The waitresses were all tall, pretty and young.  They wore long tent-like, flowing dresses that hung loosely on their thin frames.  Their long black hair was pulled back tight in ponytails, and they wouldn’t stop smiling.

We were dining at one of the handful of North Korea government-run restaurants in Shanghai.  And it was all a bit surreal.

The food itself was similar to what I’ve had in South Korean restaurants: kimchi, cold noodle dishes, spicy soups with cabbage and tofu and lettuce-wrapped barbecued meat (although, unlike in L.A.’s Koreatown, I’m pretty sure the dog meat on the menu was real.)

The entertainment was more intriguing than the food.  As we ate, the young women, all in their early 20s, played music, sang and danced on a central stage.  The setting and the performers reminded me of an elementary school talent show or a ballet recital.   The dancers wore puffy pink gowns with ruffles that looked like a 80s prom dress someone’s mother might have made with discounted fabric.   While the dancers smiled sweetly and twirled innocently, another woman in a turquoise crinoline gown played the bass.  Her bright grin did not waver as she rocked side to side, her long black ponytail swinging.

At one point, the performers brought out a map of North Korea with a big red star in the center and danced around it in homage.  Sometimes, they’d escort diners up to the stage, handing them a fake flower bouquet as they stood there awkwardly and tried to sing along.

“This is just like China in the 1970s,” said one of my dining companions, who had grown up in China during that period. “The innocence, the purity, even the clothes - it’s all a little nostalgic for the older Chinese here.”

She went on to explain that today materialism reigns in China, and we’d be hard pressed to find a scene like this.  Capitalism has dramatically altered the landscape, and there’s no going back.

“This is just so contained,” she said, motioning to the women and their pleasant smiles. “Now, China is much more dynamic, explosive.”

We tried to ask our waitress a few questions, which she answered in fluent Chinese.  The waitresses and dancers all studied Chinese in college and graduated with degrees in hospitality, she explained. Now, they work for Pyongyang’s top government-run restaurant and hotel. They’re well-trained in choreography and dancing from elementary school onward,  like many North Koreans, she explained.   These women are sent to China for two-to-three year work stints, where they live together in dormitories and work in the restaurant.

When we tried to get a little more personal - what has been different about life in Shanghai, we wondered- she gave us a clearly rehearsed answer: “The language, the culture and living without my family.”

Before we could try once more to get beyond the costumes and the made-up faces, another robed girl came to whisk her away. Their smiles never faded.

Photo by giladr

The Faster Times guest columnist Grooms explores and analyzes the various foreigners you come across while living in China.

The Newbie

It’s intimidating to be one, fresh off the plane and completely out of your element. Once you have been here for a couple of months, however, it’s kind of fun to help out other Newbies. “Zuo guai means turn left,” “Don’t eat that,” and “Never, ever leave the house without tissues in your bag” all prove vitally important to any fresh faces. Any information you have gleaned will probably be news to the noobs. The little sense of satisfaction when you bestow some hard-earned wisdom upon their grasshopper selves is worth the price of admission. Plus, it’s karma, as someone no doubt helped you out a few times. However, Newbies are harder to befriend the longer you are here, especially if you have low patience levels with déjà vu. “What’s the word for the bill again?” Each new round of folks will talk about the crazy driving and the split pants on babies like it’s the most astonishing thing they’ve ever seen. The old timers just sigh and pat them on the shoulder. “That’s okay, little noob, you’ll stop seeing it after a while. All in good time.”

The Lifer

A somewhat rare breed and not the same across the board, but always interesting to talk to, The Lifer is staying for the long haul. He seems perfectly happy here or he just hates his homeland that much more. Maybe he married a local and started a family, his work is specific to China, or he just loves having someone come to do his laundry and dishes twice a week until he dies. I find it all very intriguing. As I plan to leave this place eventually, I am fascinated by those who do not wish to go home. This is their home now. Folks in this category also have the highest rate of Mandarin mastery and it just makes me jealous. (Plus, it is totally wild to hear a foreigner with a pretty convincing Chinese accent, tones and all. It makes quite an impression.)

The Whinger

To be fair, I think most people here have done this or have gone through a whinging stage. (I use the Australian term for whiner here, simply because it’s a fab word. Pronounced like ‘twinge-ah.’) Most people go through culture shock of some sort and usually there is something to complain about, something that gets your goat or that you simply cannot understand no matter how hard you try. Many people get past the bulk of their pet peeves and learn to accept what they cannot change about China. However, the chronic complainer focuses conversations solely on whining. “Why can’t they just stop spitting? It’s sooo gross!” Some Whingers can be funny when they do it, but if they are not, they drain the energy from anyone who has gotten over the subject in question. A veritable silver lining black hole, these folks are best taken in small doses or only when you are in a bullet-proof good mood. However, perhaps a better plan is to only meet the Whinger when you’ve just had a crap day and you could really use a complaining companion, and a cold beer. “I said a cold beer! Why don’t they ever have enough cold beer?”

The Sexpat

Oh dear, this bloke. I don’t need to go into details as this guy is infamous. The most stereotypical variety of Sexpat and, may I say awkward to witness, is the ancient and/or highly unattractive and/or sleazy dude with the young, impossibly hot chic on his arm. Perhaps it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. Whatever. It just hits me like a bad note on the trumpet and I’d just plain rather not be listening, thank you. But on a more day to day level, the Sexpats of all ages fall into two main categories: the guys who are fairly suave before they come here and the suddenly “desirable” expats who find themselves in a once forbidden candy store, of sorts. They see the buffet and just can’t stop sampling. And so, the notches hit the post.  You can tell when you meet the guy who has let the game go to his head and now regards himself as some sort of God of Mojo. Being suddenly seen as exotic and desirable is hard not to notice I’m sure. However, this guy is probably leaving China at some point, and unless he buckles down and secures one of these fine ladies to accompany him for the long term, he will need to check his reality along with his bags for the flight home.

The Teacher

The English teacher abounds in China. Many have come for the experience only for the length of the contract. Some use it as a way to get to China and then leapfrog to something else. A few, however, make a career out of it and actually enjoy it. A friend recently started his own school here, committing to years of being a teacher here.  Managing a classroom full of children is quite the challenge, but it is no doubt rewarding in a place where learning English is seen as vital for success. I tutored three Chinese boys my first year here and as if I needed any more reason to, it made me respect teachers a great deal more than ever. Well, good teachers. If she’s just playing Finding Nemo for the kids while she sits at the desk and text messages her friends about drinks later, maybe she should quit her day job and get one she cares about.

The Enthusiast

Oh my, he is just bursting with excitement! He loves Chinese philosophy, he loves the people, he loves the language, he just love, love, loves the culture with all the fireworks and backwards walking and street food on skewers he can handle. He likely studied Chinese history in college and majored in Mandarin. He came here to experience it first hand. He is here to eat, see and breathe this place. He wants to live like a local. I have to say, it’s refreshing to see folks who really, really want to be here and are so positive about it all. I envy their zeal, but then I also catch myself wondering if they are in the honeymoon phase and it will all come crashing down around their knees in a few months. This is a terrible thing to think. I hope I’m wrong. I think I am some of the time. But I’m willing to bet that either a week of food poisoning or falling for the tea house scam just might cool his enthusiasm a stitch.

The Fugitive

This one is running from something. You don’t know what exactly, but he is escaping a past. Maybe it’s a nasty divorce. Maybe it’s a native land where he can’t attract a significant other. Maybe he lost his right to practice his professional trade in his homeland. Or maybe…he’s running from long arm of the law! Okay, that’s extreme, but it does make one wonder. Fugitives are somewhat rare, or maybe they are just the least obvious kind, which makes sense. They are escaping something and they don’t want you to know what from. You get this weird vibe around them. They change the subject a lot, don’t talk about home much and might even avoid having their pictures taken. I’m all for redemption and new starts. If you’re here to make it all right again, kudos to you. I don’t need to know all your dark secrets. But if you’re hiding a murderous past? Yeah, I’d want to know that because then I could stay the heck away from you.

The Young

A great number of post-college people come to live here, the land of infinite possibilities. In a sense, the Young one is braver than her older, fellow countrymen who come here on cushy expat packages. She has to find her own way and take public transportation. Maybe he came to study Mandarin at a Chinese university where he learned to actually read Mandarin which only makes him more valuable if he chooses to stay and work here. Impressive. She might have come to jump start her career, landing jobs and getting promotions that are a few steps above what she could expect in her native land. The Young are full of energy and are enjoying a colorful, challenging, rewarding life working hard and playing hard in the major cities in China. Money stretches farther in China and so, the good times roll on.

The Restless

Eternal searchers, the Restless are looking for their place in life. This may be their first time abroad or just the latest stop on their hop-scotch around the globe, but they come with ideas of a different life, a new perspective and the promise of endless possibilities. They try all sorts of jobs, travel around the country, and get into new religions or philosophies. They search and maybe even briefly find what they want in life and yet, in the end, it’s like trying to catch smoke in their hands. They become bored or frustrated with life here. Many remain eternally optimistic, keeping the faith that if they try this next thing or this new place or this different vocation, they will find satisfaction. Others start to show signs of losing hope, having started over so many times with always the same results. As is the nature of these roving souls, most will slip away when your back is turned without a goodbye, moving on to their next attempt at figuring life out.

The Burnout

This guy should have gone home a long time ago. The Burnout, the grouchy, toxic cousin of the Whinger, is way past the point of enjoying himself or learning anything new. He doesn’t care about experiencing local culture anymore. In fact, he views it all very negatively. Life is shit, baby, and if you haven’t realized it yet, he is more than willing to fill you in on “the truth.” The corruption, the cheating, the shady ways of the government, the fake friendliness of the bar girls, the polluted water, the cooks who never wash their hands. It’s all in the toilet for him, and yet he just won’t flush. It’s hard to picture the Burnout having ever enjoyed being in China. Why did he want to come to China in the first place? What will it take to make him finally leave? Whatever it takes he should check out, and sooner rather than later.

The Tag-along

Simply put, she’s here because her significant other is here, whether it was a job transfer or just a good opportunity to work abroad. In time, she may make her own life here, landing a job in her field, seizing the opportunity to start a new business, or perhaps focusing on exploring a long-lost hobby. Some Tag-alongs enjoy the ride even if they don’t get a job here, taking advantage of the perks by traveling around, getting massages, and going out on the town chauffeured by their personal driver. Some come to resent their situation with a smoldering fury and become bitter, bitter souls. Some “trailing wives”, especially those in the smaller cities, become depressed and lonely, isolated from their old lives with no support group of friends and no clear way to eke out a place in this new life. I have seen this and it is sad. But the Tag-along who goes gracefully forward, taking care of kids or simply themselves, not dwelling on her status as the follower, manages to treat life like anywhere else: normal. I admire that woman most of all.

Where do I fall in here? I’ve been the Newbie (seems like just yesterday…), dabbled as the Teacher and the Enthusiast, and fallen into being the Whinger more than I’d like to admit. Long term, I’m in with the Young (I can play one on TV) and of course, the Tag-along. Some fit better than others and some fit only for short periods of time. The important thing here is to know yourself, or at least be honest with yourself and your intentions. And never, ever stay long enough to become the Burnout.

Grooms is an American writer based in Shandong, China. She enjoys riding her bike and shocking the locals.

The teahouse reference reminded me of a recent conversation on a plane flight from Shanghai to Chicago over the holiday season. I’d been sitting next to a stout, middle-aged American businessman with full red cheeks whom I’ll call Bob. An hour before landing, as we made small talk over breakfast, Bob told me about his trip to Shanghai.

“I got a free day toward the end of the conference so I went to that central park, People’s Park is it?” he said, pausing as he stabbed his fork into the tough, white-fringed cantaloupe.  “While I was wandering around, I met two young students who wanted to practice English.”

I shifted uncomfortably. English-speaking students approaching foreigners is the first sign of a scam. Sure, there are plenty of  honest, nice students who want to practice English, but they’re usually too shy to approach you in a busy public park.

“Then, they asked if I wanted to sample some tea, so they took me to a local teahouse,” he continued.  “We sampled tea all day and chatted - I really got to experience the local culture.”

“The thing that surprised me,” he went on, “was that it was so expensive. I had no idea Chinese tea tastings were so pricey.”

I considered the situation. This had all the makings of The Teahouse Scam, a swindle so legendary it’s covered in the Lonely Planet. The situation typically involves one or two Chinese students approaching a foreigner who’s walking alone in the popular city park. They’ll explain they want to practice English and offer to take the tourist to a local teahouse. Once  there, they’ll rack up an exorbitant bill and force the bewildered guest to pay for it.  More serious versions of the scam involve a tough body guard blocking the door until the bill is paid, or threats of getting the police involved.

But my amiable seatmate had never figured out it was a scam. Bob was proud that he managed to meet some locals and explore Shanghai. I decided to keep my mouth shut, nodding politely as he relayed the tale.

Bob explained that they had walked over to a local teahouse where they had tasted several varieties of teas.  The bill for the tasting had come to a whooping $50US a person, he said.

“I was surprised at the bill, but they both paid, too,” he said. “That’s a lot of money for students, huh? Do you think I should have paid for them?”

I’d often taken visiting friends to the tea shops that line the Shanghai streets. There may be pressure to buy some tea, but tastings had always been free. I had to tell him he’d been scammed.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit like a bully after deflating Bob’s exciting travel story.  This was his chance to tell people back home how he’d connected with the locals, and really experienced China’s teahouse culture. He’d probably forget about the exorbitant price as others smiled in approval at how he’d ventured beyond the conference center’s walls.

That’s the thing about the Shanghai scams: they prey on tourists’ desires to get off the beaten track, to get beyond the pages of the Lonely Planet. We want to feel like we’ve gone where no tourist has gone before, whether it’s getting to that isolated village in the Himalayas or simply conversing with locals over tea.

This isn’t the first time authorities have attempted to squash the flourishing scam artists. In 2007, police managed to shut down one Shanghai teahouse after they attempted to charge three French tourists $920 for one hour of tea sampling.   This  site offers an account of a tourist who tried to fight back and ended up having the two “students” angrily toss tea leaves all over him.

All things considered, it looks like Bob got off pretty easy.

Picture of a non-scamming Tea Village by Kellie Schmitt

]]> http://thefastertimes.com/china/2010/02/04/goodbye-to-shanghai%e2%80%99s-legendary-teahouse-scam/feed/ http://thefastertimes.com/china/2010/01/19/sorry-foreigners-expensive-expat-packages-on-the-way-out/ http://thefastertimes.com/china/2010/01/19/sorry-foreigners-expensive-expat-packages-on-the-way-out/#comments Wed, 20 Jan 2010 03:19:38 +0000 Kellie Schmitt http://thefastertimes.com/china/?p=535 Getting relocated abroad can mean a boon to your bank account for many foreigners. For years, many international companies have considered Shanghai and other Chinese cities as a hardship post. If your company sent you over, you could expect a pricey package to compensate for the environmental challenges.

But the economic crisis combined with an increasingly modern China is altering the landscape for many foreigners working here.  Increasingly, companies are offering their expatriate workers less. The hope is that China presents enough of an opportunity on its own to attract younger, more adventurous workers who will accept fewer perks in return for the experience of working here.

In the reporting of an article on the shift, I asked a relocation expert to tell me about typical packages then and now for an upper manager sent to China.  It’s interesting to look at the changes.

Five years ago, a package would include:

• Car with driver
• Housing allowance of $9-10,000 USD per month
• Education for at least two children at international schools ($20-35,000 USD per child)
• Business class tickets for trips home
• Hardship allowance of up to 15 percent extra
• Cost of living adjustment.

Now, a package often includes:

• Employee may pay a portion of car/driver
• Housing allowance of $4500-7500 USD per month
• May or may not include schooling
• Economy class tickets for trips home
• No hardship adjustment
• No cost of living adjustment

In Shanghai, it’s not uncommon to spot locals in their jammies as they wander out to buy some eggs or toss garbage in the communal outdoor bins.  Some even walk their dogs in their classic red plaid or pink Hello Kitty flannels.

If the pajama police get their way, though, this quirky custom may soon disappear. As part of Shanghai’s preparation for the 2010 World Expo, volunteers are pounding the pavement to get the word out to residents:  Wearing your pajamas in public is “uncivilized.”

Some say the long-standing practice arose from the city’s historic partitioned housing, or shikumen, where residents share bathrooms and kitchens. In the cramped quarters, living space extended to the surrounding neighborhood. It was normal to go outside in your pajamas as you walked over to the kitchen, or maybe stopped at the wet market to pick up an ingredient. In the 1930s, being able to afford the fashionable sleepwear was even considered a status symbol, and locals sported their pajamas with pride. This positive perception may still linger today, says this opinion piece in the China Daily.

As Shanghai readies for its chance at international glory next year, anything that could be considered backward or an embarrassment is being targeted. The changes are stirring debate in the city as some argue traditions trump generic modernity. In this Shanghai Daily article, a Fudan University sociologist says the pajama practice is part of Shanghai’s culture, and the only people who worry about it are the government officials. Others insist the habit harms Shanghai’s international image as it races to modernity.

The debate is a common one here as the city undergoes massive changes. Pajamas aren’t the only thing on the chopping block. I recently wrote about a popular snack street that is slated for demolition early next year, just in time for the Expo. In its place, they’ll build a modern outdoor mall.

Officials have also launched a campaign to rid the city of the often-hilarious Chinglish signs.  The campaign asks high school volunteers to take pictures of poor English translations through the city, and experts will later fix the language. This move will have dramatic effects on the city’s camera-toting foreign tourists.  After all, what’s more entertaining than finding “men and wife lung slice” on your menu or heading the warning sign “slip and fall down carefully?”

Picture of Shanghai street by Augapfel

]]> http://thefastertimes.com/china/2009/12/07/boosting-the-image-of-made-in-china/feed/ http://thefastertimes.com/china/2009/11/29/a-story-of-old-vs-new-from-a-shanghai-wok-maker/ http://thefastertimes.com/china/2009/11/29/a-story-of-old-vs-new-from-a-shanghai-wok-maker/#comments Sun, 29 Nov 2009 13:36:19 +0000 Kellie Schmitt http://thefastertimes.com/china/?p=495 Last week, my article on one of Shanghai’s last handcrafted wok makers came out in CNNGo.  My foreigner friends in China reacted with enthusiasm. Many e-mailed me to say they were going to buy one before Cen Rong Gen closes shop, sometime next year. For them, the old iron woks were an important relic of the city’s past, a handcrafted item to be treasured.  “What a shame!” they’d exclaim.

It was quite a contrast from the reaction of my 50-something Shanghainese neighbor. When I had proudly brought home two of the woks I’d purchased, she looked at me blankly, obviously confused.

“Why would you want that?” she asked. “Don’t you already have a nice new one?”

Sure, I explained, I had one of the $50 glossy, Teflon-coated ones I bought at the international grocery.  But this was something special, something you couldn’t find at Carrefour or Wal-Mart, or any of the other massive chains sweeping Shanghai.

“But you have to take so much extra care of it,” she persisted. “It rusts easily. You have to season it. I just don’t understand why you’d want that.”

When she was younger, she explained, those were the only kind of woks you could find in Shanghai. But, now there are so many more convenient options. It didn’t make sense for people of her generation. Now that you could choose new, why would you retreat into the past?

Our differing opinions on old vs. new is something you see a lot in China. There’s a gap of sorts between the older Chinese who value anything new and the foreigners and some younger Chinese who are eager to savor pieces of the rapidly changing city’s past.  We lament the demolition of old buildings. They celebrate the glory of modernity.

When I moved into a restored 1930s old house, many of my Chinese friends were surprised: Why would you live in a lao fangzi when you can afford a shiny new high rise?

For now, most of China is content plowing forward to the future. They’re not interested in clinging to a relic of the past, even if it’s something as impressive to foreigners as a wok completely crafted by hand.

Photo by Augapfel

]]> http://thefastertimes.com/china/2009/11/29/a-story-of-old-vs-new-from-a-shanghai-wok-maker/feed/ http://thefastertimes.com/china/2009/11/12/shanghais-shiny-pink-barbie-world/ http://thefastertimes.com/china/2009/11/12/shanghais-shiny-pink-barbie-world/#comments Fri, 13 Nov 2009 04:11:57 +0000 Kellie Schmitt http://thefastertimes.com/china/?p=478

As Barbie faces slumping sales in the U.S., Mattel is capitalizing on a new market in China, a group eager to be associated with the perfect, blond, all-American Barbie and everything she represents.

Earlier this year, Barbie’s six -floor, hot pink flagship opened here, in the midst of the glitzy Huai Hai Lu shopping Street.  Mattel was strategic in selecting this Chinese city for its shiny pink shrine to Barbie: The population adores her.

In a tour of the first-ever Barbie flagship for an article I’m writing for a local magazine, I learned the store’s target demographic is women age 20 to 30. The older age group seems odd, at least for an American audience used to playing with Barbie during the single digit years.  But, in China, that generation represents the ones who missed out having Barbie in their childhood and now want one, or at least want to have their daughters experience the phenomena.  Shanghai, compared to other cities considered for the flagship, exhibited a strong awareness of the Barbie brand, from children to grandmothers.

The young women demographic is also lured into the sparking palace with adult Barbie fashions. There’s even a Vera Wang wedding dress and matching miniature on Barbie, which I learned is a popular purchase as part of a wedding proposal. There’s a spa for girlfriend getaways and a Barbie Cafe with cocktails such as Barbeitini and the Malibu Barbie.

Inside the 35,000 square foot Barbie monument, younger girls can design their own Barbie or they can walk the catwalk in the doll’s pink fashions.  A  blond “real Barbie” arrives on special occasions for pictures with customers. The live doll is instructed in Barbie etiquette such as smiling but never laughing too hard.

It’s intriguing to consider why the Chinese are so crazy about Barbie, and her Shanghai best friend Lin, who looks just like Barbie only with black, straight hair and dark eyes.

It looks like Shanghai isn’t going to be the only new home for Barbie. In the future, Mattel will be looking to other developing markets for the future of Barbie, such as Eastern Europe, Russia and India.

For more on Barbie Shanghai, check out this, this and this.

And, here’s a funny account of a writer’s 12-hours spent in the Barbie store.

Photo by Zingaro. I am a gipsy too.

In China, though, we have very few of these Internet diversions left.

If you look at the Web sites blocked in China, - a list that includes YouTube, Twitter, Picasa, Wordpress, Blogspot, and Facebook - that’s a lot of time-sucking sites we can’t access.  In the past years, one by one, all of our favorite time wasters have been tackled by “The Great Firewall.” (a search which, fittingly, is blocked here.)

So, what are the Chinese workers doing with all this extra time? They’re growing their GDP 10.6 percent in the fourth quarter of this year.

China is known for blocking and unblocking Web sites depending on the political climate and the censors’ whims.

And, it turns out, not surprisingly, all that blocking is having an effect. A recent report revealed that the number of Facebook users in China has taken a massive nosedive.  The site had about 1 million users in China as of this summer, but, thanks to a country-wide block, there are only 14,000 left - those of us desperate enough for distractions that we’re willing to pay for a proxy.

My Chinese wasn’t good enough to understand that she’s frequently referred to on the program as “our chocolate girl Lou Jing” or the “black pearl.”

The public performance of Lou Jing, who apparently has a Chinese mother and an African American father, has unleashed heated debate on Chinese television, radio and blogs. Everyone in Shanghai, it seems, knows about Lou Jing, and many have nothing but negative things to say about her.

Some say she’s a foreigner, despite being born and raised here with a Chinese mother.  Others claim she should pay for her mother’s crime: cheating on her Chinese husband with a black foreigner. Lou Jing, in an interview, has said her parents’ extramarital sex was a rumor. Her father left her mother before realizing she was pregnant, and has never been a part of Lou Jing’s life, she has said in interviews.

Here, here and here offer a good overview of what’s happening on the blogs with some pretty inflammatory comments translated from Chinese.

What’s really interesting, though, isn’t who her dad is, or whether there was cheating involved. It’s the reaction of the local Chinese to her very existence, and the fact that a black Chinese woman can elicit so many heated, angry responses. Lou Jing is inciting intense debate as to what it means to be Chinese, and where and how those of mixed race fit into the national identity. A mono-culture is adjusting to a globalized world and it’s clear there are some pretty severe growing pains.