Body Check

After learning that no hospital would endorse the US doctor’s report on the results of my physical, my host arranged for a local “body check” a couple of days later. I was to meet one of the Chinese students who would accompany me to the city to meet up with my host and then to proceed to the location for the physical. Oh, and don’t eat breakfast.

That morning, my escort met me at the hostel and we went in search of a taxi. An aside here. Despite the number of cars one sees on the streets here at rush hour, many people in China don't own them. According to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_vehicles_per_capita), the US ranks third at 809 vehicles per 1000 inhabitants, while China ranks 69^th with 188.

Major metro areas do have public transportation, but taxis are also a popular way to get around. A ride to most anyplace in the local area is just 10 RMB per person, or about $6, and there is no tipping. The catch is drivers usually won’t  depart until they have at least three passengers, so occasionally one may wait a few minutes until another fare comes along. Most days, a fleet of taxis awaits passengers outside the gates to the university, so snagging one is almost never a problem. At 6:30 am however, there are fewer people wanting rides and therefore fewer taxis available, so my escort and I watched as the only taxi pulled away before we could get to the stand.

We waited for a while hoping another taxi would replace the one that departed, but nothing showed up. We decided to walk a short distance to a larger thoroughfare, found a taxi was waiting for two more passengers and were quickly on our way. Not, however, to the body check clinic. Instead, the taxi deposited us at the bus station in the local area. Tickets were secured and not long after, we boarded the bus for Dalian city.

By this time, it was nearly 7:30 am and traffic was definitely building up. As the bus neared Dalian, traffic slowed to a crawl. Some 10 miles and an hour later, we arrived at the stop where we had arranged to meet our host. We left the bus, crossed the street, and caught another local bus that would take us to the neighborhood where the body check clinic was located. Rush hour was at its peak by the time the second bus departed, and we crept along moving just a few feet at a time through the heart of Dalian. It was nearly 10:30 when we arrived and stepped off the bus a few blocks from the clinic. My host explained that unless we had checked in by 11 am, the body check would not happen today, and we hustled to the clinic and took a number to await the check in.

According to my host, the sole purpose of the clinic is for body checks. Anyone who plans on staying more than a few months is required to have one. The Dalian students in the summer institute two years ago were also required to have body checks to get their US visas in order to attend college in the US, so this is not so unusual.

As we waited for my number to be called, I casually observed others in the waiting area. On the right, a long line of international visitors were also waiting. A few of the women wore saris and scarves, and several of the men looked like they might be from India or Pakistan. A few might have been from other parts of southwest Asia. All appeared to be college-aged. Across the way, a young Caucasian couple with a small son also waited. They didn’t speak, so it was hard to discern where they might be from. Most of the other people were Chinese.

As the clock approached 11 am, my host grew concerned that we might have to return the next day, however, shortly before 11 am my number was called. Soon I had the necessary forms and I began the round of body checks.

First stop was for blood pressure using a machine seen at malls and pharmacies in the US, although monitored by a man in a white lab coat, who recorded the results, stamped the form, and sent us along. Next stop was an eye test. Could I see the chart with my glasses off? No. Could I see it with my glasses on? Yes. Next person, please! In quick succession, followed a chest x-ray, heart and abdominal ultra-sound, ECG, and a blood draw. At one point, my host asked if this was anything like the physical in the US. I quickly replied that it was more like induction into the Army than any exam by a personal doctor. The last station was conveniently located adjacent to the toilet. This was the one I dreaded most.

Another aside here. If you’ve never traveled outside North America, you may not have ever experienced the alternative forms of public bathroom plumbing found in many other countries. Let’s just say that the porcelain throne one seats oneself on in the typical public bathroom in the US is not to be found. Rather, one must suspend oneself over a trench in the floor (at least if one is a female). Now, this isn’t so different that what my mother taught me (“don’t sit on that, it’s dirty!”), but hovering above the target at 60 poses a challenge, at least for moi. Getting into position isn’t too difficult, but recovering to an upright position is a struggle. (okay, so maybe I need to add squats to my non-existent exercise routine). And there isn’t anything in the stall to grab and lever myself upright with. Despite the difficulties, the required sample was obtained and given to the lab tech, and thankfully the ordeal was over. We departed the clinic in search of lunch. 

Addendum. Due to extenuating circumstances, this entry was delayed by more than a week. As of the date of this post, the results of the physical have been submitted to the proper authorities and the residence permit is in the works. Next time, the entry will be devoted to cuisine.

 

 

An Exercise in Chinese Bureaucracy and Eating Noodles

First, some background. The word bureaucracy was coined in 1818 by French economist Jean Claude Marie Vincent de Gournay and comes from the French word for desk (dictionary.reference.com/browse/bureaucracy)—think stacks of drawers one above the other in a hierarchical arrangement. While that term is only a couple hundred years old, the concept of a bureaucratic system of government goes back thousands of year. To China. The Qin dynasty (221 to 206 BC)  government was highly bureaucratic, and was administered by a hierarchy of officials, all serving the First Emperor (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qin_dynasty). Becoming a part of the government bureaucracy provided a way for otherwise non-aristocrats to become respectable, rich and powerful. Getting there wasn’t easy, and those who landed a job in the bureaucracy helped to make sure that everyone else had to go through the system in order to get anything accomplished. Not so different, perhaps, from many governments all over the world. This week, I met the Chinese version face to face.

One of the many things I had to do before coming to China was get a physical exam; it was required for a stay of more than a few months. The embassy’s website said that the exam had to be given by an “approved” hospital but did not offer any guidance on what that meant or where I could find one. So I took the form to my family physician, who performed the physical, including all of the tests and lab work required, and gave me a copy to bring with me while keeping the original.

Fast forward to this week. It was time for me to apply for a resident permit, which is required for long stays, and my host arranged for a car and driver to take us to the Bureau of Entry and Exit in Dalian, some 90 minutes away. We presented ourselves and various documents to the official, who quickly flipped through them but stopped when he got to the physical exam form. A long discussion ensued with much head-shaking on the official’s part and tapping of the document in question. After several minutes, my host translated and explained that a copy of the form was not acceptable, and that the original would be required to process the application. We visited several other offices, my host appealing to a series of officials but without success. It would be necessary for my host to return the next day with the original. We departed the immigration office, and went in search of lunch. Here is where the noodles come into the story.

A Chinese acquaintance explained recently that there are four general types of cuisine in China: sweet, salty, hot and bland. The same friend also said that cooked food that is eaten warm tends to be less salty, and food that is eaten cool or chilled will be more salty. Food in China is regional, or perhaps more accurately, provincial. That is, the cuisine varies from one province to another; for example, Sichuan and Hunan provinces are known for their hot dishes and Liaoning, with its proximity to the sea, is known for its seafood.

Food can even differ from one part of a city to another. Our driver that day led us to a small restaurant not far from the immigration office that specializes in a particular kind of noodles—fat, round ones made from rice flour. If you’ve ever tried to eat noodles with a spoon then you know they can be difficult to capture. They tend to slither off of the spoon and land back in the bowl in the best case or the lap in the worst case. Imagine trying to eat noodles with a pair of chopsticks. Although I’ve had some experience with chopsticks in the past and do quite well according to my Chinese friends, these noodles defied me. My dining companions were half way through their bowls and I had managed only to pick out the strips of chicken.

Sometimes observation is the best teacher. Without being obvious, I watched my companions tackle their noodles. The trick, I discovered, was to get one’s mouth close to the bowl, grasp several noodles at a time with the chopsticks, and quickly lift them into the mouth and slurp. Yes, slurp. In China, it’s not only permissible, it’s necessary. Once the bowl had cooled to a comfortable temperature, I succeeded in slurping most of my noodles up.

Fortified with lunch, we climbed back in the car for the trip back home. When I arrived in my room, I checked the suspect health report and learned that in fact, it was also a copy. My host speculated that a local hospital might be willing to endorse the form if presented with the lab reports, which I provided. Alas, no. The only way to process the resident permit would be to have a “body check”—that is, another physical—and submit the results to the immigration office. Next time, body check, Chinese style.

 

Mid-Autumn Festival

Like US Wal-Marts, the center aisles feature seasonal items. On our previous trip to Wal-Mart, my friend pointed out the huge bins of mooncakes—which were being sold for the anticipated Mid-Autumn Festival. Mooncakes are to the Mid-Autumn Festival as fruitcake is to Christmas. Almost no one makes mooncakes at home because it takes a lot of time and they readily available at bakeries and in stores.

Most Americans are aware of the celebration typically referred to as Chinese New Year, or Spring Festival in China. However, not everyone is familiar with the Mid-Autumn Festival, which takes place in early September—this year on the 8th—when the moon is said to be at its fullest and roundest. This is a time when families gather together and eat mooncakes. The festival dates back thousands of years and probably began as a harvest festival but later became associated with a story about a beautiful lady. Chinese folktales relate that the Earth at one time had 10 suns revolving around it. One day, all 10 suns converge and begin to burn the Earth. An expert archer, Houyi, shoots down nine of the suns to save the Earth. He steals an elixir of immortality from a goddess, but his wife drinks it and floats up to the moon. On her way, she catches a rabbit for company, but is forever separated from her husband. Legend has it that if you look up at the moon on the evening of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you can see a rabbit mixing an elixir. The full moon is a symbol of reunion, so families like to gather to look at the full moon and eat mooncakes.

A Visit to Wal-Mart

The nearest shopping district clusters around a large public square and features a mixture of small independent shops and larger retail stores. The largest store is a multilevel department store that sells a variety of goods. In the basement is a Wal-Mart surrounded by a collection of smaller specialty shops.

The Wal-Mart is at the same time familiar to anyone who has ever shopped in one and distinctly foreign. Most older Wal-Mart shoppers would likely recognize the displays from an earlier time before the décor in US stores was upgraded. Row upon row of floor to ceiling shelves hold goods arranged haphazardly. Can’t find what you want? Just dig around and it might come to the surface.

The grocery side of the story resembled a discount chain more than a modern Wal-Mart superstore. Like the department store side, tall shelves were stacked with food items both strange and familiar. The produce aisle held fruits and vegetables one might see in any grocery store, plus many more unidentifiable varieties. Perhaps the most unusual section was the one displaying meat, poultry and seafood. Here, open bins held fresh fish, chicken, and pork legs on beds of ice. The display looked like pictures from an open-air market of the 19^th century in the United States, complete with swarms of flies.

Among the unfamiliar grocery items were ones with familiar logos, like Kellogg’s Cheerios. The box was smaller than in a US grocery store and it was expensive compared to US prices, but it was a welcome find, since I have been eating breakfast in my room most days.

Checking out wasn’t so different than in the US. When it came time to pay, I was not able to use my credit card because I had forgotten to look up my PIN. Fortunately, I had sufficient cash. One thing on the agenda for next week is to open a Chinese bank account and secure a debit card.

Slowly, the living space is coming together, and I’m feeling more comfortable in it. There are still a few items to add, but nothing urgent. The next two weeks will be devoted to preparing to teach classes, which start September 22.

Monday, September 8, is Autumn Festival, so the next entry will be about that.

Week 1

Hello from China! Today is Tuesday, September 2, 2014. I arrived safely very late Friday night, after a long and tedious flight. Hell would be not fire and brimstone but rather a never-ending flight stuck in a seat in the economy section beside one large person, another who is playing a disgusting movie on a laptop without earphones, and behind a third person who insists on reclining the seat back to its fully extended position. My seatmates were actually two quite nice fellows who were much more considerate. The occupant of the seat in the row in front was not so.

 The flight from Seoul to Dalian was delayed due to weather and therefore arrived very late. Friends and a colleague were waiting when I cleared immigration; the friends presented a welcome gift of fruit, mooncakes and tea, and the colleague quickly relieved me of the luggage. By 12:30 am I was in my room at the university hostel. Saturday consisted mostly of unpacking belongings and a trip to a nearby store for a few necessities, including water. 

 A word or two here about water. When traveling in some foreign countries, it’s best not to drink the water. China, unfortunately, is one of those countries. Even the Chinese don’t drink the water that comes from the tap; they boil it or buy it in bottles. Water, therefore, has become a precious commodity not to be wasted. Water for hot drinks or washing dishes comes from the tap, but is boiled first. Water for drinking and brushing teeth comes from a bottle. I have no qualms about buying and drinking bottled water, since I want to stay healthy; regretfully, there isn’t any provision for recycling the plastic bottles—hence the growing collection in my room.

 Meals are provided by the university in a dining hall for faculty. The food is good, if not exciting. The meal that takes getting used to is breakfast; it doesn’t look anything like a typical American or English breakfast or even a European continental breakfast. The most recognizable parts are the hard boiled eggs and millet porridge, which is a sort of watery gruel. Bread is included in the form of pale rolls that have been steamed rather than baked and which tastes rather bland. The odd additions are the pickled vegetables of the kind one might see on a salad bar—wax and green beans in a vinegary dressing and the like. 

The ingredient that most everything seems to have is salt. Lots of salt. Chinese friends think American food is too sweet; Chinese food is definitely too salty. At lunch Sunday, I chose a cold noodle bowl to which the server added generous portions of several kinds of sauces, including soy sauce. When he also reached for the salt I motioned with my hand not to add it. The server’s eyes widened in surprise and he mimed adding the salt. Despite my gestures to the contrary, the server added a generous teaspoon of salt. The dish was quite tasty, but way too salty.

 Adjusting to the time change has been a bit of a challenge. The first night I logged only three hours after having been up for more than 30 (sleeping upright on an airplane is a non-event). Subsequent nights were better but have included wakefulness at 2 am for an hour or more followed by only an hour more of sleep. Consequently, 8 pm finds me unable to keep my eyes open. Eight hours is eight hours regardless of when they take place, right? So it’s nearly bedtime. Check back in a day or two for the next installment of the China Adventure—a trip to Wal-Mart.

 Regards,

D.