Busy-ness Business

A short spell of quiet solitude has suddenly turned to a flurry of activity now that term has started properly.

I'm committed to a thorough session of 预习 (pre-preparation) before , and a decent dose of 复习 (revision) after every class, as well as full attendance and punctuality. Studying at East China Normal University, while I managed near-perfect attendance, punctuality became increasingly problematic. Partly laziness, but also because classes would often take a while to get going in the morning.

This term, with only five or six students in my class anyway, and mixed morning and afternoon sessions, I'll have noone to blame but myself if class doesn't get started on time. In fact, Speaking class yesterday was very nearly a one-on-one with Teacher Zhang.

The head of the department popped her head round the door halfway through yesterday's comprehensive class.

"Anyone that wants to take the High Level HSK? There's a supplementary class running at the weekends. Register in Room 304. There's information on the wall."

I had a look. 950RMB (£63) for six weekends of four-hour days. 48 hours total, dedicated to one exam, and in all probability, very small classes. I probably wouldn't get up to much on weekend mornings anyway, I reasoned, so I slapped down a thick wad of cash and signed up. The textbook is a 400 page monster with the reassuring title 中国汉语水平考试应试指南"Chinese Mandarin Standard Examination (Examination Guidebook)".

While I was there, I signed up for the free 太极拳 (tai chi) classes (another two hours a week). When my form teacher heard, he recommended I take the calligraphy classes instead.

"But I'm looking for exercise (锻炼身体), not culture".

"锻炼身体? Calligraphy uses a lot of 气 （chi),　it'll toughen you up".

I was sceptical to say the least. The older generation of Chinese often ascribe exaggerated properties to the mystical 'chi' or 'vital energy'. I attempted a face-saving and meaningless excuse.

"... possibly, but then I'll only 锻炼 on one side of my body". It seemed to work - Teacher Wang laughed and left it at that.

After class, I went to a little Korean restaurant with Mingrui and two Korean classmates. In many ways, Korean culture, especially that around the dinner table, is still very traditional. Friends will inquire about each other's ages quite early on, and call their elders by honorifics such as Hyung (big brother) and Nuna (big sister), even if the age difference is marginal.

I ordered two bottles of 烧酒 (Soju, or Korean rice spirit) in my Pimsleur Korean ("Soju! Tu Pyong!") which raised a laugh and a flurry of Korean from the waiter, and embarassed looks from my classmates.

Drinking etiquette among Koreans dictates that drinks should be poured in order of descending seniority and that it's rude to pour for yourself. Using your free hand to hold your elbow, or resting it over your chest is a sign of respect. Juniors also shift in their seat to face away from the elder when drinking, which is a practise that features prominently in any self-respecting Korean romantic comedy. Another aspect is that seniors can make toasts at any time and everyone has to drink! How senior is senior? Well, I was eldest by a full seven months!

I'm convinced Mingrui is some sort of language genius, as he speaks decent Korean which he's picked up in six months from a few Korean friends. Not a little jealous, I punished him using my seniority and got him to down a few shots. I could get used to these rules!

In today's Culture class, Teacher Xu once again got on my nerves. The topic was on 六书 - the six categories of Chinese characters. They include 象形 or pictographic characters such as 水，鸟，or 马 which look (a bit) like water, a bird, and a horse, respectively; 指事 or ideographic characters such as 上 or 中 (up and middle) which commonly represent more abstract concepts.

"Can anyone give me an example of a 会意 or associative compound (logical aggregates in which meaningful elements are combined, but neither element is used to signify the sound)?", he asked.

"Well, how about 灭 (extinguish)? It's a picture of a fire, with a line over it - signifying extinguishing the fire".

In keeping with his condescending attitude, Teacher Xu rubbished the idea, saying that the character was a simplifed character (created since 1954 in an ongoing program to improve literacy) thus didn't count.

"But when the government chose to replace the simplified 滅 with 灭, they surely had this meaning in mind?"

Teacher Xu gave a smug smile and launched into a long-winded and pointless potted history of simplified characters, as if the reforms since the establishment of the PRC can be taken in isolation from the continuous evolution of characters since the dawn of Chinese civilisation! Anyway, I left the class completely in the dark as to what category 灭 falls into and why.

After class, I braved the cold to find a place to get my haircut. Near school, in the restaurant/bar district, every third door seems to be a hairdressing salon. They're legitimate too, as far as I can tell, not fronts for 'Houses of Negotiable Virtue'. That's a post for another day, though. I asked at a little phone shop which I've been using to top up my pay-as-you-go for recommendations, and the owner pointed me to a trendy establishment across the road.

After getting my hair-washed by a girl whose hair would probably be best described as '80's biker chick', a Wong Lee Hong look-alike with tremendously elaborate hair sat me down and asked me what I'd like. In accordance with the superstition that hair （头发) and prosperity （发财) are homophones, I'd avoided getting my hair (hence wealth) cut (short) during the Spring Festival. I was suffering stylistically as a consequence, but it also offered me the opportunity to shape something interesting from the Chinese 'fro that I was now sporting.

"How's your hair done?" I wondered. Wong Lee Hong answered but I only caught the words "thinning" and "gel".

"Uhhh... sure. Then, let's try something like yours?" I hazarded.

Wong Lee Hong got busy with the thinning scissors, and got to chatting. After the usual overseas-Chinese confusion, he asked me about haircuts in England. I was embarassed to tell him that haircuts started from £10 (excepting those awful £6 clipper jobs dotted around Chinatown) and that £200 and above cuts weren't unheard of.

In comparison, even a haircut in a nice salon in Harbin will set you back maybe 15RMB (£1). In Shanghai, I used to go to a place that was committed to providing an inclusive 45-minute head and back massage too!

I was astonished, especially given how great his great hair was, that Wong Lee Hong was only nineteen, and had yet been doing this for four years already. He postulated, fairly, that my learning Chinese might not be that useful in London, and I told him I wanted to because I was ethnic Chinese, and in order to use it for future business in China. Later, though, he confessed that he was trying to learn English, which seemed bizarre given his career choice and what he'd said about my Chinese. I wonder if he has ambitions to cut hair in the English-speaking West?

Half an hour of stilted conversation and careful cutting later, I had a haircut which, while nice, looked nothing like Wong Lee Hong's. I asked his name for future reference (it's always nerve-wracking getting your haircut by someone you don't know) and he told me he was surnamed Yu. For a single terrifying moment, the thought that he might be related to Yu Yang crossed my mind.

The last order of the day was to sign up for Taekwondo class. I'd already checked out the local dojang a couple of times and it seemed decent enough. A lot of emphasis on conditioning and not so much on technique, but that suits me fine - I'm not going to make many gradings in the few months I'm in Harbin, but I do need something to work off all the Harbin Beer and meat. I dished out 480RMB (£32) for a 'term' of 54 two-hour classes, and a further 160RMB (£11) for a dobok which, despite clearly being some sort of local brand, had 'adidas' printed all over it.

The class itself was led by an earnest young WTF trained Second-Dan black belt, who didn't look like much, but exploded into some spectacular kicks during and after the class. The students were a mixture of University students (mostly from HIT), and some younger kids, and everyone seemed competent enough. I also realised halfway through the class that this is also a really good way to pick up some new vocab, and get some listening and speaking under my belt. For example, axe-kick is 下劈 (down split-open)! All in all, should be useful.