The Adventures of Bob & Pete

I developed a deeper love and respect for Orval and Wilbur Wright this past weekend. A friend and fellow teacher on our team (also named Jerry or small Jerry to tell us apart) invited me to Beijing for the weekend to meet some really amazing people (another time and another place). In the interest of time we decided to fly there on Friday but in the interest of money we decided to take the train back on Monday. The difference? Sixteen hours. What can can flown in two hours requires eighteen by rail. All in all a wonderful weekend. Met some truly phenomenal young men and women, taught some English, learned some Chinese, played some basketball, found some Crisco for my wife, attended the BIG International fellowship in Beijing (ID checked at the door, apparently I'm beginning to look Chinese), had a large DQ milkshake (could possibly be renamed a small milky shake) and boarded the train for home.

We were able to get the hard sleeper seats (soft sleepers were sold out) which consists of a small room with six bunkbeds (two sets of three high). I got the bottom bunk and my friend got the middle. For the first hour the young man you see above (in the middle), I'll call him Bob, walked slowly by our room at least a dozen times, each time pausing to stare as if he weren't supposed to be looking but absolutely could not help it. I do believe it was the first time he had ever been so close to a wai guo ren (foreigner) and to make it even sweeter my friend is an African American. This kid had hit the ethnic mother load. Finally he found a semi-English speaking friend (I'll call him Pete) to translate and approach us. We became instant pals. Bob was the obvious ring leader and Pete was the curious yet embarassed middle man. I showed them the pictures on my camera and Bob couldn't grasp why I kept calling the little Chinese girl my daughter when my wife was obviously not Chinese. He asked me to teach him English. "The whole language?" That's going to take at least another eighteen hour train ride. Bob would inquire and when I would reply "Ting bu dong" (I don't understand). So, as could be expected, he would inquire more loudly. "Yeah, still ting bu dong." He was often frustrated with my lack of communication skills but remained diligent. After about an hour of conversation (or lack thereof) they moved on down the train for more of the adventure's of Bob and Pete. I was about 10% sad to see them go and 90% secretly relieved and exhausted. Evidently there was nothing in the train quite so adventurous, however, as the two Jerry's and so Bob and Pete returned to my bunk . . . for six hours. They talked for a while, they left for a while, they came back, they watched me read, they talked some more, Bob grabbed his sister and her camera phone and little Jerry counted 18 pictures of the cultural melting pot . . . the drill was repeated over and over.

I would have chosen the bright side and taken this as an opportunity to stretch my Chinese vocabulary but unfortunately, from what I gathered, even Pete had a hard time understanding Bob most of the time. I wasn't sure Bob would be my best teacher. So on the off chance that Bob met his goal of learning English this week and somehow stumbles across this blog . . . Thanks buddy, for a really . . . interesting cultural experience and for helping pass the time for the first seven hours. I truly missed you (somewhat) the final eleven.