I don't know what the hell it is, but I guess I'll eat it.

See title. Had my first of what will surely be many of those experiences today. A few classmates and I went to an alley a few blocks from campus to grab some lunch. We didn't have much time because we had to get back to class, so we pretty much stopped at the first place we saw. Basically it was your run-of-the-mill Beijing "xiao chi" (snack) stand. We had a few options, most of which were various unknown pieces of meat on sticks, colloquially known as "chuar". I wasn't feeling particularly adventurous at the time, so I just asked for two pieces of what looked like some sort of fried flatbread (asked is really an overstatement in this case, it was really more like I pointed and said "liang ge", which means two. Ordering food is especially difficult when you have no idea what anything actually is). Everyone was pretty hungry, so we all dug right in while walking back to campus. A couple bites in, I was pretty surprised to discover that the piece of bread I bought was actually kind of like a sandwich. Cooked inside the dough was some mystery-meat combination (probably the same stuff I saw on the sticks). Don't get me wrong, it was delicious, but it was definitely a moment where I decided it was better to just eat and ask questions later. Haven't dropped dead yet, so whatever it was, I enjoyed it.

This morning was the beginning of classes and also the start of the language pledge. The pledge essentially means that for the first 3 weeks of the program, from 8 am to 4 pm all students must exclusively speak Chinese. After the first 3 weeks, the pledge becomes a 24/7 requirement. This can be quite difficult sometimes, especially when you have a question about Chinese that you have to ask using Chinese. It certainly aids your learning, though. As I explained earlier, each day I have 4 hours of Chinese class. Coming into class today, I was mentally preparing myself for a marathon session of Chinese. As it turns out, the classes are broken up into 4 parts, with 15 minute breaks in between, which lightens the load quite a bit. However, I realized that classes at IES are much different than back at Pomona. While the content is basically the same (Chinese is Chinese, more or less), the class structure and vibe is so much different. Each class has 5 students, and the classrooms are converted dorm rooms (the classrooms/offices are all on the 4th floor, while the men's and women's dorms are on the 2nd and 3rd floors, respectively). This creates such a more intimate environment than I have ever had in any class, let alone Chinese. Part of what makes Chinese a bit of drag sometimes at Pomona is that there are 15 or so students, which makes things a little boring if the teacher is asking everyone to say a sentence, or something like that. With only 5 students, the personal attention from the teacher increases significantly. Not to mention, the Chinese laoshimen (it feels really weird to say teacher. The Chinese equivalent sounds so much better and more familiar to me, so I'm just going to use that from now on. Laoshi is singular, laoshimen is plural) are all, quite simply, amazing. Not to discount my Pomona laoshimen, but the laoshimen at IES are exactly what I want in a teacher, especially for a language. Not only are they extremely smart and knowledgeable when it comes to Mandarin and Chinese culture, they have an aura of warmth and friendliness that I have found in few teachers. It's been only one day and I already feel like they been teaching me for years. It is, for lack of a better word, awesome. The first session we had a small quiz on the lesson, and then went over the lesson itself. The class is participation heavy, which keeps you constantly on your toes. For the second session, we had a different laoshi, who seamlessly picked up where we had left off. The third session was an activity session, where we had to use vocab and grammar from the lesson to construct a dialog. The fourth session we had even smaller class sizes (mine was three people, but some were two), and the laoshi just asked us questions the entire time. Throughout the four sessions, we had two different laoshimen (there are two for my level, some levels have only one), both of whom were equally awesome. Learning Chinese is undoubtedly a ton of work, but here in Beijing, even more so than back home, the work just doesn't seem like "work". I think the difference comes from the fact that here in Beijing, my work and my life are intertwined. What I learn in the classroom immediately applies to my life when I walk out of the door. It's a refreshing experience.

After class, we had a little downtime then had some guy talk to us. He was a white guy who moved to Beijing and joined a band and wrote a book about it. During his talk, he kind of admitted he never really learned Chinese, and when he talked about being the leader of a Chinese band, he described it as "revolutionizing the minds of these Chinese musicians", and seemed to think that he was bringing democracy to music. Needless to say, we all thought he was a prick. I'm not really sure why they brought him in to talk to us. I think the program director was a fan of his music. That's two hours of my life I'm not getting back.

Later in the afternoon, a few guys and I walked over to the other side of campus to play some soccer. We ended up playing some 5 on 5 with some Chinese Bei Wai students. Prior to this, I hadn't really done any strenuous activity outside in Beijing. Well, this was my first real taste of the polluted Beijing air. After a half hour or so, you do start to adapt. What stuck with me from playing these guys is their unselfish play. Even though their team members had much variance in ability, they played with absolute trust in each other, and no one person ever tried to take the game over. This is a recurring theme I have observed, and I think it goes far beyond the soccer pitch (I can't really call it a pitch to be honest, it was basically slippery astroturf). One of the fundamental values of Chinese people is that they are merely one person in a much larger group. Much more often than I have seen in America, they tend to put the interests of the group ahead of the individual. This isn't merely visible in a street soccer game, but also in basic Chinese grammar structure. Whenever you are naming a place, you always list names in order of large to small. For example, my physical address (roughly) is China, Beijing, Haidian District, Beijing Foreign Studies University, Building 7, Floor 2, Room 226. And in Chinese, this is exactly the order I would say it. Large to small, the group over the individual.

After soccer, I walked back and ate dinner with my roommate, and then had my daily tutoring session with a Chinese Bei Wai student. This brings up an interesting comparison between the only two Chinese students with whom I have had real conversations. My roommate is from a rural town; his parents are both farmers, and I bet that his ancestors were farmers as well. My Chinese tutor is from a border town on the river that divides China and North Korea; her mother is involved in some type of clothing business and her father is a relatively high-ranking government official. What I found interesting in this juxtaposition is the commonalities and between how they treat me as well as the things that they talk about (and how they talk about it). What struck me most is the hospitality that both showed me, despite me being a foreigner, and them hardly knowing me. When my roommate took me to eat, even though it was the student dining hall, he treated me like I was his personal guest in his own home. Before getting his food, he walked around with me explaining the dishes, and then ordering and paying for me without even flinching. I felt bad, because I know that his family is not wealthy (poor is probably a more accurate statement, unfortunately), and yet he was paying for my meal. I realized that all I could do was show my gratitude, and hopefully I can return the gesture the next time. After I got my food, he went back to get his own, and I then realized that I was really thirsty, and I wasn't sure where I could get a drink (on a side note, Chinese people tend not to have drinks with their meals, instead having soup). I decided to just wait until he came back and ask him where I could buy something. You can probably guess where this story goes. He returned with a drink for me along with his own food. Just like the waitress at the donkey burger restaurant from yesterday, he was extremely hospitable, especially when it came to catering to my cultural differences.

My Chinese tutor shared the same kind of hospitality. She was open, friendly, and patient with me from the very first moment, and despite being in the midst of finals, never seemed in a rush to leave. Since I didn't really have questions about my homework or lecture, we ended up just having a conversation, with me doing my best to keep up in Chinese. This is probably my favorite way to learn. Not only was I able to practice my Chinese, but almost more importantly I was learning invaluable knowledge about Chinese culture from the viewpoint of a young person who grew up in China. This was the perfect supplement to the fast-paced classroom learning. It was an opportunity to relax and learn in an informal setting. Best of all, whenever I had to resort to English, she translated for me and made sure I understood how to say it in Chinese.

Two different people from two very different places, growing up in two very different socioeconomic climates, yet who ended up at the same university, and who treated me with equal hospitality. Just another example of how the differences of the individual are not what's most important, it's the unification of many into a common group with a common ideology and common values.