September 26th, 10th day

more Aaron stuff, still.

Woke up to not having power. At first I thought I shorted out my room from my woofer, but the power was out everywhere, due to return, according to Nigel, at 6pm. I went batshit in my place. Couldn’t email, couldn’t write, couldn’t watch telly, couldn’t listen to music, and the arts building was locked, so I couldn’t even play piano.
I wandered around the sports field a bit, hoping some rogue basketball hadn’t been locked away, but no avail. I hackeysacked by myself for a while, then returned to my room and read.
Erin and I went into town, and I picked up my pictures. Man, did I look old and tired. Before I left, I was a wreck and it showed on my face. Some fun pics,but it’s obvious I got no rest. We swung by the electronics place and got the same model woofer for Erin. A different gent was there, testing a microphone and blasting some rave music. He gave Erin the “teacher discount” too.
One of the guys who observed me tying it to my bike yesterday saw us walk by and he held up two fingers, gave a quizzical look. I pointed at Erin, said, “This one’s for her.”
We rode back and deposited the woofer, waited in our rooms for the quasi-half day closing to be over. I’m suspicious of mandatory sanctioned naps.
After lunch, we rode back into town intent on finding a digital camera. We went into both grocery stores and I scored a Rolling Stones belt, with all the song titles misspelled: “Huby Tcusday, etc.” Hilarious.
Also saw some interesting school supplies: pencil boxes that read “Dony Pig,” “Violet Rat,” “Fell in Dedication,” and “My Mean is Garfield.”
We walked up the street past 20 hair salons (no exaggeration) and stopped in a few potential places. One had a Kodak digital camera for 1800 yuen. We’re going to stop by and grab them tomorrow.
My yellow bike’s seat is too low and hard, and one pedal crank needs to be tightened. I’m going to have it fixed tomorrow as well.
When we got back, I saw that the arts building was open, so I ducked in and played piano for a bit. Feng Jao Li showed and I ran back to change clothes. She and the other music teachers were singing opera and “O sole mio”, which Feng Jao Li said was “her song.”
It was dusk by the time we rode out, and when we got to the big hectic roundabout outside the grocery stores, Feng Jao Li lost the two guys we were following.
“Er… wait here while I’m look,” she said, and took off on her scooter. She returned a few minutes later and had us follow her across the street to the restaurant.
It was a nice place, lots of red and black décor, fountain and such, and we were led to a private room with a hot pad in the center of the table. Everyone took a seat and the two female music teachers teased Feng Jao Li to sit next to me, but she sat on the other side of Erin.
Food was ordered and we explained that Erin didn’t eat meat, no not even fish. In short time, a stew was brought out and placed on the pad. The woman music teacher sitting next to me with the cute little girl, touched the controls to on, and soon a torrent of bubbles joined the stew party.
The stew had fish, and I tried some, but there were bones, which I cannot abide. A cart was wheeled in and plates consumed the table space: cucumber rods, sesame cake, raw meats, lettuce, seasoned peanuts, edamame, some odd tall-stemmed mushrooms with hardly any cap, potato slices, etc. One by one they were dumped into the pot. Across the table they had a clear dish with a lid, inside which were some grey squirming beings I couldn’t immediately identify. My facial expression probably told them I wasn’t interested in them.
We shared the stew, telling each other what the names were in English, and they in turn would give us the Chinese name, laughing at our pronunciation.
Beer came and it was good courage juice. The squirming had ended in the dish and the bodies were dumped in. Familiar things floated to the surface. They were prawns. I still didn’t eat them. The whole face/antennae/legs combo just wasn’t appetizing.
I was worried about table etiquette, but everyone was letting bones drop out of their mouths, prawn heads and such, onto their discard plate. I’m sure Erin was more than a little nauseated.
Fruit rounded out the meal: pieces of melon, grapes and such, which allowed for more spitting something onto a plate.
The little girl requested we give her an English name and we decided on Lily. Feng Jao Li wanted one also and I thought “Julie” because it was so similar to “Jao Li.” I was given the Chinese name “Dao Wei,” which is as close to David as you can get.
Afterwards, we went to Coffee Language, an exquisite coffee bar, the likes of which one of the music teachers had a steady gig playing piano. The front of the place was a circular diner-type atmosphere, plush booths with a cascading water sheet down the windows. Beyond was an area of wicker swings, suspended from the ceiling, with fake vines down the support cords, an African breakfast scene mural looming on the wall. We sat there, closest to the baby grand piano, which rested on a circular piece of glass, over a fountain with black and white stones dotting the bottom and goldfish darting here and there around the water jets. Definitely my favorite place in Haimen City yet.
The teachers took turns playing piano, and pressured me to go up and play, despite assuring them that they were much more talented than I. Still, I played “At the In Between,” one of my own compositions, but didn’t sing (it would have been inappropriate) and it didn’t sound as amateur as I’d feared.
I had a mocha, which arrived in its own metal decanter and miniature mug, Erin had a latte, and the others had red tea. Lily was downing packets of sugar with a vengeance. Feng Jao Li kept her entertained by singing into a carnation.
We chatted with the piano player and (I think) his girlfriend, explained we were here for nine months, first time to China, from America, etc.
I used the bathroom and got a glimpse at the “squatting toilet,” which is kind of like a urinal in the floor. Thankfully I didn’t have need of it. The regular urinal sufficed, and then I almost ate shit coming out of the bathroom. The Chinese, for some reason, like to put little two inch high thresholds at every doorway. You can’t really see them, but man you can trip over the bastards.
The coffee shop has raised the bar on my expectations of Haimen City now. I can’t wait to see what the club is like.
We parted ways, Lily saying “bye bye” from her little bicycle seat as we pedaled off into the night. Feng Jao Li rode off when we got to the arts building and we thanked her for dinner and such. I’ve never even hugged her. It’s weird.
I typed in my journal, and Nigel stopped by, inquired about the evening and had some computer question. I gave him a copy of the picture of he and Chi at breakfast, thenhe retired. So did I shortly after.