Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.
—Douglas Adams, via Most Grave Concern

I need to read more Douglas Adams. Anybody who writes sentences like “The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t” ought to be on my shelf, assuming I had a shelf and could buy such relevant books in Dalian.

I will be buying books, though. I’ve already started. Everyone’s advice last week confirmed what I really did want to do. I’m going to study Chinese full time next year. It’s looking like Dalian University of Technology will be the lucky winner of my tuition money, on the recommendation of my friend Adam, whose Chinese sounds frighteningly impressive until you hear his Japanese. I’ve a long way to go.

I actually decided all this a week ago, after all the great comments poured in, mostly from people I’ve never met except through blogging. Those interweb tubes are a comfort sometimes, warm like my overheating core duo processor. But I’ve been holding off on posting, in part because I couldn’t figure out how to put into words why I really want to learn Chinese. It’s too daunting a language to take lightly, and I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to learn it.

A few days after this post I keep mentioning, I was on the bus heading for Chinese class, when a worker on his way out of the city sat down next to me. He smiled when I said “Nihao,” showing teeth that looked like year-old candy corn in a face that could be described as “well-traveled” in the way old suitcases often are.

Well-traveled described nearly everything about him, actually. He was from Sichuan, now working in Dalian building skyscrapers he’ll likely never set foot in. When I met him, he and four cohorts were on the first, and shortest, leg of a long journey home. We talked about how much he made working construction—”too little”—and how much it would cost to get back to Sichuan—”too much.” There was more, plenty to complain about, but I hit the limits of my speaking ability.

I got off the bus and watched it continue north up Renmin Lu. It’s a long way to Sichuan.

People who travel have always fascinated me. It’s part of why I like lighting out myself, to meet others who ditched one life for another. Mostly, this means I talk to a lot of backpackers who are here (wherever “here” is) because they can be. Take away the luxury of choice, and the trip gets much more interesting.

Last year, with utterly no Chinese ability, I’d have shrugged off that conversation on the bus, offered a “ting bu dong” and gone back to a book. I’d have done it on the cable car tonight, too, and in the taxi every weekend.

With what little of the language I’ve picked up, one thing keeps coming back. Without speaking Chinese, much of this country just doesn’t exist. It remains foreign, intimidating, inaccessible. It’s possible to live in Dalian without knowing more than “nihao” and “xie xie;” I’ve seen plenty of English teachers and IT workers do it.

But that’s just not interesting enough anymore. More to come. 别急.

Side note: Thanks again to everyone who commented before with great ideas and input.

Alex, Bernard, Jason, Kevin S., Rick, CLB, Chris Waugh (btw, I’m much taller than a bar of soap, though just as ivory white these days), D_sh, Yadira and Rob.

I think you all knew exactly what I wanted. Thanks for saying it.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 25th, 2007 at 2:28 am and is filed under self-indulgence. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.