My Trip to Inner Mongolia by Zoe Pastorfield-Li

6/1/201112:46:42 PM Link 0 comments | Add comment

China, Featured Participants, Inner Mongolia, Teach

 Participant Background: Zoe recently finished her summer program teaching English in Yantai, China, a beautiful seaport city located in northeastern province, Shandong. Before her fall term begins, Zoe was invited by one of her students, June, to visit her family and home town in Inner Mongolia. Below is a contribution from Zoe about some of her China adventures, focusing on a trip taken to Inner Mongolia during her vacation break.

Tomorrow I leave for Inner Mongolia with June. Yesterday she met a couple of other friends and me at Yangma Dao (coastal island in Shandong, China). The three of us biked there while June and two others took a taxi. June had never swam before and when we met up with them Rain (another student) and June were carrying their sun umbrellas and trying to keep their balance in impractical shoes, over big stones and sharp rocks against a pretty rough incoming tide. June was shrieking for the first 15 minutes and I had a moment where I was a little worried about how things would go in the Mongolian grasslands. (Women in China tend to be very “girly-girlish” because that's how they've been raised.) But, once she got used to the water she wouldn't quit trying to learn new things – she wanted to learn how to kick, paddle and blow bubbles all at once. It was really cool. There was this transformation right before my eyes of girly girl gone very determined woman.

I am really looking forward to our trip. I hope to study and practice Chinese a lot, watch a lot of Olympics on TV with various people around Baotou and of course, see the grasslands and visit her family's farm.

In Mongolia, I stayed in my student, June's, family's house. The two room, bathroom-less home full of natural light that poured in through the courtyard windows, facing the full and sagging apple trees, had been more than adequate space to house and feed as many as ten people at any given time – assorted cousins, grandmas, sister-in-law's... each with their own relation and Chinese name denoting the unique connection. My name was simply Laoshi ("Teacher") which they called me reverently, even when unable to suppress their laughter at my funny, often unintelligible accent:

"Laoshi, hao chi ma?"
"Hao chi!"

"Does it taste good?"
"Yes, delicious!"

This single call and response we were able to exchange was fitting as the trip was certainly a culinary experiment and a successful one at that. This was more or less the extent of our verbal communication, which presented an ideal situation for me, as I usually prefer to be quiet but always feel compelled to rush to any conversational lull.

My first day there I was informed we'd go to June's grandfather's house on the communal farmlands and kill one of his sheep. Admittedly, during the actual event, I turned to watch the other sheep that was spared while June's father tore his knife through the sheep's throat. Seeing the other sheep turn from first curious to then horrified as it watched on, was enough to reflect the reality of the situation.

The tethered sheep kicked and convulsed briefly and then it was over – time to prepare the body, remove the fur and butcher the meat.

Having just gotten over an 11 year bout of vegetarianism, this was definitely a new experience. Sitting next to the bagged carcass that would be my sustenance for the remainder of the trip…it was still warm and constantly bumping into me along the pot-holed dirt roads. It was absurdly hilarious, I felt like a gangster with evidence that needed to be tossed over a bridge.

Three hours after returning home the sheep was prepared and I immediately wanted to know, anatomically, what I was consuming. The family thought it was very funny when I would ask them, very seriously while pointing into my bowl of soup, "Is this the same sheep?" It took about six days to kick this habit of imagining exactly what part of the sheep I was eating (lower rib? stomach? leg?).

Sometimes my food game was more challenging, especially when the meat was brown, cubed and of regular texture. Other times it was painfully obvious as when June and I were each handed a leg shin and hoof, still bent at the joint as if it had hopped up onto the table itself. June's mother encouraged me to chew on the tendons and seek out the cartilage. The whole experience was bewildering, but I wasn't going to be rude and say no to one of the most coveted parts of the seasonal feast. (...when in Rome?...)

Ultimately, each meal was delicious, nutritious and, most importantly, cooked with love.

In the small kitchen (4x12 ft) we washed our hair in plastic basins, squatted on rainy days with the washboard to clean our clothes, and three times a day June's mother carried in coal to light the stove that heated one large wok-like pot.After lunch the whole family would divide up among the two beds for a nap. I shared the bed then and also at night with grandparents, nephews, aunts and cousins. One night I woke up after rolling on June's mother –  my hand on her leg! She just rolled me back and covered my bare arm with the blanket and soon we were snoozing again.

At the end of a beautiful two weeks in Inner Mongolia I felt sad to leave…. But was reminded of something one of my students said to me in farewell was "be happy everyday." I realized that a lot of people here actually achieve this. Happiness is the default mode, not the resultative. It has a lot to do with thinking less, staying in the moment, and taking joy out of serving others. I am not there yet, but I am certainly inspired to make every effort.