Chinglish

On January 1, I received a text message from one of my English-speaking friends in Beijing. "Happy New Year," she wrote. "I wish the New Year bring you and your families more good lucks." I didn't care that her message did not look entirely correct. The sincerity and kindness shined through, and it was so cute and charming that I almost cried.

Just as with any second language, English is difficult for Chinese citizens. I know it's as tough for them as Mandarin is for me. The languages are different, but the solution is the same. Using the language every day, saying it, reading it, writing it, whatever, is the only way to achieve fluency. Yet there is a trend in China that criticizes those who struggle with English, and ridicules the odd combinations of English and Mandarin dubbed "Chinglish."

Unlike "Spanglish," the mashup of Spanish and English that produced various words, terms, and three-fourths of the street names in the Los Angeles Basin, "Chinglish" will never be accepted into Chinese mainstream society. That's because a certain, small element of said society is embarassed and shamed by it. Big mainland cities like Beijing and Shanghai undertake great efforts to eradicate Cinglish from street signage, restaurant menus, and public service advisories, especially in areas that tourists might visit.

The fact of the matter is, China has more pressing concerns than whether or not some English-speaking visitors get confused, get insulted, or just get a laugh from the strangely deformed words or sentences they see. The tourists should just be glad there's something translated for them to read at all. Pinyin, the form of the Chinese language that uses alphabetical characters, is learned by all Chinese, but no one really uses it. In fact, its a waste of space on the sides of buildings and on highway signs. I'm sure if it was up to most Chinese citizens, they would drop Pinyin altogether and force the rest of the world to learn Chinese characters or face economic oblivion.

So if you are in Beijing, Shanghai, Xian, Shanxi, or Guangxi, don't complain when you read "Hope You Kindly Understanding, Please Note Security." Remember that trying to figure out China is part of the reason why you showed up in the first place, and deciphering Chinglish is one of the most interesting places to start.

Hot Water

Some of my colleagues at work decided to go to a nearby fast food place to buy lunch. As a kindness to me, the only foreigner in the office, they chose a Western restaurant to grab a sandwich and drink to bring back. (Now, those of you who have lived in China for a while know where I'm going with this one. The rest of you, keep reading.)

It took almost 20 minutes before I got the phone call: the only sandwiches available were the ones with the spicy meat. And there was no Coca-Cola, just water, fruit juice and tea. OK, I said. Just get me the spicy sandwich and I'll douse the burning sensation with the fruit juice.

So by the time the crew returns to the office, I am so hungry I could eat my way through the Great Wall. But beyond that, I am unbelieveably thirsty. "Sorry it took so long," one of my co-workers apologized. "The sandwich might be cold by now." "Mei wen ti," I responded. "No problem." I ignored the sandwich and went straight for the fruit juice...which happened to be heated to a temperature close to that of Starbucks' hottest latte.

"WHAT THE #@&!?" I exclaimed, spewing the drink back into the cup. "This $#%#" is boiling!"
"Of course," my workmates explained. "Hot drinks are good for your health. Everyone knows this."

But not freakin' orange juice, I replied. I expected it to be warm, but this was like Satan's citrus revenge. It was Anita Bryant's worst nightmare come true.

After researching the facts, it turned out that my co-workers were correct. When they ordered the drink, they asked for fruit juice "without ice," which apparently meant "crazy hot." And hot water is truly necessary in China, not only because it's favored for tea, but also it guards against impurities that come with contaminated water. Years of environmental neglect combined with rapid industrial development has left much of the tap water in Beijing unfit to consume. So it's boiled, bottled, and sometimes served at high temperature. The complimentary glass of water which you receive upon being seated at a traditional restaurant in Beijing is typically steaming.

The ultimate irony came when I finally bit into the food, which was indeed as chilled as the Harbin winter festival. It just goes to show you how China sometimes resembles an upside-down world: the sandwiches show up cold, but the drinks are hot.