Missed Chances, Chinese "Tutor"

After all the activities of the week, I've had a quiet weekend. My main task yesterday was to go to nearby Wudaokou, the place with the subway stop where all the Koreans live. Well, I suppose a number of Americans live there too, but it is a sort of a little Korea town, as much of this neighborhood is. I went there partly to look around, and partly to look at a language school that had been recommended. I am proud to say that after some research, I was even able to find a bus, the 307, that would take me directly there, from fairly near my house. I am pleased to say that the commute was without mishap, though it took a long time in the heavy Saturday noon-time traffic.

By the time I got to Wudaokou, I was pretty hungry. So I decided to stop in at a little Japanese tonkatsu (pork cutlet) restaurant. I ascertained that either my Japanese is worse than I thought, or it was actually run by Chinese people who didn't speak a word of Japanese except "Irasshaimase!" (welcome). I am suspecting the latter, as when I listened carefully it sounded more like "I sai ma sei." Oh well, I found the bathroom anyway by switching quickly into Chinese. In the bathroom (a squat toilet, of course) was the most troubling sign. It said, roughly, "As there is no water, please don't do number 2." Fortunately, I didn't have to, but what if I had? I puzzled over whether a mere sign would be enough to stop me…

It was not long before my meal came out, and a lovely meal it was. The big pot in the upper right hand corner was a big pot of tonkatsu sauce, with a bottle of salad dressing next to it. (I didn't partake of the latter.) It was quite tasty, if not at the full pinacle of crispness I probably would have gotten in Japan. But there'd be no getting such a meal for just $2.50 in Japan, I'm betting. I really enjoyed it, though I have to say that they never came round to fill my tea-cup, not even when I had finished eating. Well, there's an ex-pat spot for you.

I went to investigate the language school, Diqiucun (One Earth Village), but there was no one around. Their information suggested that they might only teach English, Korean, and Japanese, but I thought it worth asking. You'd think it wouldn't be hard to find someone to do Mandarin, and they might try to do it for me. There was no one to ask, though. I decided to go for a long walk around the area to see what was there, and come back and try again after the lunch hour. So I did that. There were lots of things for sale--mostly clothes and food. Many hole-in-the-wall restaurants like the quaint back-alleys of Seoul.


I think it's possible--though I can't say for sure!--that I may have located the long-sought Chinese burrito. I'll have to investigate at first hand when I have an empty stomach. But it certainly looked like a sort of tortilla rolled up with ingredients and sauces. My quest for a Chinese burrito started out as a discussion with Colin as he was eating a big burrito from "Vegitaria" near the Addison El stop and I was envying him. "Bet there are no burritos around here," I said wistfully. "I haven't seen a single one." "I'm sure you can find one if you look hard enough," he suggested. But Chinese seem to be major un-fans of Mexican food. The feeling may be mutual. In Costa Rica (of course not Mexican food, but of a similar type), they sold soy sauce all right, but it had tomatoes and onions in it and was considered a sort of Asian salsa. One can hardly call that soy sauce. Anyway, I think my best hope for anything even approximating a burrito is a Chinese burrito like this one. I'll keep you posted!

I saw lots of street-vendors. One saw me gazing longingly at his cart full of sunflowers, and said gently that they were really good to eat, I should try one. He spoke so nicely that a second after I walked on shaking me head I kind of regretted not getting one. It's getting obvious that I'll have to get one eventually, just to see what they're like. But the picture at right--that one's for you Gloria. I finally found the sock-sellers, just as you said, and boy were there a lot of socks. Maybe I should have picked some up, but I was temporarily stunned by their variety and multitudinousness.

It seemed a day for not making purchases and regretting it. Here's another: I saw some men squatting in front of a pile of thin bamboo leaves, making little green insects by folding the leaves very intricately and stringing them on a string. I was incredibly impressed. Leaf origami! Why did I just snap this slightly out of focus and unsatisfying picture when I could have gone up and bargained with them, and maybe come home with one!? I don't know what I was thinking. But some desires just grow on you afterwards. I often feel that way about buying things. I'm not given to impulse buys, mostly, and have to see a thing three or four times before I decide I might want it. Go figure.

When I went back to the language school, there was still no one there and I was getting very hot and tired. It's still in the 80s here, I'll have you know, and rather humid as well. So I took a brochure that had the language school's phone number (maybe that's the way to get in touch with them, or maybe they're only about on weekdays), and caught the bus home.

My only other activity of the day was to go meet with my so-called "tutor" from the communication association. She had suggested we have dinner tonight. It turns out "we" meant she and I and three Italian girls to whom she was also a "tutor." I keep putting tutor in quotes because despite all our best efforts, we couldn't get her to speak a damn word of Chinese. She is a small girl with a round face, and much younger than me--only a sophomore in college. Her English name is Valerie. She is an international studies major, and was apparently dead set on practicing her English, which I think the Italian girls found especially objectionable. Well, I did too, though I understood it. It just seemed like a category confusion. What kind of Chinese tutor (and the words the communication association had used were "Chinese tutor") won't speak a word of Chinese? All I can think of is that they meant "mentor" or something, and the "Chinese" meant ethnically Chinese.

I think we all realized this and started asking her questions about things at the school. Most of them, though, she had no idea how to answer. The kind of challenges we face--how to find Chinese friends (who will actually speak Chinese with us), how to find classes when we don't yet have classmates to tell us where they've moved to, how to get to such and such shopping mall (the Italian girls were intent on going)--they just aren't problems that little Valerie had ever thought about. Like the Italian girls, I was annoyed by how doggedly she refused to speak Chinese, but I had a bit of a soft-spot in my heart for her because she had written to me about the class-times and saved me at least some trouble and confusion. I just know I can't depend on her for any Chinese language help!