? No way").

Although I don't think any of us appreciated knowing there were rats living next to our building, or fearing for our life while our taxi driver tried to break all speed records getting us home, it had all slowly become part of our "normal", and no longer distracted from the beauty and riches of the country we were in. It was funny to see how everyone took to different aspects of the country. While some of our students couldn't get enough of the different skylines we saw in each city, others got a thrill out of observing how people behaved, and I became a a real lover of temples.

I always knew I had a thing for temples ever since I visited Thailand and took close to a hundred pictures of the different temples I saw. In an era where there were only 24 (or if you felt very wild and daring, 36) pictures to a roll of film, this showed true love. And it was. I loved the bright blues and whites, the golden details, and the bright red roofs. Compared to temples in neighboring countries, with their brown hues and earth tones, these were the Elvis of temples, and I loved them. I was also pretty convinced that no other temples could rival those Thai pictures of ostentation. But then I went to China, and I have to tell you that Chinese temples can definitely give their Thai counterparts a run for their money. Although not as ostentatious (there are no shiny blue tiles on the walls, for instance), Chinese temples are awash in intricate carvings and figurines, tastefully decorated in rich reds and golds, and sport colorful dragons on each of their elegant roof lines. It was, again, true love at first sight. And for me, after seeing Nanputuo temple, with its many courtyards, its red and green roofs, its golden decorations, and watching the sun come out after days of rain, I knew that there was much more to China than bugs, paperwork, and lots and lots of people.

Our excursions continued through that second week. We visited a local school, the Xiamen port authority, the local television station and newspaper, and learned how to tell pushy vendors that we were absolutely not interested. But the highlight of the tour came on the second weekend: a trip to China's naughty half-sibling: Taiwan. 

Because I'm too lazy to upload all of my pictures to flickr and create a slideshow, here's a selection of some of the temples we visited that first weekend.

Exploring China: Daily life

Once we had conquered the mounds of red tape, had figured out how to keep the local bug population under control, and had accepted the fact that going to the bathroom was just going to be an adventure every single time, we were ready to start living life the Chinese way.

The most important decision one has to make almost every day once you've settled into a foreign country is whether to venture out for your meals, or whether to play it safe and eat what you know. As Anderwoud predicted in her guest post last month, once the students discovered that there was a McDonald's, KFC, Pizza Hut, and a Subway right outside of campus, they rarely ventured back into the on-campus dining halls, but instead opted for the fries, pizzas, and subs they knew so well from back home. I wish I could be all awesome and inter-cultural and tell you that during that whole month I -never- ate at any of those places, and actually actively avoided them, because I really wanted to immerse myself in the local culture, but that is just not true. Out of the entire month, I probably ate at a non-Chinese restaurant once, maybe twice a week, and yes, every time I did it was usually because I had just about had it with the peeing bugs/overcrowded buses/lack of AC/iffy internet and needed something that was familiar and "normal". I ate all of my other meals at the campus dining hall (or local restaurants when were out on excursions), but again, not only because I had this lofty ideal to be all global and immersed. Sure, it played a role, but it also helped that the dining hall was a five-minute walk away from my dorm, while the western-style restaurants entailed a good twenty-five minute trek across campus; that I could buy close to four meals at the dining hall for the amount of money I was going to spend at, say, McDonald's on their number 2; and that the dining hall actually served fresh fruits and vegetables. Sure, gaining the cultural experience was nice, but money and convenience played as much a role as a desire to be this galloping global ambassador.

Even though I would have never guessed this when I first walked into the dining hall and thought the amount of people swarming around coupled with the smell was enough to make me go off food for an entire month, I really learned to like the place. Since none of our students ever went there (in spite of their spiffy e-cards), it meant that it was one of the few places where I could be little old me and not Dr. D. It was the place where I would meet with our other professors and assess the day's events. It was the place where other foreign students and faculty members I had met came as well, and made me feel at home by greeting me like an old friend, and in some cases, stopping to chat for a while. And it was the place where I learned how to eat with chopsticks like a pro.

Chinese dining halls, you see, really are Chinese dining halls. They don't seem to care a whole lot that a sizable chunk of Xia da's student and faculty population is not Chinese. The only food you can purchase there is local and the only utensils available are chopsticks and the little spoons for noodle soup. The staff does not speak English, and unlike most European and American dining halls, the concept of queuing is yet to be introduced. If you want to eat, you will need to jostle your way to the front of the buffet, and push your plate at one of the workers waiting to ladle your choice of food on to your dish or bowl. And you had better remember to get your rice first. No rice? Well, then no meat or no veggies either. The rice comes from a gigantic trough in the corner of the buffet, and even though seeing the rice slopped onto your plate by a man who looks as though he'd rather be dead than serve one more annoying student did little for my appetite, it was the best sticky rice I ever had. And the same goes for the rest of the food. Yes, the workers are surly, rude, and will gladly avoid serving the foreigner if they can help it, but the food they served was magnificent. Lunch and dinner always featured a mouth-water selection. Shrimp, salmon, flounder, pork, beef, tofu, sweet and sour chicken so succulent it makes me hungry just thinking about it. There was Chinese broccoli, "hollow tube" greens, beets, carrots, corn, and lots of other green veggies that tasted like heaven but whose names I could never remember. And breakfast was no different. There was rice porridge (which, by the way, absolutely rocks), sauteed green beans (odd, I know, but very tasty when it's hot outside), hash browns, eggs, assorted pastries, and the best of all: nai cha (tea with milk).

When I first walked into the dining hall, the hustle and bustle, as well as the apparent lack of organization completely overwhelmed me. Where did I start? Where were the plates? Where was the silverware? How did I pay? How did I order? It took a few tries, but eventually, I learned to navigate the place like an old pro. Pick up your plate with rice from the dead-rice-man, elbow your way to the front of the queue to see if they were serving sweet and sour chicken today, swipe your e-card across the little register hung above the buffet, then cut across a line to find the basket of chopsticks, and then sit and enjoy.

So as far as the food was concerned, all was well in China.  

The dining hall at its busiest: right around dinner time

 

 

 

The famous chopstick-bucket

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Who can tell which is which?

Surviving China: Big bugs, little bugs, everything-in-between bugs

This part of my China travels was not so much a hurdle to be overcome, as all the other things I have talked about so far, as it was more of a theme that persisted throughout the entire month in Xiamen. A really large, creepy, flying-slash-crawly theme.

As most of my loyal readers know, I'm not big on bugs. Roaches give me the heebie-jeebies, fire ants, no matter where their mound is located, always seem to find -my- legs, and yellow flies are really God's way to punish mankind, and me in particular (just read this, this, and this if you want proof). So you can imagine my absolute joy when, upon stepping into my bathroom in Xiamen for the first time, I saw two long feelers slowly coming up out of the sink. Two skinny, brownish red feelers that were attached to what appeared to be the largest cockroach I have ever seen. Granted, it was two in the morning, and my powers of observation might have been a little diminished, but people, that cockroach had to be at least five inches long. Unperturbed by my presence, the bug calmly crawled out of the sink, and started to work its way up the wall towards the mirror. In the ten seconds it took the bug to get out of the sink, I not only realized it was -truly- enormous, but that a) with everything I had brought, Raid wasn't one of the things on my list, and b) that my go-to roach killer (a.k.a husband-dear) was about 6000 miles away, blissfully unaware of this creepy crawler threatening his wife. So I did what any sane person would do to get rid of a cockroach, I screamed. Apparently, cockroaches do have ears, for as soon as my piercing yell finished reverberating around the bathroom, the roach scurried down into the hole between the two faucets on the sink. Relieved, I immediately sprung into action, and while intoning "eeuw, eeuw, eeuw, eeuw", took out all of my jars and bottles, and strategically placed them over every single hole in the bathroom. After all, if I couldn't kill the damn thing, I could at least stop it from invading my space.

If only that had been the end of the bug problems, but the nighttime visit by the largest roach on campus was only a sign of things to come.

First, there was the American graduate student one floor down from me, who, when my students moved into the rooms next to hers, regaled them and myself with tales about the bedbugs she may or may not have had. Another student soon joined her, and almost casually mentioned that bed bugs were really very common in China and nothing to worry about. I think her attempt was to assuage our, now obvious, fears, but I am pretty sure she achieved the exact opposite. My students weren't sure if they had just gone from the frying pan, i.e., plywood beds, into the fire, i.e., beds with bed bugs, or if they should just chalk this up to this particular student's active imagination, but to say they were less than thrilled was an understatement. Fortunately, this student also had a solution: Chinese bug spray. I'm not sure if Chinese bug spray contains particularly vile chemicals, has magical powers, or if the creatures bugging this student weren't bed bugs at all, but it got rid of whatever was ailing this student. So my students immediately went out to the local convenience store to stock up on this bug killer, and refused to take their luggage into their rooms until they had bombed every corner of their rooms, while wearing trash bags (yeah, I'm not sure about that part either).

Now you all might be cool cucumbers, laid back and unconcerned about minor details such as bugs, but that is not me. Not if I have to live somewhere for a month, and then want to go back to a bug-free home. I know I just jested at my students for being less than thrilled, but, as husband-dear will gladly tell you, my response was slightly hysterical as well. Slightly, I promise. Really. I mean, all I did was immediately  stalk up to my room and strip my entire bed looking for signs for the little buggers, and even though I couldn't find any, I still went out to purchase said bug spray, and liberally sprayed it all over my room, mattress, sheets, and everything else I could get my hands on, oh, and then asked husband-dear to order one of these for when I got home. And then checked myself for bug bites every morning for a month. That's not over the top at all, is it?
Right.

Anyway, once again, I would love to tell you that was it as far as bug tales were concerned, but it's not. Our second issue centered on China's stealth mosquitoes. Call me spoiled, but I'm used to mosquitoes that make noise. You know, that annoying buzz that will keep you up half the night, convinced the little bugger is about to fly into your ear. Chinese mosquitoes have apparently evolved into a more superior nuisance, as they're small, and quiet. If you look very closely, you can see them hovering near the ceiling right before bedtime, but most of the time, you have no idea that there are mosquitoes in your room until you see them using your arm or leg as a meal. Or when you check into a hotel, and see the tiny blood spots and mosquito remnants on the walls. Now add to this the fact that most of us didn't have weatherstripping on our doors (as I mentioned last week), that my window had a nice gaping crack on the side that didn't have a screen, and you can imagine that our lives were just filled with mosquito-induced joy. Now you may wonder why we didn't bring any bug repellent and use it if these suckers were so bad. Well, we did. Some of us brought the heavy-duty Off! Deep Woods with 25% deet, while others went for the more gentle approach with Avon's Skin So Soft, while one student had even brought a mosquito repellent coil (no, I am not kidding). None of them, and I do mean none of them, worked. None. We were very lucky that Xiamen is not known for having malaria-spreading mosquitoes, or we would all be up a creek without a paddle. Instead, the only that did work, as we found out after about ten days, was an obscure Chinese remedy that came in a green glass bottle. Lime green, it smelled surprisingly good, moisturized your skin, and kept bugs at bay, so in all, it was quite the little miracle drug.

Overall, however, our biggest bug-related problem could not be solved by any sort of repellent. The largest problem we faced every day and night was the Chinese cicada. I'm actually not sure if these particular creates are cicadas, or locusts (which is what the locals called them), but I do know that they were a true pest. Chinese cicadas are, first of all, incredibly large. Put your two thumbs together, and you're close.
Second, they fly. And that's OK, because cicadas here in Georgia fly too. What's less OK is that there are thousands and thousands of cicadas who all love the warmth and light of a building filled with humans at night, and who thus try their very best to get into every building on campus. They will fly at windows, doors, and into humans if that's what it takes. So imagine walking back to your building after eating dinner, or going into town, and having over-sized bugs fly into your arms, your head, your body incessantly. Or walking up your stairwell only to be attacked by a cicada that is trying to fly into your corridor but can't seem to find the door. Or, the best part, stepping over what you think its a dead cicada, only to have it come to life, and attempt to fly up your skirt. It's just plain creepy.
And third, while we were in China, it was cicada-mating season. Great. Good for them. Find a mate and love on them is what I say. The problem is that during mating season, locusts or cicadas or whatever they are do two things. Number one: they die right after doing the deed. Yep. They find their soul mate, make sweet locust-love to them, excrete eggs, bury them, and die. It's like Titanic for bugs. So this means that those black, hard-shelled insects that were madly flying around your hallway and trying to get into your room via the missing weather stripping (told you it was relevant), will be dead little carcasses in the morning. One morning I counted as many as 52 dead locusts on our floor and in our stairwell. Just what one wants to see before having breakfast, I assure you. Number two: they "excrete mating fluids" (don't ask) to attract their mate. Again, awesome. Do whatever it takes. But they do this during the day, while trilling and clicking away in the hundreds of trees around campus. So as an unknown foreigner, it's very possible to spend the first few days, or maybe even the first week (or in the case of one professor, all four weeks until the very last day) wondering what those drops of water are that keep raining down on you from the canopy of leaves overhead, and to possibly delight in their coolness. Until a local fills you in, and you realize why everyone carries around umbrellas even when it's not raining, and in you're in the shade.
And the best part? Chinese people eat the little buggers. So whenever several would make their way into the lobby of our building (where we liked to converge at night after dinner), the owner of the little convenience store there would ask us to catch them so she could stir fry them, while the night guard spend many evenings scaring the women in my group by catching a cicada, pulling its wings off, before handing it over to "a yi" as the woman running the store was affectionately known.

I'm sure I was supposed to learn something from this experience, maybe something about how bugs in Georgia really aren't that bad, or perhaps how you do get used to even the worst living conditions (because you do), but all I really care about is how I'm no longer surrounded by wound-up horny cicadas whose sole purpose in life is to scare the living daylights out of me.

Now it might seem to hard to believe after all these tales, but we did actually have a good time in China too. I will talk about that next. Promise.