Adventures of Life in Beijing

This is the second post in a series of my impressions of living in China during the Coronavirus outbreak. You can read the first one here:

Going Viral

 

News alerts, emails, text messages, and We Chat notifications came fast and furious:

All employees are being offered voluntary evacuation…….The U.S. bans travelers from China….mandatory quarantine…..United Airlines ceases operation from mainland China starting February 5…..death toll rises…..Wuhan under lockdown…….countries close borders to visitors from China……WHO declares global health emergency…..

 

 

Texts reminding us to practice good hygiene, not to panic and don’t spread rumors lit up my phone.

 

It was early February and we had a big decision to make, in a very short amount of time. We were wrapping up our ski vacation in Niseko, Japan and about to part ways, with Mike going back to Beijing and the boys and I planning to extend our holiday by flying on to Tokyo for a few days since schools were closed.

Suddenly, splitting up as a family didn’t seem like such a good idea. What if Mike makes it back to Beijing and 5 days later our flight from Tokyo is cancelled?

Do we stay in Japan as a family, with Mike setting up shop in Osaka, the closest Universal Park? Do the boys and I ditch our plans for Tokyo and head back to Beijing?  Return to safety in Orlando?

Do we stay or do we go now? The Clash’s 80s punk rock song spins around and around in my head like a record on a turntable.

 

Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble. And if I stay it will be double.

Lead singer Mick Jones was perhaps singing about the torment of an indecisive lover, rather than fleeing a global health crisis, but our angst was the same.

We hurry to pack our bags two hours before our airport shuttle arrives, tossing around the pros and cons along with ski helmets and snow boots as we try make a decision.

 

If I go there will be trouble

If we decide to leave China, where will we go? Beijing is our home. We rented out our house in Orlando. Technically we’d be homeless. Friends and colleagues were quickly skattering around the globe, like cockroaches when the light is turned on. No one wants to be exposed to the virus. But I’m not a quitter. Pulling the plug less than halfway through our China adventure seems like giving up, like taking the cake out of the oven before it’s finished.

We could stay in Japan, but then I’d have to learn a new language, just when my Chinese was advancing from “Ni hao” to “can you please take me to the grocery store so I can stock up on toilet paper before the apocalypse?”

Plus, although I’m trying to like it, I’ll confess sushi’s really not my favorite and I’ve had enough pork cutlets in the last week to sink a ship. I miss Chinese food.

I really want to like you, sushi, yes I do.

 

No more pork cutlets please.

 

If we decide to fly to the US, we’d be stuck with only ski clothes and bathing suits we brought for the onsen (hot springs), which turned out to be unnecessary since Japanese bathe au naturel.  We’d also be without all of the laptops we needed to keep up with work and school.

We called the airlines to discuss our options. Getting a seat back to the US on one of the major airlines was a bit like musical chairs at this point, with more players than seats. I always felt sorry for the kid who got left out, trying to wedge himself onto the edge of a seat as the music faded.

Even if we could get a seat, signing up for 14 hours on a flying Petri dish might not be the smartest move.

We also face unknown quarantines upon arrival, with information changing and rumors flying.

Leaving China means facing health checks and possible quarantines along the way

 

Two weeks in isolation? I didn’t download enough episodes of The Big Bang Theory or pack enough chocolate to survive that. And what will happen to my orchids if I don’t come back?

And if I stay it will be double 

Returning to Beijing and riding out the virus presented challenges as well. We’d already heard about a shortage of face masks and other hygiene supplies. What if there’s run on rice, meat or vegetables? (Don’t worry – I got the toilet paper). Finding food and cooking a decent meal is always a challenge for me in China. Would it be even harder now in the wake of the epidemic?

Then there’s the thought of weeks of inactivity, with schools, restaurants, museums, shops and even ski resorts and hiking trails being closed indefinitely in and around Beijing. And of course, there’s the unlikely chance that we could catch the virus (although in all honesty I think I was more worried about being trapped at home).

 

Beijing is a ghost town. Should I go?

 

So come on and let me know. Should I cool it or should I blow?

With the Clash still spinning in my head, we zipped up the duffel bags with a week’s worth of slightly damp ski clothes (which will probably smell as bad as stinky tofu when we finally unpack) and grabbed a box of Ritz crackers from the vending machine down the hall in case we get stuck somewhere.

Sometimes in a relationship you just need time to clear your mind, to figure out what to do next. It’s the same facing a voluntary evacuation. We decided to buy ourselves time, so we headed on to Tokyo as a family to find the best ramen, sample Waygu beef and gorge on Kit Kats. Everything’s clearer on a full stomach, right?

 

Ramen: the ultimate comfort food.

 

Matcha, cassis, Yuzu and passion fruit are just a few of the Japanese Kit Kat flavors.

Stay tuned to hear what happens next. You can sign up for updates delivered by email by hitting the subscribe menu at the top. Thanks for joining our adventure.

Comments (9):

  1. Holly McCall

    February 12, 2020 at 12:11 pm

    I have no idea what you should do, but I’m enjoying hearing your thoughts!! ha You can stay at here if you need a place…but I’ll need to check your temp at the door. 😉

    Reply
    • Kirsten Harrington

      February 13, 2020 at 5:55 am

      Ha ha ha !!!

      Reply
  2. Maggie

    February 12, 2020 at 12:47 pm

    Let’s pray about it. May God guide you and clearly talk to you on times like that. 🙏🏻🙏🏻

    Reply
    • Kirsten Harrington

      February 13, 2020 at 5:56 am

      For sure Maggie, it’s one of the first things we did.

      Reply
  3. Lorene

    February 12, 2020 at 9:21 pm

    The pork cutlets look pretty good. If only they could cook the salmon!

    Reply
    • Kirsten Harrington

      February 13, 2020 at 5:56 am

      Yes!!!! I ate some salmon, but really prefer it cooked.

      Reply
  4. Kara Lewis

    February 13, 2020 at 5:40 am

    Keep this coming, Kirsten!

    Reply
    • Kirsten Harrington

      February 13, 2020 at 5:58 am

      I will, as fast as I can make enough sense of things to put it into words.

      Reply

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The Beer-Drinking Orchid Lady

 

“Let’s ask her the price, then wait til she finishes her beer and ask again,” my friend Josie said.

“Yeah, I remember last time. First she said they were 25 kuai, then she went down to 20 and we didn’t even bargain,” I said.

I press the button in the elevator to go down to the basement of the office building where my favorite orchid vendor has set up shop. The flower vendors used to be across the street in the Lai Tai Flower Market, not far from the U.S. Embassy. For some reason last spring the Beijing government decided to close the place down, and now the vendors are scattered across the city.

Orchids are my guilty pleasure. I don’t smoke, I’m not hooked on chips or donuts and I prefer strong coffee to strong liquor.

But lead me to a display of orchids? I can’t help myself. I’m like an addict.

Buttery yellow, deep lusty purple, pale pink, warm tangerine – I just go weak in the knees when I see all of the choices.

 

In the U.S. I kept my orchid habit in check because they were kinda pricey. But at $3-5 a pop in China, I can afford to treat myself once a week if I want to. It’s cheaper than Starbucks, and they last longer than a latte and have fewer calories.

We step out of the elevator and head down the hall, following the tropical smell.

 

The cut flowers are beautiful, but I’m here for the orchids.

 

We breeze pass the cut flowers and head to main attraction, the orchids. They’re right next to the frog, turtle and fish vendor (the kind for aquariums, not the dinner table).

For some reason, in Beijing it’s common for aquatic pet purveyors and flower vendors to share space. I guess both living creatures  bring color and happiness to their owners, and require the same finicky degree of care.

“Eh, Ni hao,” says the orchid seller, turning to say hello as we approach.

 

The Orchid Lady at work

 

So many choices

 

Her easygoing greeting can either be interpreted as friendly recognition (I come here often), or a result of her morning beverage: the tall can of beer that’s sitting on her desk between a watermelon and a bag of peanuts.

 

 

She has a tea kettle,  but I think it’s mostly for decoration. Every time I visit – sometimes as early as 9 a.m. – she has a can or bottle of suds open. It’s 11 a.m. and there are more than a few empties beneath the counter.

“Women keyi kan kan ma?” I ask. I want to look at all of my choices before deciding on which ones to take home. I’ve bought orchids from other places, but these just seem to thrive. Maybe she feeds them the same liquid diet she enjoys.

“Keyi, kan ba.” She nods her approval and takes a long swig of Harbin, China’s oldest beer. She goes back to snacking on peanuts between sips while we admire her flowers.

“What do you think of this one?” Josie asks me, picking up a deep burgundy orchid accented with white and yellow in the center. It’s darker than all the others, almost inky.

“I like it. It looks like it has a little face in the middle.”

 

Black Cat Orchid

 

“Zhe ge shi  hei mao,” the orchid lady tells us.

Josie and I process what she’s telling us for a second, then we both smile.

Hei Mao. It’s called Black cat,” Josie says.

“Dui, hei mao,” the orchid lady confirms, prancing around softly like a cat, as her jet black braids swing back and forth.

Hei mao. Hei mao,” she laughs as she dances, garnering a few smirks from the neighboring vendors.

I notice that she has a stem of orchids clipped to her blouse.

“Ni chuan zhe hua. Piaoliang,” I say, trying out some newly acquired Chinese vocabulary.

I think I told her she was wearing beautiful flowers, but I might have called her a lamb skewer by mistake. That’s the problem with Chinese, so many words sound the same.

I guess I said it right, because she took the flowers off and pinned them on me. What an unexpected gift.

Thankfully, we really do speak the same language: a love of orchids.

 

Do you like my new corsage?

 

With their intricate patterns, heart-shaped faces and lush colors, orchids transport me to another world. They make me feel like I’m on a tropical vacation even when I’m living on the 15th floor looking out my window at a concrete jungle. I don’t actually talk to them, but I jokingly refer to them as my “Friends.”

After about 30 minutes of basking in the sea of orchids, I choose three lovely flowers to take home.

 

 

“Yigong 75 kuai, dui?” I check the price with the Orchid Lady, doing the quick math in my head. That’s just over 10 bucks for all three.

She takes a sip of beer, pulls out her calculator, and takes a quick look around, as if we’re making a black market transaction.

She punches the numbers in the display and shows us the total: 70 Kuai.  We lingered long enough to receive the “I’m on beer number two and feeling happy” discount.

We settle the bill with our unasked for discount and leave with our new friends, touched by the Orchid Lady’s kindness.

 

“If you are in the company of good people, it’s like entering a room full of orchids. After awhile,  you become soaked in the fragrance and you don’t even notice.”       —Confucius

 

 

 

 

Back to School

In early February when the virus flared up in China forcing schools to close, I held my breath and wondered how long online school would last. How long would I last?

What would my new role be? Cheerleader? Truant officer? Hall monitor? Janitor? Lunch lady? Would I have to wear a hairnet? I tried not to panic.

Eighteen weeks later, as I vacuum up crumbs from under the breakfast counter, a wave of sadness sneaks over me. Western Academy Beijing (WAB) opened to high school students again on Monday.

Entering campus under the “new normal”

 

Entering campus when school started last August

Instead of feeling relief, I’m replaying the 90 weekdays my sons and I shared without the harried early mornings and traffic-snarled evenings slicing into our days.

I can’t say this loudly enough: I’m so proud of how they’ve handled this challenge. They got up, got to work and never complained. From math assignments to indoor P.E. classes to filming art and cooking projects, they’ve completed everything asked of them.

No one ended up in detention and as far as I can tell we’re all still speaking to each other (at least as much as we were before this whole mess. Some days, more).

 

Taking a break from school. I love these guys.

 

I’m not saying it was easy for any of us. For me, these were some of the loneliest days of our time in China, as I tried to figure out how to support two teenagers who spent the better part of the day behind their bedroom doors doing school work alone.

And for them? They left their friends behind, moved to a strange land where they were just starting to make new friends and then their lives were up ended by a deadly virus. Many of their classmates won’t be returning. I can’t even imagine.

These past four months haven’t been what any of us expected, but like I mentioned in my last post, every cloud has a silver lining (You can read about it here Silver Linings)

Instead of nervously watching the clock every morning, I made blueberry pancakes or breakfast sandwiches.

 

We even grew our own micro greens.

 

Often the boys cooked for themselves and actually had time to eat.

Who knew having them home would increase our food consumption so drastically? I found a grocery store that delivered American-style bagels, milk, avocados, orange juice and bananas within an hour with free delivery. I ordered so often they started bringing me free gifts, like a dozen eggs or a frozen fish.

 

We are spoiled with fast, free delivery.

 

What mom can say she had lunch with her teenagers everyday for 90 days? Some days it was lunch at home, with fried rice and dumplings or barbecue pork sandwiches.

Other days, when restaurants opened again, we took advantage of the extra time to treat ourselves to Red Lobster (sadly, the cheddar biscuits just aren’t the same), or kebabs from the Turkish restaurant near the park.

 

Lunch anyone ?

 

As the days turned into weeks, I pressed the boys into kitchen duty at dinnertime. Unhindered by the usual “get dinner on the table as quickly as possible” time constraints, we discovered that homemade enchilada sauce is so much better than canned, a proper roux is worth the effort for a satisfying gumbo, and that shepherd’s pie is one of our new favorites, even without Worcestershire sauce which we can’t find here.

Online school meant freedom to travel (we made a trip to Seattle to see family and friends before the virus hit the US), go to the gym or take a Starbucks break for a Black Tea Latte.

Laptops were propped up on bedroom pillows instead school desks, eliminating the hour-long commute. I’m happy to say that showering and getting dressed remained part of the routine.

Returning to school after the pandemic requires almost as much paper work as enrolling in the first place. The Beijing Education Committee has a strict protocol in place for returning to campus, and inspects every aspect of the school, from air flow in the class rooms to social distancing markers.

 

Directional arrows on campus.

 

New hand washing stations

Students are required to keep a daily temperature log for 14 days prior to returning, and complete a survey listing the date and flight number of any trips made outside of China since January 23rd. We have to sign a “Letter of Commitment” verifying that we haven’t been to Wuhan recently or left Beijing in the last three weeks (there goes the impromptu trip to Shanghai Disney). Failure to comply would require proof of a negative virus test.

 

Lots of paper work to return to school.

 

Then there’s proof we have the “Health Kit App” which records our travel history and health status by tracking information on our cell phones (yes, Big Brother is watching) just in case we decided to sneak off for a quick meet-and-greet with Mickey Mouse or paid a visit to the fever clinic without reporting it.

 

This app tracks our travels, health status and ID. It’s required for entry into most public spaces.

I turned in the paperwork, prepared a supply of masks (mandatory for students and teachers), verified funds in the lunch account, checked the revised bus schedule, re-read the six pages of “back to school” instructions and laid down for a nap. I’ll have two weeks to recover before school is out for the summer.

“How was school today?” I asked my soon-to-be junior when he came home after Day 1.

“It was OK,” Daniel said. “But I don’t think I really want to go back tomorrow. We didn’t really do anything except work on our online assessments.”

Going back to school isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when you’re met by a guy in a hazmat suit, have your temperature taken three times and spend an hour commuting to do what you could do at home in your pajamas. Except you’re not in your pajamas.

To avoid crowding students stay in the same classroom all day and have to sign up for a designated lunch spot and choose free-time activities in advance.

“They’re really strict about enforcing the social distancing and making us keep our masks on,” my son told me. “Apparently the government can show up anytime to check and they can also ask to see the security tapes.”

With the high-surveillance atmosphere and the fact that over half of the students and teachers are still outside China, it’s easy to understand why some kids are less than enthusiastic about returning.

While the opportunities at school are still limited, we’re grateful that the campus re-opened. It’s a sign of hope, that at least for the time being, the virus is under control in Beijing.