Tianjin Normal University

Tianjin Normal University (TJNU) is remarkably similar in many respects to Marywood.

Both were founded as teacher’s colleges; both enroll many more women than men; both tend to serve first generation college students; and both are now comprehensive universities with many undergraduate and graduate programs besides education. TJNU is younger than Marywood, it was only founded in 1958. It is also much larger; it enrolls nearly three times as many students. And, I had been told, it had just opened a brand new campus.

I had already explored the old campus in the Balitai neighborhood. I liked its older buildings, they reminded me of other universities I had visited in China. I also liked the neighborhood. It was full of good restaurants, close to two of Tianjin’s best universities (Nankai and Tianjin), and near many of Tianjin’s major attractions. But I wanted to see the new campus where I would be teaching.

So on my first Sunday morning, I boarded the Number 8 bus and headed west to Tianjin’s outskirts where the city is establishing a new university district. I had been invited to attend an English department meeting where I presumed I would be ‘oriented’ and given what I needed to begin teaching the following day.

After a 20 minute ride, I arrived in a large parking lot filled with buses from all over the city. The campus was striking. But I wasn’t sure I liked it. The buildings are gray, angular, very modern, and somewhat severe.

They lack the warmth of the brick buildings on the old, Balitai campus. The campus also lacks the trees. Sure there are trees, but they are young, recently planted and barely leafed out. (I would later learn the students had nicknamed their new home, the ‘stick campus.’)

Peter was supposed to meet me at the yard where the bus had stopped. He is the young English Department faculty member who has been assigned to work with the foreign teachers, including me. After waiting 30 minutes, I decided I would have to find the College of Foreign Languages myself. At the first building, that of the College of Chinese Language and Literature, I met a young woman who took me over to the Foreign Language building where the meeting was to be.

On the way, we passed through a large circle, not unlike Marywood’s Commons, where a large, impressive fountain plays in different patterns on different days.

I was soon directed to the English department’s office and introduced to Gloria. Gloria runs the office, speaks excellent English and appears to be indispensable to everyone. I rapidly learned that the best way to get information or supplies was to ‘ask Gloria.’ Sure enough, Gloria supplied me with my class rosters and teaching schedule. I had been asking for both since I arrived the week before. No one, including Peter, had seemed able to help. It turns out that who teaches what and when is all worked out in the last days before the semester begins! It’s almost enough to make one appreciate Marywood’s registration procedures.

Students within a major are assigned to blocks of courses determined by their year at the university (first, second, third or fourth) and their section. Section membership tends to be the same for all four years, so you take the same classes with the same students for most of your four year career. There are few or no electives for undergraduates and few courses outside the major, those there are tend to be mandated (military training and Chinese political thought for two).

I was assigned to teach ‘oral English’ to six sections of second year English majors. I also had a graduate class of students in English Language and Literature and in Linguistics to whom I would be teaching ‘American Cultural Studies.’ For some reason, the graduate class was scheduled to begin four weeks after the undergraduate classes began. Each of my classes would meet for 1½ hours, once a week. I was assigned three classes on Monday and four on Tuesdays—and that was it. The rest of the week was mine to do with as I pleased.

As I was getting all this information from Gloria, Peter showed up. It was Peter who had invited me to the meeting. He apologized for not greeting me at the parking lot—the time of the department meeting had been changed; hadn’t anyone told me? And there was really no point for me to attend the meeting—it would be held in Chinese afterall. He showed me the office I would share with him and another foreign teacher and gave me a key to the door. That was my orientation!

As I rode back to the Balitai campus on the Number 8 bus, I reflected on my introduction to academic life at Tianjin Normal.

There seemed to be a heavy reliance on informal channels of communication. (Hadn’t someone told me the time had been changed?) Formal orientations weren’t really necessary. Most people already know the routines. When there is something new, someone they know will fill them in. Complete strangers like myself are very rare. Moreover, the department meeting, I later learned, wasn’t used to disseminate information. Instead, it was devoted to greetings and exhortations to achieve official goals (a little like Marywood’s faculty meetings). Such a meeting wouldn’t have meant much to me, even if I did understand Chinese. And, given the ad hoc , last minute manner in which schedules were put together, formal channels of communication would probably prove too slow and cumbersome to keep people informed.

It was also clear that neither students nor faculty had much choice in the courses they would take or teach. This was still a highly centralized system, despite the presence of a strong reform movement in Chinese higher education. Many Chinese faculty have now been educated in American graduate schools where they were influenced by many of the ideals of American education. As a consequence, more emphasis is now being placed at many Chinese universities on student choice of electives within a broad undergraduate curriculum. Evidently, these reforms have had little impact on Tianjin Normal as yet. Their proponents (at TJNU and elsewhere) hope they will reduce rote learning and foster greater intellectual flexibility and creativity. After more than 30 years experience with American higher education, I can’t help but wonder whether adopting American educational patterns is a very good idea!

Survival Skills

I had promised myself that I would work on my Chinese while I was here. I bought a text and a CD for aural work thinking that I would have the time and the incentive to develop some rudimentary, everyday Chinese. So far, however, they lie on my desk where I put them when I first arrived.

I tell myself that learning Chinese is too difficult, that I am not good at languages, and that I am too busy at the moment. More importantly, I am able to get by with only a few phrases. Here’s how I do it.

First, most Chinese will greet you with Ni Hao (you good?). To which I respond when I’m alert with Wo hen hao. Ni hao ma (I very good. You good too?) or more simply, Ni Hao. Some Chinese will also simply say Hello, but that tends to be young men on the street who are familiar with this single English word and want to try it out with a waiguoren (outside country person). Another important phrase is Xie Xie (thank you). The Chinese don’t use it as frequently as we do, but I find it helps and use it whenever I want to thank someone. They are likely to respond, Bu Xie (not at all). Duei bu si (I’m sorry) is also a very useful phrase. You will also quickly learn the word, Mao (none or not possible) as someone tries to explain in Chinese that they cannot do something for you. It is also important to be able to count in Chinese. Their system is very simple, but you do have to memorize the words and their tones.

The tones are one of the things that make Chinese so difficult to learn. One word can have four or more meanings, depending on the ‘tone’ with which it is spoken. So Ma can mean mother, or to scold, or horse, or linen and, when placed at the end of the sentence, that you are asking a question. In Mandarin there are only four tones: a high even tone, a rising tone, a tone that first descends and then rises and a descending tone (and sometimes, as in the case of ma, there’s a fifth neutral tone as well). Cantonese has 7 or 8 tones. The result is that a Mandarin speaker may not be able to understand someone who speaks Cantonese and vice versa. When two Chinese speakers cannot understand one another they will sometimes write down the characters; these are the same and so people from different parts of China can understand one another this way. You will occasionally find that someone who realizes you don’t understand their oral Chinese will start writing down the characters—which certainly doesn’t help someone like me a bit.

Second, get to know people who do speak Chinese. I am fortunate to have several veteran English speaking teachers here at Tianjin Normal. I will also soon have students who will be happy to act as interpreters in return for the opportunity to practice their English. When you anticipate trouble communicating, bring a ‘translator’ along.

Third, eat in restaurants where they display the food or have pictures of it or chose a cafeteria. You can then select what you want without knowing what the dish is called in Chinese.

Sometimes this results in a surprise—either pleasant or unpleasant. The dark drink I selected in a Taiwanese restaurant turned out to be plum juice—a nice surprise. Sometimes you can find a menu in Chinese and English. If you can’t find a restaurant with English translations, bring your phrase book or memorize in advance the basic name of the dish you would like. Ju rou is pork, nyou rou is beef, ji rou Is chicken and fan is rice. And most important of all Pi jou is beer!

(Don’t be surprised if the waitress brings you a warm bottle of beer—most Chinese beers are better drunk warm. The exceptions are beers that have been influenced by the German tradition of beer making—Tsingtao and Tianjin beers, for example, should be drunk cold and will be served that way.)

Fourth, if you are in a city, get a good map in English and Pin Yin and get your bearings as soon as you can. Walk around your neighborhood and then take longer walks. When you travel by bus or taxi, try to keep track of the route and memorize major landmarks. Have a Chinese friend write down your address in Chinese characters and memorize it in Pin Yin. If you are lost, show the map to someone and they may be able to point you in the right direction. (You may also find that a cluster of smiling and nodding people will gather around you each one of whom helpfully points you in a different direction.) If you are trying to get home, hail a cab and show your address to the cabbie. (Most cabdrivers in China are honest, but you do have to be careful around train stations and other places where tourists are common.) Be prepared to find that your cab driver doesn’t read Chinese; that’s why it’s a good idea to memorize your address in Pin Yin. Finally, carry a cell phone and call a Chinese speaking friend, if you’re really in trouble. They can act as a remote translator.

Fifth, don’t try to do too much. It takes much longer to do things in China, even when you are an ‘old China hand’ and speak fluent Chinese. The pace of life is much slower here. If you get one major thing accomplished in the day, you are doing well. Slow down and enjoy yourself. When you get back to the states you’ll find you miss the leisurely life you enjoyed in China.

Finally, never lose your temper or make a scene—only children or ‘bad’ people do that. It is always a good idea to smile. If you disagree strongly or wish to insist on something look very stern and serious—but don’t raise your voice or threaten. More times than not, your Chinese host or opponent will attempt to find a compromise or to placate you in some way. There is a very old and deep seated Chinese belief that people who are moral and good will always enjoy calm emotions and an even temper. I have watched American tourists get into deeper and deeper doodah because they raised their voices and grew visibly upset about something.

Oh yes, and it’s a good idea to learn Chinese. You’ll get a lot more out of your visit and your Chinese hosts will appreciate your efforts. I think I’ll start tomorrow!

Looking for Home

It was much too early to be homesick—and I wasn’t yet—but I was curious to see what Western influences I could find. I set out for the center of the city where the Concessions had been.

In the middle of the 19^th century the Chinese had engaged in several wars, primarily with the British, in their efforts to end the Opium trade. Opium was illegal in China, but the Portuguese and the British had been importing the drug from India in very profitable trade. The first war from 1840-1842 ended with the Treaty of Nanking in which the defeated Chinese ceded Hong Kong to the British in ‘perpetuity.’ The second war between 1856 and 1860 ended in the Treaty of Tianjin (yes, it’s named after the city where I am). This time the Chinese were forced to ‘concede’ substantial areas in a number of ‘treaty ports,’ among them Tianjin on the Hai He or Sea River. These ‘concessions’ were autonomous zones in which western businessmen and their families lived as if in their own nations. Because Tianjin long had been an important port for northern China, including Beijing, it soon attracted many westerners and developed large German, Italian, French and English communities.

With the communications tower at my back I headed northeast toward the center of the city. Several blocks from the university I found a McDonalds and a foreign language bookstore.
I headed for the bookstore! It had a surprisingly good selection of English language books, particularly the ‘classics’ of literature—Jane Austen, Shakespeare, Dickens, Hardy—the kind of thing that’s assigned in high school and college literature courses. But there were also popular novels by Ian Fleming, Mary Higgins Clark, Danielle Stone, and others. In fact, there had been a large display of the latest Harry Potter novel at the entrance I hadn’t even noticed when I entered. I bought a novel and a map of Tianjin in Pinyin and English.

I passed up the McDonald’s to get a quick lunch at a Taiwanese restaurant across the street. I’d been told they had a menu with English translations. They did and it made ordering food much easier. (I’m going to save McDonald’s until I am homesick.)

I started walking along Machang dao (Racecourse Street) which had once gone to a racetrack built by the British. The street was lined with large homes which could have been in England.

As I walked in the English concession area I passed a large rose garden where a photographer was doing a shoot of a young couple in western wedding clothes (they were white, not the traditional Chinese red for weddings). A little farther down Tai’an dao I passed an abandoned Anglican church, once All Saints, to come to Victoria Park. Here the Chinese amahs or nursemaids would bring the English children they cared for to play.

There were still plenty of children—all Chinese—and three ping pong tables where several furious games were in progress.

Across the street is the very early Astor Hotel (Lishun Fandian or Profit & Success Hotel in Chinese). It was built just 3 years after the Treaty of Tianjin.

The Chinese have preserved the original building and added a large, very modern structure behind. Inside, the original lobby, dining room and some of the bedrooms are still in use. Herbert Hoover stayed here, as did the last emperor of China, Pu Yi (with his wife and mistress), Sun Yatsen and his wife Song Qinging, and Zhou Enlai. It seems like most important figures in 20^th century Chinese history have slept here. Farther up the Jiefang lu (Liberation Avenue, formerly Victoria Road) I found the building once occupied by the firm of Jardine & Matheson which engaged in the opium trade.

There are still many foreigners in Tainjin. Many are students. Martin, the young man I have been working with in the university’s Foreign Affairs Office, thought there might be as many as 40,000. Jim Tichenor, a former New Zealand high school teacher with 10 years of teaching experience in Tianjin, indicated the number was more likely 14-15,000. Still a lot. Most of them are Japanese and Korean, but you see some young Americans on the streets and I expect I will meet many before I leave. And there are Americans and other westerners working in the new, rapidly developing commercial/industrial zone of Binhai where the Hai river enters the sea. They tend to meet in western hotels, like the Sheraton not far from Tianjin Normal’s old campus where I am living, and in clubs and bars catering to westerners.

As I neared the university—with the communications tower dead ahead—I passed a Starbucks. I’ve been drinking green tea to get me going in the morning. A cup of genuine American coffee was too good to pass up. So after loading up on cash at an adjacent ATM, I went in and ordered a small cup of coffee. It was 12 Yuan. That’s about $1.80; an awful lot in China—and I thought the price at the First Stop was steep! But it was good American java.

Breakfast the First Day

I don’t know whether it was jetlag or not, but I woke up at 6:30 am Tianjin time (6:30 pm Scranton time). It was a beautiful, sunny day with clear skies and already the streets were full of bicycles, buses and cars. I showered, unpacked and set out to explore the area around the old campus. I left by the campus south gate (where the young guard was still half asleep) and set out down Pingshan dao or road.
At the end of the block there was a branch of the China Construction Bank. I could see a ‘money machine’ inside. I hadn’t changed any U.S. dollars at the airport last night—getting to the University had been my priority. How tough could it be, I wondered; ATMs are ATMs. The instructions for this ATM, however, were in Chinese characters. I had visions of losing my bank card in the bowels of the thing as it flashed angry warnings in Chinese. Fortunately, the woman waiting behind me spoke a little English. She got me through the initial screens until we reached one that had instructions in English as well as Chinese. Then the machine got in touch with my bank in Dunmore, half way around the world, and before I knew it was grinding out five 100 Yuan bills. Chinese currency is officially known as Renmimbi (the people’s money) since the Communist Revolution. Sure enough, the pink bank notes I was clutching had a picture of Mao on one side and the Great Hall of the People on the other. Five hundred, I thought, should be enough kuai to keep me going for a week or so.

I decided to cross the street the bank faced and continue down Pingshan dao. I waited for the traffic light to display a green outline of a person and set out to cross the six lanes. Half way across I found myself dodging bicycles and cars making a left hand turn into the main street . I have no idea how little old ladies manage to cross a Tianjin street with or without a Boy Scout (if they have them).

At the end of the next block I found a small restaurant—didn’t look like much of a restaurant, but people were sitting outside beside their bicycles eating bowls of soup and long sticks of deep fried bread dough. I stepped around to the front and found the menu board. Everything was in Chinese characters, but I could read the prices. Looked like the most expensive thing was 3.50 Yuan (about 50 cents). (Five hundred yuan should last a long time at this rate.) I was greeted by a woman who quickly determined this waiguoren (outside country person) couldn’t understand Chinese. But it wasn’t too tough to figure out that I must be hungry. She led me through a small corridor, where another woman was washing bowls, to the narrow room at the back where I had seen people lining up to get their bowl of soup and two sticks of the bread. The cook was boiling wontons (pork dumplings) in chicken broth adding a raw egg toward the end. As soon as the egg and wontons were cooked, he poured them into individual bowls already containing a little fresh cilantro, ginger and chives.

After breaking my 100 Yuan note and giving me my change, the woman led me back to the front of the building and a small table where a young woman and her son (probably her only child) were already seated. The boy was very shy, but he and his mother let me take their picture.

I sat down to breakfast. It was delicious. I had stumbled on a traditional Chinese breakfast place which specialized in hunton soup and youtiao bread, at least that’s what the food is called in Mandarin Chinese. There are many different dialects—some even say languages—of Chinese. Because most of the first Chinese who came to America were from Canton or Guandong province, the English translations for many Chinese foods reflect the Cantonese pronounciation. So hunton are known to us as wonton. (Mandarin, of course, is the dialect which has always been used by officials—whether those of the emperor when China had an emperor or those of the Communist government today.)
Well fed and feeling very pleased with myself, I continued along Pingshan dao past a small park where young men were practicing martial arts while the day was still cool. The university is in the Hexi district of the city, a growing urban center of almost 10 million people. Fortunately for me, Hexi has a very prominent landmark, an extremely tall communications tower. You can spot it almost anywhere within the district and get your bearings. Turning left down the next street, the tower was behind me. After several blocks, I turned left again and it was on my left. Without any difficulty, I was soon at the University’s main gate where I had entered the night before. This was going to be home for the next five months.