"The saving man becomes the free man."
--Chinese proverb
My Mom predicted that I wouldn't be able to save money during my first two months in China. I was sure she'd be wrong. With such favorable exchange rates, I couldn't lose. She said that didn't matter. The first two months in a new place always require heavy spending. Alas, she was right. Because everything seemed so cheap, I couldn't stop myself from buying whatever I wanted.
It took discipline, but I was able to save up a tidy amount. Now I needed to put it somewhere safe. Not that I worried too much about getting robbed. Shanghai is safe in the same way Las Vegas is safe: the government makes sure criminals don't scare away the money, I mean the investors.
I turned to the experts, my students. Which bank should I use? I thought Bank of China or Industrial and Commercial Bank of China would be best, since they had the most ATMs. The survey turned up the same answer:
"State-owned banks bad service, very bad service," they said. They cited long waits in line, unprofessional tellers, and outdated technology.
"Which ones are the state-owned banks?" I asked.
"All of them."
"D'oh!" I should have know it wouldn't be easy. Nothing in China is easy, except finding cheap DVDs. "There has to be at least one good bank in this country."
"Well, there is one."
"Yes?"
"China Merchants Bank. Very good service."
"Why is that?" I wondered.
"Is not state bank. Is private bank." Ah, free enterprise at work.
Opening the account was relatively simple. I brought my passport and temporary residency permit. The teller filled out an application and gave me an ATM card.
I came back the next day to make my first deposit. I got a ticket from the ticket machine: #500. The display on the teller windows said it was serving customer #300. Damn! I was in for a long wait.
"Hello?"
I turned around. It was a pretty young Chinese woman. She was dressed in a jacket, jeans, and high-heeled boots that go up to the knees. Very popular with Shanghai girls.
"Marcus! It is you. Do you remember me? I'm Lucy."
"Of course!" I nodded. Meanwhile, my mind was racing: where did I meet this girl?! A party? In class? Friend of a friend?
"You do a transaction in the bank?" Lucy asked.
"Yes, I need to put in money," I said.
"Oh, you needn't talk to the teller." Lucy took me past the ATMs to a jumbo-sized ATM. "This is a special machine. You can put in money."
Just like a regular ATM, I put in my card and typed my PIN. I selected DEPOSIT. A metal plate slid away, revealing a cash tray.
"Put your money in there," she instructed.
I arranged the bills neatly. The lid snapped shut, almost biting my hand off. A loud whirring sound powered up. It sounded like it was eating my money!
"Don't worry, it's just counting it," Lucy said.
The whirring stopped and the screen showed several options, asking me to select which account to deposit the money to. I chose CURRENT ACCOUNT. Lucy said to ask for a receipt. The machine spat out the paper. I was now solvent in China!
"That's amazing! We don't have deposit machines like that in America," I said. "We have machines to take money out, but not to put money in."
"Really? Chinese always save money [30-50% of their income]. Don't Americans save money?" Lucy asked.
"Uh, not so much," I said. Statistics said that Americans save between 0-1% of their income.
Later, I read this headline in the Nov. 2005 issue of Insight: the Journal of the American Chamber of Commerce in Shanghai:
U.S. URGES CHINESE TO SAVE LESS, SPEND MORE
Appendix 1: Living Costs in Shanghai
What does it cost to live in Shanghai? Mercer Human Resources Consulting compiles a list of the world's most expensive cities every year. There's a link to the complete list over at CNN.
Shanghai ranked #30 overall. This list is skewed, though. Companies hire Mercer to calculate compensation packages for the American executives they send abroad. The Director of China Operations for a multinational corporation will demand a higher standard of living than a poor college graduate on a student budget. Shanghai can be very expensive or very cheap, depending on the person.
Enough talk. Time to show you the money!
My Monthly Expenses (estimates in RMB):
1400 Rent
1200 Food
200 Utilities
64 Bus
80 Taxi
80 Subway
300 Clubbing (Drinking and Cover Charges)
80 DVDs
300 Books
50 Mobile phone
+100 Long-distance phone calls
3854 RMB TOTAL $477.58 a month, using the Universal Currency Converter
Comments on Costs
Rent -- Housing is the biggest expense, just like it would be anywhere else. Executive expats live in country club-style communities that can cost over $10,000 a month. Serviced apartments, which are basically long-stay hotel rooms, cost almost as much.
Younger expats usually share apartments. Asia Expat is the best to look for apartments (and jobs). Smart Shanghai, Shanghai Expat, and Craig's List Shanghai are also worth a look. If you are fluent in Chinese, you can find some spectacular deals on Anjia.
If you have one roommate and a 2-bedroom apartment in the city, your rent shouldn't cost more than 2500 RMB ($310). If you live further from the city, that much could get you your own 1-bedroom apartment. 3-bedroom apartments can be had for less than 8000 RMB ($1000). For more info, check out this rental chart.
The bigger the apartment, the better the value. 1-bedroom apartments are usually bad and overpriced. 2-bedroom apartments range from okay to somewhat nice. 3-bedroom apartments are huge, new, and are well-located. Not to mention cheaper, because the rent is split among three people. The difference in price between 2-bedroom and 3-bedroom apartments is not that much sometimes. One of my friends said, "When it comes to apartments, 3 is the magic number."
Emoo is an expat services company that has excellent move-to-Shanghai packages. For one price, they'll pick you up at the airport, put you in a hotel, find you an apartment, and even toss in an international phone card. They also help with visas. Click on "Traveling." The special offers aren't there now, but should be back up soon. You can probably find a cheaper apartment on your own, but I think Emoo is the most convenient way to move to Shanghai for the first time.
Food -- Good news for people like me who are too lazy to cook. I average 40 RMB ($5) a day on food, eating out three times a day. If you stick to water and stuffed steam buns (baozi), could spend less than $1 a day. I tend to mix Western and Asian food. Pizza is expensive, so most of my friends eat Hello Pizza, a cheap local chain.
The bad news is cheese. There's no cheese in China! Carrefour (Jialefu in Chinese) is one of the few places that carry a decent selection, because they're like the French version of Costco. The Chinese I talk to say they don't like cheese, it smells too bad. Ironic, since one whiff of their stinky doufu could knock out a rampaging elephant.
Utilities -- These usually don't amount to much, but paying them can be a pain in the ass. You have to go to a convenience store like KEDI or Lawson's. You give them the bill, they scan it, and you pay. Some of the clerks can be anal about only accepting utility bills at certain times of the day. I get the best service when I pay at the post office, so now I do all my business there.
Bus -- on old buses (no air-conditioning), it costs 1 RMB for a one-way bus ticket. New buses cost 2 RMB. An old woman will come along the aisle with a dirty purse, collecting money, making change, and handing out bus tickets. The newer buses have coin machines and card scanners
Taxi -- The base fee is 10 RMB ($1.25) for the first kilometer and 2 RMB each kilometer afterwads. After 11:00PM, the base fee is 13 RMB ($1.61) There's a ton of taxis in Shanghai, and the drivers are very professional. Typically, they wear suits, ties, and white driving gloves. They don't speak English, so you'll have learn a little Chinese. Lu ("loo") means road. Nanjing Road becomes Nanjing Lu. Give the driver the street and cross-street, and you'll be fine.
Taxis come in different colors (each with a different company), but 99% of them are Volkswagen Santanas. Volkswagen was one of the first companies to enter the China market, so their cars are everywhere. The Santana is relatively cheap and super-reliable. But it's almost impossible to get a taxi when it's raining.
The taxi companies are all pretty good. Always keep the taxi receipt, you can use it to recover lost belongings or complain about a taxi driver. You can call the taxi company, and they can use the receipt to resolve any problems. Stay away from abnormal-looking taxis. They're private taxis and generate the most complaints.
Subway -- Shanghai's subway system is clean and efficient, but there's only 4 lines right now. The good news is that they're planning to add 8 lines.
It's highly recommended to get a Shanghai Public Transportation Card. It can be used on the subway, taxi, and some buses. The lines at subway ticket booths can be really long during peak times. It's faster to just pass the card over the scanner at the turnstiles. The scanners are powerful; I've seen women hold huge handbags over the scanner and it still detected the card.
Clubbing -- Drinking is expensive compared to other living costs, especially if you drink in the trendy Xintiandi area. The clubs I've gone to so far charge about 60 RMB ($7.44) for entry and about 50 RMB ($6.20) for mixed drinks. That's why my friends and I always end up at Windows Too, which has 10 RMB ($1.25) drinks. So far, my favorite club is Guandii. It was founded by Hong Kong media stars and has good hip-hop music. The place is always packed with overseas Chinese and ABCs (American-Born Chinese).
Here are some of the main clubbing areas:
Tongren Road
Hengshan Road
Fuxing Park
Maoming Road
SH Magazine is a free weekly publication that has all the latest restaurant and clubbing info. You can pick it up at most Starbucks and Western restaurants. Smart Shanghai is another great source.
DVDs -- China is heaven for movie lovers, since pirated DVDs are everywhere. DVDs in shops go for about 10 RMB ($1.25). On the street, they can go as low as 5 RMB ($0.62). I got a Philips DVD player for 400 RMB ($50) at Gome, a big electronics store. It's best to stay away from the newest Hollywood movies. Many times they're bad because the movie was recorded with a home video camera someone snuck into a movie theater. The annoying thing is that they often don't have the special features, like deleted scenes, director commentary, etc.
Books -- Books are relatively expensive. Paperback copies of literary classics are the best bargains at about 18 RMB ($2.25). Any other book can cost over 200 RMB ($24.81). Thanks to government censorship, there is a lack of variety, except for books about learning the Chinese language and doing business in China. Most bookstores will have a small section of English-language books, usually guidebooks and classic literature. The best bookstore is the Foreign Languages Bookstore, on Fuzhou Road.
Mobile Phone -- They say "mobile phone" more than "cell phone" here. Good ones usually cost more than 1000 RMB ($124.03). I got a Motorola for about 500 RMB ($62.01). One of my Chinese friends took me to a mobile phone store at Middle Henan Road subway station, Exit 1. You can sign up with China Mobile and pay a monthly fee. My friends and I buy phone cards and add credit as we go. Phone cards come in 50 RMB or 100 RMB. Since I mostly send text messages instead of talk, a 50 RMB card can last me a month.
Long-Distance Calls -- Just like with mobile phone cards, long-distance ones come in denominations of 50 RMB or 100 RMB. Try to buy them off the street from the shabbiest operator you can find. Normally you can buy for 50% or 66% off the face value. If you look Caucasian, you'll probably end up paying full price. A 100 RMB card lasts 45-50 minutes when calling America.
Appendix 2: Average Salaries in Shanghai
After talking to some people, here's what I came up with. Strictly word-of-mouth, no statistics to back these up. All numbers are monthly figures.
1000-3000 RMB ($124-$372) Recent College Graduate
5000-7000 RMB ($620-$868) Mid-level Employee
10,000 + RMB ($1240) Executive
Looking at this list, I can see why Western companies are in such a rush to send jobs overseas. You could pay a Chinese CEO half of what an American high school student makes at McDonald's. Note that factory workers make even less. Since rents are often higher than starting salaries in Shanghai, many young professionals live with their parents.
English is in such demand that I make more as an English teacher than many of my students. People are paid monthly here, rather than biweekly like the U.S. Some employers do direct deposits to bank accounts, while many still pay in cash.
Appendix 3: Exchanging Money
The yuan is a closed currency, meaning it is difficult to change. There's all sorts of exchange controls to let money come into China, but not go out. For example, when you change money at the airport or a bank, you are given an exchange memo. You always have to show that exchange memo before you can change yuan back into dollars. You can't get back more dollars than you first exchanged. Exchange memos are only valid for 6 months. Customs regualations prohibit carrying more than $5000 or 20,000 RMB in cash out of the country.
The best of all worlds is to have an American employer who pays you in dollars. Executive-level expats usually have their main salary wired to their U.S. bank account, while taking living allowances in cash for daily expenses.
Then there's the black market. Outside the main Bank of China headquarters near the Bund, there's street currency traders who will happily change as many dollars as you want. If they're blatant, they might run away with your money. If they have some subtlety, they'll yell "Police!" and then run away with your money. Or they will be totally professional: once back at your hotel, you'll discover you got carefully cut pieces of newspaper, even if you swear the money never left your hands.
The Hong Kong Dollar is freely convertible, so one of my friends proposed opening a bank account there if I ever visit Hong Kong to buy a Chinese visa. Wire the money to Hong Kong, then America. Or carry bundles of cash to Hong Kong. Some of the other schemes expats have come up with are too crazy to mention here.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Shipped to Shanghai! Vol. 10 -- No Shitting in the Toilet
I found the note on the kitchen table:
"Marcus,
The loo is clogged! You can't throw loo roll down the loo in China! The plumbing can't handle it. I've spent many an hour with the plunger. I'll talk to the landlady and get her to fix it straight away.
Until then, no shitting in the toilet!
Elizabeth"
So that was why the bathroom smelled so bad nowadays.
I maintained discipline for a few days, taking advantage of the facilities at work. There was a price to pay for that. The apartment took on the fresh aroma of a sewer. The bowl itself assumed the color of Jif Extra Creamy peanut butter.
One night we were eating takeout Chinese food. She had a vegetarian dish. I was pigging out on the shredded fish-flavored pork and steamed white rice.
At the end of the meal, it happened. My intestines were filled to capacity and had to unload immediately. Except our toilet wasn't functioning anymore.
Think man, think. I need somewhere to shit. Maybe I should take a risk and use the forbidden toilet. No, Elizabeth would never forgive me. I had to think like my hero.
What would MacGyver do?
I bolted out of my chair and ran into my room. I snatched up an old plastic shopping bag. This was a good start. I zoomed past a puzzled Elizabeth and grabbed a big red plastic bucket from under the sink.
"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked.
"Drastic times call for drastic measures." I hugged the bucket to my chest and barricaded myself in the bathroom.
Elizabeth gasped.
I played the MacGyver theme song in my head as I went to work. The plastic bag went into the bucket, lining it perfectly.
Now to assume the proper stance. I couldn't sit right on it, putting my full weight on the bucket. Otherwise, I'd get up and have the imprint of the bucket on my ass.
The new obstacle was balance. I had to summon Superman strength and hold myself up. I held the sides of the bucket in my kung-fu grip. I was as solid as a statue. This was going to work.
My hand slipped off and I almost fell down, nearly crapping all over the floor. Motherfucking gravity!
I righted msyelf, this time distributing some of the weight to my feet. My aim had to be pinpoint-accuarate. I only had one shot. I had to remember all my hours of playing Virtua Cop 2 in junior high.
There! My aim was perfect. Everything landed inside the bag, nothing fell outside. I cleaned up and tied the bag with a tight knot.
I avoided Elizabeth's eyes as I made my escape from the apartment. While I was out on the street, I had the horrible suspicion that everyone knew what I was carrying. I held the bag with two fingers and as far away from me from possible, like it was a bag of . . . a bag of . . . my own shit.
I tossed my shame into a trash can, damning it to Hell for good measure. Now to face Elizabeth.
I burst into the apartment. She opened her mouth to speak. Before she could say anything, I blurted, "I'm so sorry! I had to go! The pork made me do it!" My breathing was ragged. "Okay, what do you have to say?"
Uncomfortable silence. Finally,
"Could you spare another bag?" Elizabeth asked.
"Marcus,
The loo is clogged! You can't throw loo roll down the loo in China! The plumbing can't handle it. I've spent many an hour with the plunger. I'll talk to the landlady and get her to fix it straight away.
Until then, no shitting in the toilet!
Elizabeth"
So that was why the bathroom smelled so bad nowadays.
I maintained discipline for a few days, taking advantage of the facilities at work. There was a price to pay for that. The apartment took on the fresh aroma of a sewer. The bowl itself assumed the color of Jif Extra Creamy peanut butter.
One night we were eating takeout Chinese food. She had a vegetarian dish. I was pigging out on the shredded fish-flavored pork and steamed white rice.
At the end of the meal, it happened. My intestines were filled to capacity and had to unload immediately. Except our toilet wasn't functioning anymore.
Think man, think. I need somewhere to shit. Maybe I should take a risk and use the forbidden toilet. No, Elizabeth would never forgive me. I had to think like my hero.
What would MacGyver do?
I bolted out of my chair and ran into my room. I snatched up an old plastic shopping bag. This was a good start. I zoomed past a puzzled Elizabeth and grabbed a big red plastic bucket from under the sink.
"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked.
"Drastic times call for drastic measures." I hugged the bucket to my chest and barricaded myself in the bathroom.
Elizabeth gasped.
I played the MacGyver theme song in my head as I went to work. The plastic bag went into the bucket, lining it perfectly.
Now to assume the proper stance. I couldn't sit right on it, putting my full weight on the bucket. Otherwise, I'd get up and have the imprint of the bucket on my ass.
The new obstacle was balance. I had to summon Superman strength and hold myself up. I held the sides of the bucket in my kung-fu grip. I was as solid as a statue. This was going to work.
My hand slipped off and I almost fell down, nearly crapping all over the floor. Motherfucking gravity!
I righted msyelf, this time distributing some of the weight to my feet. My aim had to be pinpoint-accuarate. I only had one shot. I had to remember all my hours of playing Virtua Cop 2 in junior high.
There! My aim was perfect. Everything landed inside the bag, nothing fell outside. I cleaned up and tied the bag with a tight knot.
I avoided Elizabeth's eyes as I made my escape from the apartment. While I was out on the street, I had the horrible suspicion that everyone knew what I was carrying. I held the bag with two fingers and as far away from me from possible, like it was a bag of . . . a bag of . . . my own shit.
I tossed my shame into a trash can, damning it to Hell for good measure. Now to face Elizabeth.
I burst into the apartment. She opened her mouth to speak. Before she could say anything, I blurted, "I'm so sorry! I had to go! The pork made me do it!" My breathing was ragged. "Okay, what do you have to say?"
Uncomfortable silence. Finally,
"Could you spare another bag?" Elizabeth asked.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Shipped to Shanghai! Vol. 9 -- Undercover with the Fashion Pirates
"Good drums do not require hard beating."
--Chinese proverb
"Where can I buy fake goods?" Rose asked me.
We'd met on the subway when she asked if we were on Line 2. She had wanted to see the Bund. Rose came from Istanbul, Turkey. Ah, yes. I'd go there for the kebabs alone. The Blue Mosque and Topkapi Palace would be a bonus.
Back to her question. That was easy to answer: the Xiangyang Fashion and Gift Market at the corner of Huaihai Rd. and Xiangyang Rd. Take the subway to Shanxi Rd. station.
As we got out of our taxi, hawkers besieged us with offers. They all shouted the same thing: "Watch? DVDs? Bags?" Any white person has to fend off armies of hustlers looking to sell to the rich foreigner. Since I look Chinese (read: poor), I can walk through a gauntlet of them without that much hassle.
Rose had fair skin and brown hair, so she was a prime target. There were so many of them that we couldn't even walk all the way to Xiangyang Market. She chose the only hustler wearing a suit and tie. He wanted to take us somewhere else.
"C'mon, let's check it out," she said.
"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."
She won, so we followed the hustler into the underworld. He took us behind the Mason Hotel Shanghai into a maze of dark alleys. No people, no lights.
"Is this safe?" Rose asked.
I wish she had thought of that sooner. "We'll see."
The hustler unlocked a door that looked like a rusty bank vault. He led us into a dingy apartment complex. Inspired by Soviet architecture, circa Cold War. Grim gray concrete and cracked walls.
Far away, in a backroom, was another world entirely. Soft lighting emanated from the ceiling. Polished wooden shelves gleamed under the burden of so much merchandise. We could have been in any designer store on Nanjing Rd.
Mountains upon mountains of handbags! Louis Vuitton, Prada, Gucci, all of them were represented. The hustler said that the LV bags were the most popular. He said I'd even see the poorest woman on street, wearing tattered clothes, but clutching an LV bag.
Rose dived into the fray, shuffling through the bags.
I walked over to the Prada shelf. To my untrained eye, they looked real. There was a tag dangling from a bag. I flipped it over: "Certificate of Authenticity." They get it down to the last detail, these Chinese bootleggers.
* * *
Later on, I checked things out with my class. They wanted to know what the hustler said the Prada bag cost. I conferred with one of my students, who's an expert on handbags. She's the housewife of a rich man. Here is the price breakdown for a Prada handbag:
Hustler's price for a fake: 300 RMB ($37)
Fair price for a fake: 70-100 RMB ($9-$12)
Price for a real Prada: 8000 RMB ($1000)
Chinese for Shopping
Rose asked for some useful phrases for shopping in China. Here's what I taught her:
How much? = Duo shao "dwoe shau"
Don't want it! = Bu yao "boo yow" = use this to fend off vendors
Too expensive! = Tai gui "tai gway"
I want one = Wo yao yi ge "woe yow ee guh"
When you ask them the price, they'll answer in Chinese. Make the motion of pressing buttons on a calculator. The vendor will punch the numbers into a calculator and show it to you.
--Chinese proverb
"Where can I buy fake goods?" Rose asked me.
We'd met on the subway when she asked if we were on Line 2. She had wanted to see the Bund. Rose came from Istanbul, Turkey. Ah, yes. I'd go there for the kebabs alone. The Blue Mosque and Topkapi Palace would be a bonus.
Back to her question. That was easy to answer: the Xiangyang Fashion and Gift Market at the corner of Huaihai Rd. and Xiangyang Rd. Take the subway to Shanxi Rd. station.
As we got out of our taxi, hawkers besieged us with offers. They all shouted the same thing: "Watch? DVDs? Bags?" Any white person has to fend off armies of hustlers looking to sell to the rich foreigner. Since I look Chinese (read: poor), I can walk through a gauntlet of them without that much hassle.
Rose had fair skin and brown hair, so she was a prime target. There were so many of them that we couldn't even walk all the way to Xiangyang Market. She chose the only hustler wearing a suit and tie. He wanted to take us somewhere else.
"C'mon, let's check it out," she said.
"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."
She won, so we followed the hustler into the underworld. He took us behind the Mason Hotel Shanghai into a maze of dark alleys. No people, no lights.
"Is this safe?" Rose asked.
I wish she had thought of that sooner. "We'll see."
The hustler unlocked a door that looked like a rusty bank vault. He led us into a dingy apartment complex. Inspired by Soviet architecture, circa Cold War. Grim gray concrete and cracked walls.
Far away, in a backroom, was another world entirely. Soft lighting emanated from the ceiling. Polished wooden shelves gleamed under the burden of so much merchandise. We could have been in any designer store on Nanjing Rd.
Mountains upon mountains of handbags! Louis Vuitton, Prada, Gucci, all of them were represented. The hustler said that the LV bags were the most popular. He said I'd even see the poorest woman on street, wearing tattered clothes, but clutching an LV bag.
Rose dived into the fray, shuffling through the bags.
I walked over to the Prada shelf. To my untrained eye, they looked real. There was a tag dangling from a bag. I flipped it over: "Certificate of Authenticity." They get it down to the last detail, these Chinese bootleggers.
* * *
Later on, I checked things out with my class. They wanted to know what the hustler said the Prada bag cost. I conferred with one of my students, who's an expert on handbags. She's the housewife of a rich man. Here is the price breakdown for a Prada handbag:
Hustler's price for a fake: 300 RMB ($37)
Fair price for a fake: 70-100 RMB ($9-$12)
Price for a real Prada: 8000 RMB ($1000)
Chinese for Shopping
Rose asked for some useful phrases for shopping in China. Here's what I taught her:
How much? = Duo shao "dwoe shau"
Don't want it! = Bu yao "boo yow" = use this to fend off vendors
Too expensive! = Tai gui "tai gway"
I want one = Wo yao yi ge "woe yow ee guh"
When you ask them the price, they'll answer in Chinese. Make the motion of pressing buttons on a calculator. The vendor will punch the numbers into a calculator and show it to you.
Friday, December 2, 2005
Shipped to Shanghai! Vol. 8 -- Naming Names
"It is always easier to solve someone else's problem."
--Chinese proverb
My newest student wanted me to give her a name. While this seems unusual, it is a common request for foreign English teachers in Asian countries. Most foreigners find Chinese names unpronounceable, so they give their students "English names."
The catch is that most Chinese get their English names as children. As they grow up, Chinese people start to change their English names as frequently as they change shoes. Since I taught adults, all my students already had English names by the time they entered my class. Except this one.
Her name was Liang Lin. I wrestled with the naming process, because I thought it was such a huge responsibility. After we batted around a few possibilities, she chose Lillian. That one had the closest pronunciation to Chinese name.
My friends who teach English to children don't sweat this process. They've done it dozens of times by now. But I still saw it as a big responsibility. I've met Chinese girls with names like "Yo Yo" and "Moe" (as in the Three Stooges). They'll be humiliated mercilessly when they study abroad in English-speaking countries. The cruel foreigners who named these innocent Chinese need a severe beating.
Like many of my classes with new students, we spent the session getting to know each other. Lillian had spent time studying in Japan. Now she worked for a business consulting firm that helped Japnese companies enter the Chinese market.
After English, Japanese is the most popular language for Chinese to learn. China's biggest trade partners speak those languages, so that's very practical (European businesspeople use English as the default language). In fact, there's a Japanese language school next door to my English school.
I've met several women who've followed Lillian's career path. Get an undergrad degree in China, study Japanese in Japan, then come back to China as a translator. In the 1980s, around the time China started opening up, there was a big push to increase trade with Japan. Studying nihongo became a big fad. Being a translator was a hot job.
My translator students say it's a paradox: it's really hard to become a translator, but once you learn the language, the job gets boring. At first it's great, because translating is easy once you're fluent. But then reality sets in. Other executives get to work in production, marketing, and strategic planning, where all the action is. Translators do nothing but translate all day, all the time.
There's another danger. Translators accompany senior executives on business trips. Executives are often older men; translators are often younger women. They're stuck together in a hotel in another country, no prying wives in sight. That's a recipe for a soap opera.
I wrapped up the lesson, eager to get lunch from BreadTalk, the European-style bakery nearby. It's the Starbucks of bakeries. They have this awesome sandwich called "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Bacon." [insert sex joke here]
But Lillian had another request. She took out her name card (that's what the Chinese call business cards) and presented to me with both hands.
I accepted it with both hands. Name cards are usually bilingual, with Chinese writing on one side and English on the other. I turned it over. Blank. No English. Huh?
"Can you make an English name for my company?" Lillian asked.
I was dumbfounded. Naming a person was one thing. A company was something else. This career woman was going to place the fate of her company in the hands of a 22-year-old who almost flunked an economics class.
Not wanting to cause someone else's bankruptcy, I tried to talk her out of it. There are professionals who are much better at this sort of thing, I said.
Nothing would shake her. I was the right person for the job. Sometimes I'm too good at acting like I know what I'm doing.
We got down to work. The Chinese name of her company was "Zhiyou," (jee-yo) which meant "Intelligent Friend" in English. While this was good in her language, she thought it would not work in English. I agreed. Then she asked the impossible: to create a name in English that still had the Chinese sound and Chinese meaning.
How was I going to do that? I worked over endless iterations. She rejected every single one. I wanted to give up.
Finally, I decided to split the English name into two parts. One part would have the Chinese sound and the other part would have the Chinese meaning.
This was what I came up with: "Geo Knowledge Partners."
"What does mean?" Lillian asked.
"It means, 'Your friends that know the land,'" I said. My brain was fried by this point.
"That is perfect! Because we are business consultants! I love this name!" Lillian gushed. She promised to tell the CEO as soon as he got back from his business trip in Tokyo.
I imagined how he'd react: "Who came up with this piece of shit name?! If he worked here, I'd fire him!"
She made me give her my mobile number (like in Europe, the Chinese call it mobile phone instead of cell phone). Lillian wanted to invite me to meet the big boss as soon as he embraced my fabulous idea. I doubted that, but gave her my number anyway.
* * *
Later on, I told this story to David, one of my students. I thought he'd be interested, since he's an advertising manager.
"So how much did she give you?" David asked.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You did for free?!" He exclaimed.
"What? What?" I asked, worried.
"The name is the most important thing! It is the face of the company! Our clients give us a lot of money to give them names," David said.
So she hadn't thought I was capable, just gullible. A fortune in yuan (yoo-un, Chinese money) just slipped out of my grasp! I had pulled a major Homer Simpson.
Outside the classroom, students were booking classes at the front desk and using the computers. Suddenly, a sound ripped through the whole English school:
"D'OH!"
--Chinese proverb
My newest student wanted me to give her a name. While this seems unusual, it is a common request for foreign English teachers in Asian countries. Most foreigners find Chinese names unpronounceable, so they give their students "English names."
The catch is that most Chinese get their English names as children. As they grow up, Chinese people start to change their English names as frequently as they change shoes. Since I taught adults, all my students already had English names by the time they entered my class. Except this one.
Her name was Liang Lin. I wrestled with the naming process, because I thought it was such a huge responsibility. After we batted around a few possibilities, she chose Lillian. That one had the closest pronunciation to Chinese name.
My friends who teach English to children don't sweat this process. They've done it dozens of times by now. But I still saw it as a big responsibility. I've met Chinese girls with names like "Yo Yo" and "Moe" (as in the Three Stooges). They'll be humiliated mercilessly when they study abroad in English-speaking countries. The cruel foreigners who named these innocent Chinese need a severe beating.
Like many of my classes with new students, we spent the session getting to know each other. Lillian had spent time studying in Japan. Now she worked for a business consulting firm that helped Japnese companies enter the Chinese market.
After English, Japanese is the most popular language for Chinese to learn. China's biggest trade partners speak those languages, so that's very practical (European businesspeople use English as the default language). In fact, there's a Japanese language school next door to my English school.
I've met several women who've followed Lillian's career path. Get an undergrad degree in China, study Japanese in Japan, then come back to China as a translator. In the 1980s, around the time China started opening up, there was a big push to increase trade with Japan. Studying nihongo became a big fad. Being a translator was a hot job.
My translator students say it's a paradox: it's really hard to become a translator, but once you learn the language, the job gets boring. At first it's great, because translating is easy once you're fluent. But then reality sets in. Other executives get to work in production, marketing, and strategic planning, where all the action is. Translators do nothing but translate all day, all the time.
There's another danger. Translators accompany senior executives on business trips. Executives are often older men; translators are often younger women. They're stuck together in a hotel in another country, no prying wives in sight. That's a recipe for a soap opera.
I wrapped up the lesson, eager to get lunch from BreadTalk, the European-style bakery nearby. It's the Starbucks of bakeries. They have this awesome sandwich called "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Bacon." [insert sex joke here]
But Lillian had another request. She took out her name card (that's what the Chinese call business cards) and presented to me with both hands.
I accepted it with both hands. Name cards are usually bilingual, with Chinese writing on one side and English on the other. I turned it over. Blank. No English. Huh?
"Can you make an English name for my company?" Lillian asked.
I was dumbfounded. Naming a person was one thing. A company was something else. This career woman was going to place the fate of her company in the hands of a 22-year-old who almost flunked an economics class.
Not wanting to cause someone else's bankruptcy, I tried to talk her out of it. There are professionals who are much better at this sort of thing, I said.
Nothing would shake her. I was the right person for the job. Sometimes I'm too good at acting like I know what I'm doing.
We got down to work. The Chinese name of her company was "Zhiyou," (jee-yo) which meant "Intelligent Friend" in English. While this was good in her language, she thought it would not work in English. I agreed. Then she asked the impossible: to create a name in English that still had the Chinese sound and Chinese meaning.
How was I going to do that? I worked over endless iterations. She rejected every single one. I wanted to give up.
Finally, I decided to split the English name into two parts. One part would have the Chinese sound and the other part would have the Chinese meaning.
This was what I came up with: "Geo Knowledge Partners."
"What does mean?" Lillian asked.
"It means, 'Your friends that know the land,'" I said. My brain was fried by this point.
"That is perfect! Because we are business consultants! I love this name!" Lillian gushed. She promised to tell the CEO as soon as he got back from his business trip in Tokyo.
I imagined how he'd react: "Who came up with this piece of shit name?! If he worked here, I'd fire him!"
She made me give her my mobile number (like in Europe, the Chinese call it mobile phone instead of cell phone). Lillian wanted to invite me to meet the big boss as soon as he embraced my fabulous idea. I doubted that, but gave her my number anyway.
* * *
Later on, I told this story to David, one of my students. I thought he'd be interested, since he's an advertising manager.
"So how much did she give you?" David asked.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You did for free?!" He exclaimed.
"What? What?" I asked, worried.
"The name is the most important thing! It is the face of the company! Our clients give us a lot of money to give them names," David said.
So she hadn't thought I was capable, just gullible. A fortune in yuan (yoo-un, Chinese money) just slipped out of my grasp! I had pulled a major Homer Simpson.
Outside the classroom, students were booking classes at the front desk and using the computers. Suddenly, a sound ripped through the whole English school:
"D'OH!"
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Shipped to Shanghai! Vol. 7 -- Raging Against the Machine
"Please wait a moment."
--the most frightening words a Chinese bureaucrat can utter
The situation was critical. My student loan payments began next month. I could either stick with the standard 15-year plan and its huge payments;
or I could apply for the 25-year Extended Plan and pay almost double my balance because of all the interest.
It came down to two bad choices: declare bankruptcy now or have a negative net worth till age 47. Funny how they schedule my student loans to end at the same time my kids start college. The vicious cycle never ends!
In my darkest moments, I'd imagine there was some big conspiracy to keep college graduates poor. People who want to teach, volunteer for worthy causes, pursue the arts, or travel around the world are forced to go corporate to stave off the dreaded loans. This advocacy group is trying to solve the problem, but I didn't expect sweeping changes any time soon. Sorry, I'll get off my soap box now.
I had to get the student loan forms to my Mom before the deadline passed.
I went into the office of the China Post fully armed. I had a receipt from the last time I sent something to America, my Chinese address written down, and my ultimate weapon. Her name was Miss Zhang, the young woman who's teaching me Mandarin.
Lucky for me, the International Service window had no customers waiting in line. I was going to mail my precious application via EMS (worldwide Express Mail Service). There was a different postal clerk than who had taken my mail last time. He also gave me a different form than I used before. That should have been my first warning.
I filled out the form and slid it back under the window. The postal clerk frowned, shoved a blank form at me, and grumbled.
"He said you made a mistake and have to do the form again," Miss Zhang translated.
I grumbled a bit myself and did the form again.
"He said you filled out the wrong form. This is the right form," she said as yet another form slid under the window.
"I filled out the wrong form?! He gave me that form!" I exclaimed.
Either the third time's the charm or three strikes I'm out, I thought as I slid the correct form to the postal clerk.
He blinked as he had just seen it for the first time. A torrent of words spilled from his lips. I only caught "bu" [No] and "Xie wei ii" [Hawaii, pronounced "Sha-wai-yee"]. Enough to know this was bad news.
"He said they don't mail to Hawaii," Miss Zhang said. "He said this is impossible."
"No way!" I said. "I mailed a letter to Hawaii before and my Mom definitely got it."
Miss Zhang leaned closer to me and lowered her voice. "I believe you. He most likely does not know how to process a delivery to Hawaii. He will say it is impossible rather than lose face."
She spoke to the postal clerk. Miss Zhang said had she known the difficulty of this task, she would never have wasted his valuable time. Maybe some other person could help us so he could get back to serving his customers?
Postal Clerk #1 got up and started to walk away.
"He said to please wait a moment," Miss Zhang said.
Customers came in after me, stood in line, and left. Three cycles of customers went by. An eternity later, Postal Clerk #1 came back with another postal clerk. In desperation, I gave them the receipt I had from my last mailing. The two clerks studied it intently and talked.
"They're going to find the postal clerk who processed your last delivery," Miss Zhang said.
"Can't they just put the receipt under the scanner and pull up the information on the computer?" I asked.
Twenty minutes passed. The phantom clerk never showed up.
Finally Postal Clerk #2 passed my receipt under the scanner. Instantly, all the necessary information popped up on the screen. Postal Clerk #1 sat down and typed. In the next 30 seconds, they input my new form, sealed my letter in an envelope, and tossed it in the mail cart.
I checked my watch. In spite of having an old receipt, no line to wait in, and a native Chinese speaker with me, the whole endeavor had still taken me a full hour.
Miss Zhang tried to make me feel better as we walked out of the post office.
"It's not you. China just has its own pace."
--the most frightening words a Chinese bureaucrat can utter
The situation was critical. My student loan payments began next month. I could either stick with the standard 15-year plan and its huge payments;
or I could apply for the 25-year Extended Plan and pay almost double my balance because of all the interest.
It came down to two bad choices: declare bankruptcy now or have a negative net worth till age 47. Funny how they schedule my student loans to end at the same time my kids start college. The vicious cycle never ends!
In my darkest moments, I'd imagine there was some big conspiracy to keep college graduates poor. People who want to teach, volunteer for worthy causes, pursue the arts, or travel around the world are forced to go corporate to stave off the dreaded loans. This advocacy group is trying to solve the problem, but I didn't expect sweeping changes any time soon. Sorry, I'll get off my soap box now.
I had to get the student loan forms to my Mom before the deadline passed.
I went into the office of the China Post fully armed. I had a receipt from the last time I sent something to America, my Chinese address written down, and my ultimate weapon. Her name was Miss Zhang, the young woman who's teaching me Mandarin.
Lucky for me, the International Service window had no customers waiting in line. I was going to mail my precious application via EMS (worldwide Express Mail Service). There was a different postal clerk than who had taken my mail last time. He also gave me a different form than I used before. That should have been my first warning.
I filled out the form and slid it back under the window. The postal clerk frowned, shoved a blank form at me, and grumbled.
"He said you made a mistake and have to do the form again," Miss Zhang translated.
I grumbled a bit myself and did the form again.
"He said you filled out the wrong form. This is the right form," she said as yet another form slid under the window.
"I filled out the wrong form?! He gave me that form!" I exclaimed.
Either the third time's the charm or three strikes I'm out, I thought as I slid the correct form to the postal clerk.
He blinked as he had just seen it for the first time. A torrent of words spilled from his lips. I only caught "bu" [No] and "Xie wei ii" [Hawaii, pronounced "Sha-wai-yee"]. Enough to know this was bad news.
"He said they don't mail to Hawaii," Miss Zhang said. "He said this is impossible."
"No way!" I said. "I mailed a letter to Hawaii before and my Mom definitely got it."
Miss Zhang leaned closer to me and lowered her voice. "I believe you. He most likely does not know how to process a delivery to Hawaii. He will say it is impossible rather than lose face."
She spoke to the postal clerk. Miss Zhang said had she known the difficulty of this task, she would never have wasted his valuable time. Maybe some other person could help us so he could get back to serving his customers?
Postal Clerk #1 got up and started to walk away.
"He said to please wait a moment," Miss Zhang said.
Customers came in after me, stood in line, and left. Three cycles of customers went by. An eternity later, Postal Clerk #1 came back with another postal clerk. In desperation, I gave them the receipt I had from my last mailing. The two clerks studied it intently and talked.
"They're going to find the postal clerk who processed your last delivery," Miss Zhang said.
"Can't they just put the receipt under the scanner and pull up the information on the computer?" I asked.
Twenty minutes passed. The phantom clerk never showed up.
Finally Postal Clerk #2 passed my receipt under the scanner. Instantly, all the necessary information popped up on the screen. Postal Clerk #1 sat down and typed. In the next 30 seconds, they input my new form, sealed my letter in an envelope, and tossed it in the mail cart.
I checked my watch. In spite of having an old receipt, no line to wait in, and a native Chinese speaker with me, the whole endeavor had still taken me a full hour.
Miss Zhang tried to make me feel better as we walked out of the post office.
"It's not you. China just has its own pace."
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Shipped to Shanghai! Vol. 6 -- In the Classroom
"All human nature is similar."
--Confucius
At various times, I considered each of these as a complete, stand-alone story. But I couldn't find a way to expand them to feature length. So here's a grab bag collection of war stories from the English-teaching frontier:
International Crime 101
It's surprising the things I get asked during my English classes. I find myself having to be an expert on many more subjects than just English.
In addition to my regular classes, I also have to teach "Global Club," a free discussion forum. Students meet together with an English teacher to practice their conversational skills.
One night, I was at a loss for a topic to jump-start the discussion. The students were sitting around the table with their notebooks and pens ready, faces expectant.
Finally, I had an idea. I said, "Tonight's topic is 'American Business Slang.' Is there anything your foreign colleagues have said to you that you just didn't understand?"
The reaction was immediate:
"Yes! What does 'card up my sleeve' mean?"
"Why do Americans always say 'Are we on the same page?' What book are they talking about?!"
"My partner says 'We have to go back to the drawing board' but I don't know where it is!"
It was like opening a floodgate. These Chinese businesspeople had been so confused for so long, that at the first opportunity for answers they buried me in questions.
I slogged through that session for an hour. But they didn't want to stop. I think they were afraid that if they didn't ask questions now, they'd never be able to get the answers again.
For the second round, they asked me to decipher the corporate-speak they read in American business magazines. I explained terms like horizontal integration, vertical integration, diversification, and core strengths. They had read American CEOs talking about these things and they wanted to know what they meant.
I usually keep this a secret, but I'm actually very interested in business and investing (My love of travel and movies is public knowledge). Talking about money can be distasteful to some, but my students had no such qualms. It was a lucky thing I had done reading in the areas my students were interested in.
Just when I thought I was done, a student blindsided me by asking, "What is money laundering?"
That caught me by surprise. I gathered my wits and said it was the process of turning illegal money into legal money.
"How do you do that?" the student asked.
"Uh, do all of you really want to know this stuff?" I asked.
A sea of heads nodded.
I shrugged; gotta give the customers what they want. I picked up a marker and started writing on the dry-erase board. I remembered what I'd read in spy novels and in a book on tax evasion.
I began by saying, "Drug dealers have traditionally been the pioneers in money laundering . . ."
Pens scribbled furiously on notebooks thereafter.
Dance, too much booty in the pants!
Although most of my students are working adults, there are a few younger people who attend. They're usually students preparing to study abroad in English-speaking countries.
Mandy is an 18-year-old girl getting ready to study in Australia. America was actually her first choice, but it's too tough to get a student visa there. England was too expensive, and Canada was too cold. So she's heading down under.
One day she came to class wearing a bandana that B-boys and B-girls wear. I got excited and said, "I didn't know you could breakdance!"
She blinked and said, "What is breakdancing?"
My heart dropped like a rock. Those were the saddest words ever. I tried to tell her about breakdancing, but she didn't get it.
This required drastic measures. I pushed the table and chairs out of the way. I told her, "It looks like this." I dropped to the floor and exploded into the six-step for the first time in months. I was wearing a starched shirt and tie at the time; I must have looked crazy.
Mandy bolted up out of her chair and exclaimed, "Oh yes! That's jie wu ["Jay woh"]!"
I still wonder if she pretended not to know, just so she could sample my skills.
The Great Wall of Babble
I was teaching adverbs of frequency (usually, frequently, etc.) when it came time for the discussion at the end of each class. The book suggested comparing what Americans usually do and what Chinese usually do. That seemed safe enough.
I should have known better.
I said, "Americans usually drink coffee. What about Chinese?"
Sibyl, another student gunning for Australia, answered, "Chinese usually drink tea."
It went like that for a while with each student getting a turn. Near the end I asked, "Do Chinese usually study English?"
"Yes," Sibyl answered. "Now Chinese children are even studying English from kindergarten!"
I was impressed. If they keep that up, they'll know English better than we do. Pronunciation was still their biggest obstacle, though.
I was about to move on when Sibyl asked, "And do Americans usually study Chinese?"
Dead silence. All the students looked at me. Oh crap, how do I answer that? I decided honesty was the best policy, another mistake.
"Um, no."
It was like throwing a switch. Resentment came off the students in waves.
"But we have to spend years studying your language!" Sibyl protested. "Why won't you study ours?"
I mumbled some lame answer about how most Americans will never visit China, and even if they did, their tour guides would speak English.
That went over really well. Now all the students were frowning at me. I wish I could describe how horrible I felt at that moment. Almost as bad as the time I vomited on my Dad's boss.
Finally, someone said something. "Can you speak any Chinese?" Sibyl demanded.
I meekly said, "Hui yidiandian Putonghua." [I speak a little Mandarin]
All their jaws dropped. They looked at me in shock. The ignorant waiguoren was studying Chinese!
Sibyl started to giggle. Pretty soon the whole room was roaring in laughter. They had forgiven me. Whew, that was a close one. I like to think I rescued China-U.S. relations that day.
--Confucius
At various times, I considered each of these as a complete, stand-alone story. But I couldn't find a way to expand them to feature length. So here's a grab bag collection of war stories from the English-teaching frontier:
International Crime 101
It's surprising the things I get asked during my English classes. I find myself having to be an expert on many more subjects than just English.
In addition to my regular classes, I also have to teach "Global Club," a free discussion forum. Students meet together with an English teacher to practice their conversational skills.
One night, I was at a loss for a topic to jump-start the discussion. The students were sitting around the table with their notebooks and pens ready, faces expectant.
Finally, I had an idea. I said, "Tonight's topic is 'American Business Slang.' Is there anything your foreign colleagues have said to you that you just didn't understand?"
The reaction was immediate:
"Yes! What does 'card up my sleeve' mean?"
"Why do Americans always say 'Are we on the same page?' What book are they talking about?!"
"My partner says 'We have to go back to the drawing board' but I don't know where it is!"
It was like opening a floodgate. These Chinese businesspeople had been so confused for so long, that at the first opportunity for answers they buried me in questions.
I slogged through that session for an hour. But they didn't want to stop. I think they were afraid that if they didn't ask questions now, they'd never be able to get the answers again.
For the second round, they asked me to decipher the corporate-speak they read in American business magazines. I explained terms like horizontal integration, vertical integration, diversification, and core strengths. They had read American CEOs talking about these things and they wanted to know what they meant.
I usually keep this a secret, but I'm actually very interested in business and investing (My love of travel and movies is public knowledge). Talking about money can be distasteful to some, but my students had no such qualms. It was a lucky thing I had done reading in the areas my students were interested in.
Just when I thought I was done, a student blindsided me by asking, "What is money laundering?"
That caught me by surprise. I gathered my wits and said it was the process of turning illegal money into legal money.
"How do you do that?" the student asked.
"Uh, do all of you really want to know this stuff?" I asked.
A sea of heads nodded.
I shrugged; gotta give the customers what they want. I picked up a marker and started writing on the dry-erase board. I remembered what I'd read in spy novels and in a book on tax evasion.
I began by saying, "Drug dealers have traditionally been the pioneers in money laundering . . ."
Pens scribbled furiously on notebooks thereafter.
Dance, too much booty in the pants!
Although most of my students are working adults, there are a few younger people who attend. They're usually students preparing to study abroad in English-speaking countries.
Mandy is an 18-year-old girl getting ready to study in Australia. America was actually her first choice, but it's too tough to get a student visa there. England was too expensive, and Canada was too cold. So she's heading down under.
One day she came to class wearing a bandana that B-boys and B-girls wear. I got excited and said, "I didn't know you could breakdance!"
She blinked and said, "What is breakdancing?"
My heart dropped like a rock. Those were the saddest words ever. I tried to tell her about breakdancing, but she didn't get it.
This required drastic measures. I pushed the table and chairs out of the way. I told her, "It looks like this." I dropped to the floor and exploded into the six-step for the first time in months. I was wearing a starched shirt and tie at the time; I must have looked crazy.
Mandy bolted up out of her chair and exclaimed, "Oh yes! That's jie wu ["Jay woh"]!"
I still wonder if she pretended not to know, just so she could sample my skills.
The Great Wall of Babble
I was teaching adverbs of frequency (usually, frequently, etc.) when it came time for the discussion at the end of each class. The book suggested comparing what Americans usually do and what Chinese usually do. That seemed safe enough.
I should have known better.
I said, "Americans usually drink coffee. What about Chinese?"
Sibyl, another student gunning for Australia, answered, "Chinese usually drink tea."
It went like that for a while with each student getting a turn. Near the end I asked, "Do Chinese usually study English?"
"Yes," Sibyl answered. "Now Chinese children are even studying English from kindergarten!"
I was impressed. If they keep that up, they'll know English better than we do. Pronunciation was still their biggest obstacle, though.
I was about to move on when Sibyl asked, "And do Americans usually study Chinese?"
Dead silence. All the students looked at me. Oh crap, how do I answer that? I decided honesty was the best policy, another mistake.
"Um, no."
It was like throwing a switch. Resentment came off the students in waves.
"But we have to spend years studying your language!" Sibyl protested. "Why won't you study ours?"
I mumbled some lame answer about how most Americans will never visit China, and even if they did, their tour guides would speak English.
That went over really well. Now all the students were frowning at me. I wish I could describe how horrible I felt at that moment. Almost as bad as the time I vomited on my Dad's boss.
Finally, someone said something. "Can you speak any Chinese?" Sibyl demanded.
I meekly said, "Hui yidiandian Putonghua." [I speak a little Mandarin]
All their jaws dropped. They looked at me in shock. The ignorant waiguoren was studying Chinese!
Sibyl started to giggle. Pretty soon the whole room was roaring in laughter. They had forgiven me. Whew, that was a close one. I like to think I rescued China-U.S. relations that day.
Wednesday, November 9, 2005
Shipped to Shanghai! Vol. 5 -- Meeting the Locals
"A chat with a friend is worth over ten years of schooling."
--Chinese Proverb
There's a Taiwanese restaurant close to my apartment that I eat at a lot (reason: the most expensive meal on the menu costs $1.25 American). They make box lunches like bentos. The staff are all kids in their 20's. They want to talk to me, but they can't speak English. I ordered the fish meal, like I always do. The kids behind the counter tried to talk to me in Chinese again. I didn't understand, so they talked to the old lady waiting next to me for her food.
She translated: "They noticed you always order this meal. They are very honored you think their food is so good."
I smiled and bowed to the kids. They loved that.
I was surprised at how good her English was. The prevailing rule when I travel is that for English, the best bet is to talk college students. Anyone older usually hasn't studied English.
We ended up eating dinner together at a table. I thought maybe she'd teach me some quaint Chinese customs. She educated me, all right; but not about that.
Her name was Hu. She studied at the Shanghai Foreign Languages University. In those days, traveling outside China was virtually impossible. Her plan was to become an interpreter; that was her way out. You couldn't apply for whatever job you wanted, though. The government placed you somewhere, end of story. If you didn't like it, you'd be blacklisted and never work anywhere again. Hu was lucky and got assigned to work for the Bank of China . . . in their London branch! It was a dream come true because her English improved rapidly after that.
(The following paragraphs get into heavy-duty technical jargon. I couldn't talk about what Hu taught me without covering that stuff. If this gets really boring, my apologies.)
When Hu returned to China after that stint in England, she had the top pick of jobs. Companies were clamoring to have a fluent English speaker on staff. She chose a high-profile job with CITIC Group (China International Trust and Investment Corporation). It was one of the first SOEs, a state-owned enterprise. Over the years, CITIC went through several transformations. First, it was a pilot project masterminded by Deng Xiaoping to introduce free enterprise into a communist system. Then, it became a magnet for attracting foreign capital. With the money in hand, CITIC became an engine for economic development, pouring funds into infrastructure and domestic businesses. Now it's settled down into a holding company overseeing the Chinese goverment's investments. CITIC might as well be called China, Inc.
It's the General Electric of China. Hu said they have over 40 subsidiaries in four continents. Their portfolio runs the gamut from natural resources, manufacturing, construction, power plants, aviation . . . it's hard to name a business they're not involved in. Lately they've been moving aggressively into financial services.
Hu got her wish of being able to travel. She flew all over the world as an advisor to the president of the company. She also was the lead negotiator in deals with foreigners. Her proudest accomplishment was selling CITIC bonds to foreign banks eager to build a relationship with China. I was amazed; she must have raised billions of dollars for CITIC. She said CITIC used the money in two ways: 1) make loans to Chinese businesses 2) Take over companies in industries that were vital to China's growth.
I guessed that CITIC's strategy was to keep key assets from falling into the hands of foreigners. Brilliant strategy: use the foreigners' own money to keep them from buying their way in!
There was one thing I didn't get, though.
"Why bonds?" I asked.
Hu explained that the only other ways to raise money were to sell stock or borrow from the West, namely the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. Selling stock meant selling ownership and invited interference from stockholders. As for borrowing money, Western creditors attach "structural conditions" to their loans, often hijacking a country's economy. These conditions often included cutting government investment and opening markets before domestic companies were ready to compete with foreign ones. The problem with bank debt was that it was "callable," meaning the bank could suddenly demand the borrower pay back the full amount of the loan, crippling the borrower. The West could use the "call" option to force changes on a country.
It's different with bonds, Hu said. The issuer of the bonds controlled the loan. They decided what got repaid and when. Bonds were not callable, meaning that as long as the borrower made the interest payments, the bondholders couldn't force the borrower to repay. In the case of zero-coupon bonds, the borrower didn't even have to pay the interest. Bonds allowed the Chinese to borrow money on their own terms. She went into more detail, but I had gotten lost a long while ago.
She said restrictions were tight, even when she traveled. Hu always had to report to her superiors where she was going, who she talked to, the whole deal. That's why she said she would love to visit America. It was the one country she never got to visit. Smart thinking on the part of CITIC. One taste of American freedom and she might have defected straight away. Hu thought America would be so much more open and that people were more welcoming. (She found London people to be total snobs; she didn't like British food either).
She said she's jealous of young people nowadays, they're free to do whatever they want. Now Hu is retired. She plans to travel around with her husband. I told her a little about my studies and travels. Hu said I have a bright future and that I've made smart decisions. I bowed my head and denied the compliment (Chinese custom). Then she gestured for me to look over my shoulder.
All the restaurant kids were leaning on the counter, listening in rapt attention while we had spoken in English.
--Chinese Proverb
There's a Taiwanese restaurant close to my apartment that I eat at a lot (reason: the most expensive meal on the menu costs $1.25 American). They make box lunches like bentos. The staff are all kids in their 20's. They want to talk to me, but they can't speak English. I ordered the fish meal, like I always do. The kids behind the counter tried to talk to me in Chinese again. I didn't understand, so they talked to the old lady waiting next to me for her food.
She translated: "They noticed you always order this meal. They are very honored you think their food is so good."
I smiled and bowed to the kids. They loved that.
I was surprised at how good her English was. The prevailing rule when I travel is that for English, the best bet is to talk college students. Anyone older usually hasn't studied English.
We ended up eating dinner together at a table. I thought maybe she'd teach me some quaint Chinese customs. She educated me, all right; but not about that.
Her name was Hu. She studied at the Shanghai Foreign Languages University. In those days, traveling outside China was virtually impossible. Her plan was to become an interpreter; that was her way out. You couldn't apply for whatever job you wanted, though. The government placed you somewhere, end of story. If you didn't like it, you'd be blacklisted and never work anywhere again. Hu was lucky and got assigned to work for the Bank of China . . . in their London branch! It was a dream come true because her English improved rapidly after that.
(The following paragraphs get into heavy-duty technical jargon. I couldn't talk about what Hu taught me without covering that stuff. If this gets really boring, my apologies.)
When Hu returned to China after that stint in England, she had the top pick of jobs. Companies were clamoring to have a fluent English speaker on staff. She chose a high-profile job with CITIC Group (China International Trust and Investment Corporation). It was one of the first SOEs, a state-owned enterprise. Over the years, CITIC went through several transformations. First, it was a pilot project masterminded by Deng Xiaoping to introduce free enterprise into a communist system. Then, it became a magnet for attracting foreign capital. With the money in hand, CITIC became an engine for economic development, pouring funds into infrastructure and domestic businesses. Now it's settled down into a holding company overseeing the Chinese goverment's investments. CITIC might as well be called China, Inc.
It's the General Electric of China. Hu said they have over 40 subsidiaries in four continents. Their portfolio runs the gamut from natural resources, manufacturing, construction, power plants, aviation . . . it's hard to name a business they're not involved in. Lately they've been moving aggressively into financial services.
Hu got her wish of being able to travel. She flew all over the world as an advisor to the president of the company. She also was the lead negotiator in deals with foreigners. Her proudest accomplishment was selling CITIC bonds to foreign banks eager to build a relationship with China. I was amazed; she must have raised billions of dollars for CITIC. She said CITIC used the money in two ways: 1) make loans to Chinese businesses 2) Take over companies in industries that were vital to China's growth.
I guessed that CITIC's strategy was to keep key assets from falling into the hands of foreigners. Brilliant strategy: use the foreigners' own money to keep them from buying their way in!
There was one thing I didn't get, though.
"Why bonds?" I asked.
Hu explained that the only other ways to raise money were to sell stock or borrow from the West, namely the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. Selling stock meant selling ownership and invited interference from stockholders. As for borrowing money, Western creditors attach "structural conditions" to their loans, often hijacking a country's economy. These conditions often included cutting government investment and opening markets before domestic companies were ready to compete with foreign ones. The problem with bank debt was that it was "callable," meaning the bank could suddenly demand the borrower pay back the full amount of the loan, crippling the borrower. The West could use the "call" option to force changes on a country.
It's different with bonds, Hu said. The issuer of the bonds controlled the loan. They decided what got repaid and when. Bonds were not callable, meaning that as long as the borrower made the interest payments, the bondholders couldn't force the borrower to repay. In the case of zero-coupon bonds, the borrower didn't even have to pay the interest. Bonds allowed the Chinese to borrow money on their own terms. She went into more detail, but I had gotten lost a long while ago.
She said restrictions were tight, even when she traveled. Hu always had to report to her superiors where she was going, who she talked to, the whole deal. That's why she said she would love to visit America. It was the one country she never got to visit. Smart thinking on the part of CITIC. One taste of American freedom and she might have defected straight away. Hu thought America would be so much more open and that people were more welcoming. (She found London people to be total snobs; she didn't like British food either).
She said she's jealous of young people nowadays, they're free to do whatever they want. Now Hu is retired. She plans to travel around with her husband. I told her a little about my studies and travels. Hu said I have a bright future and that I've made smart decisions. I bowed my head and denied the compliment (Chinese custom). Then she gestured for me to look over my shoulder.
All the restaurant kids were leaning on the counter, listening in rapt attention while we had spoken in English.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
