A Canadian in Beijing: Charmed by Chinglish

A few years ago, I had a running joke with a friend of mine about being “grammar police.” We used to lament not having a large stack of magic markers (of various colours and thicknesses) stashed in our bags or our vehicles at all times. These markers would be for quietly replacing missing apostrophes, for example, found on public signs or missing quotations, periods, question marks. Generally, we bonded over punctuation (yet another side of my geek self) but we would also stray into the territory of spelling once in awhile and report sightings of commonly misspelled words. In our policing fantasy, we would employ our arsenal or markers to reverse common spelling errors, as well, thus making the reading world a “safer” place.

I think this fantasy has been entirely cured here in China.

Everywhere I go in this city, I see English misspelled and/or misused. This is affectionately called “Chinglish” here (combination of Chinese and English) and I love it.

I recently saw a mistake on an official cover of a thick, glossy, fashion magazine that had purchased subway banner ads lining the walls of one of the subway stops. Picturing a gorgeous Hollywood star (who I couldn’t identify) and assuming they were boasting that this issue featured coverage of the ‘Best Bodies in Hollywood,’ the caption read: “Hollywood Specialty Bodies.”

I scratch my head and smile.Here in Beijing, there’s a movement to correct the English in advance of the Olympics. In fact, they’re talking about setting up a hotline to report English mistakes on official signs around the city and they hope to have the English cleaned up by the end of 2007. (This article notes some fantastic bloopers.)

I’m wondering how often this hotline will be called. My desire to correct signs dwindled when the task started to seem too vast. I have even seen engravings that are incorrect – marble and bronze alike. There’s very little one can do in these cases; those English errors are forever set in stone!

Of course, the errors aren’t just written errors. When I first took the subway, I was amazed that the recorded voice was in both English and Chinese. I did notice right away that the Chinese was more complete than the English, but that’s okay with me. I mean, we (as travellers) don’t really need all the additional polite commentary that follows the identification of the next stop: “if you are getting off at [the next station] please prepare for your arrival.” The only part that is translated is “the next station is…” and that’s all one really needs.

The part that I noticed was incorrect is when Line 13 ends and all passengers are expected to disembark and/or transfer to Line 2. The voice says: “Thank you for taking Beijing Subway. Welcome to take this line on your next trip. Have a nice day.” It’s completely clear what is meant, but the absence of a “the” before “Beijing” in the first sentence has now started to sound normal to my ears, not to mention the absence of “you’re” to start the second sentence.

All this started me thinking about the difficulties that English presents. The word “welcome” is commonly used on its own or to start a sentence like “Welcome to Beijing” or “Welcome to China.” It’s no wonder that this mistake is repeatedly made here because it is minor and hardly blurs the meaning. In fact, I barely notice it now and I may even come home speaking this way if I’m not careful!

In a more non-official light, clothing here is regularly covered in misspelled, illogical and/or completely ridiculous English, so much so that it’s sometimes funny. At the market a few weeks ago, I bought a t-shirt because it made me smile with its mixed up English. The front is just fun and says “Flashy Carnival” but the back? Well, it’s bizarre. My favourite line on the back is “everybody loves to be freedom.” I figured I needed to sport such a shirt, especially back home where people will read it and respond with a twisted look that tells me that they’re trying to solve my t-shirt’s riddle. I’ll have to laugh at these expressions and explain that I bought the shirt in China where t-shirts in English rarely make sense!

Years ago when I was studying Chinese in Canada, a friend of mine told me that the new wave of fashion in North America featuring Chinese characters also rarely made sense. I started to look closely at t-shirts with characters on them and I found that she was absolutely correct. She said that she’d see just jumbled Chinese characters on people’s shirts all the time and it was clearly just about the “style” and not the meaning.

Of course, that’s in reverse here. Tit for Tat.

Speaking of tats… we all know about those misused Chinese characters tattooed on people’s arms in North America. In fact, there are a few websites (like this one) devoted to the discussion of these lost-in-translation tattoo mistakes. Well, I’m happy to say that I have yet to see misspelled English on any Chinese flesh. Another point for China!

One of my favourite repetitive English errors is at the ATM machines. When you select “English” as your language of choice, everything is fine until the very end when the machine asks you if you’d like a “printed advice.” I looked at this carefully the first time, wondering if the machine was actually going to advise me about my financial situation. I thought, “An electronic financial advisor? How cool!” Of course, I realized quickly that they meant “invoice” or “receipt” here and it’s just been poorly translated. Still, I eagerly press “Yes” every time in hopes that I may one day get some advice from an ATM machine.

Even my text book (which includes English translations for the grammar sections) will often have errors. If not errors, it will have a jumbled set of sentences that lose meaning rather quickly. I have to chuckle to myself when I read them. I’m learning to just read the grammatical explanations in Chinese if I really want to understand what’s going on!

All in all, I’d be interested to hear follow-up about this attempt to reform the English signage here in Beijing. I’m wondering if anyone will really call and report the errors. Really, I wouldn’t bother. It’s fine with me. It’s part of the whole experience here and I’m (gratefully) no longer anal about these things. In fact, I am occasionally amused by the mistakes and that extra bit of humour in my day is something that I’ll never complain about.

In general, I appreciate even the little bits of English clarity that appear around the city. I see it as a welcoming gesture of kindness and nothing more.

Who cares if it’s perfect?

(Well, besides the Olympics committee. . .)

It’s more fun when it’s not.

A Canadian in Beijing: Proud Love for the Pedestrian Overpass

Alright, I have been excited about these things since I got here and I’ve felt a bit like a dork about it. Okay, maybe more like an urban planning design geek or something (no offense to a very necessary modern profession!) and so I’ve decided that I’ve just got to put it out there. . . with pride. . . so here goes:

I love a good pedestrian overpass.

Both Beijing and Shanghai have some of the most impressive outdoor pedestrian walkways that I have ever seen. These elaborate bridges are designed for pedestrians only – no motorized vehicles – and they’re all over the city. When I was in Shanghai, I found them there too. Both cities also have pedestrian underpasses that stretch under streets and often connect to the subway system, but the overpasses are the most structurally impressive.

I would venture to say that they’re often architecturally beautiful.

While walking around Beijing, I sometimes feel like I’m part of a herd. We are herd animals after all (right, Brrassie? See comment on this blog) and I realize that these street crossings have been designed to corral us from one side to the other without upsetting the flow of traffic. I don’t mind. I’ve happily swept up into these archways. I’m willingly lured.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, street crossing is a rather “interesting” experience here in China. Precarious? Death-defying? Brave? Ridiculously Random? Any of those descriptors will do. Where there are no specific crossings, i.e. overpasses or underpasses for the pedestrians, the mayhem ensues. I quite like the chaos, personally, and I’ve become quite used to forging forward into traffic flanked by several other equally insane human beings. . .

But, I’m equally charmed by these overpasses.

They seem so grand and elaborate but are just designed for a simple pedestrian like me. When I walk across them, I feel like I’ve been swept into an architect’s urban vision lit up under drawing lights on a drafting table. That’s me in my dusty sneakers and cap leaving my footprints across the crisp white page. That’s also me waving from the top at no one in particular.

When I was a kid living in Burlington, Ontario, there used to be a big pedestrian overpass across the railway tracks that ran parallel to Fairview Road. I have no idea if it’s there now, but it was big and made of painted-green metal and looked like a giant dragon’s spine that zigzagged its diagonal ramp up into the sky, stretched across and zigzagged back down. It was on the north-side as we drove east towards (what was then) the only mall in Burlington, “The Burlington Mall.” I would position myself eagerly by the back window when we turned onto Fairview Road because I always looked forward to the glimpse of that crazy structure that stretched past my imagination. I would picture myself climbing up into it and crossing it like it to the other (mythical) side like it was a giant amusement park ride that required no tickets or coupons.

When I learned that one of my classmates walked across that pedestrian overpass everyday, I looked at her in amazement. “What’s it like?” I asked, with all of my stories about this incredible journey stretching my eyes wide with expectation. I was deflated when I heard her response: “what’s what like? It’s just a sidewalk!”

Bite your tongue.

These are not just sidewalks; they’re gateways to the other side. They are proud pathways that feel regal under my feet. They’re an adventure with every crossing.

Now, I know you’re thinking that I’m getting carried away here, but let’s look at this logically:

First of all, they save your life. There’s no sidestepping vehicles or speeding bicycles in the crossing of these streets. There’s no potential death, shall we say.

Second of all, they’re a moment of respite from the direct fumes and the deafening noise of the Beijing (and Shanghai) streets and so it’s a peaceful experience! I usually walk a little slower up there just to take it all in from a different angle.

And finally, you can linger at the top of these pathways to get a great view of the street and your destination, especially if you’re lost. Trust me, I have used these overpasses as great places to study my maps.

Sometimes these pedestrian overpasses have “dianti” (escalators) and sometimes these escalators are covered and sometimes they’re not. I have often wondered about how snow mixes with moving steps, but I’m happy to be writing this in the summertime!

These ones in Shanghai stretched into elaborate sidewalks in the sky. They reminded me of images of “The Jetsons” cartoons. I shot endless photos much to my fellow sightseer’s annoyance.

I have a fond respect for these structures, as you can tell. Today, I crossed the street just because one was there beckoning to me with its amazing spiral staircases on each end. I crossed over and then walked up a few blocks before realizing that I had to go back under the street again to catch the subway.

I didn’t care.

It was worth it.

Next time you go across one, wave at the street below and to no in particular.

Why not?

A Canadian in Beijing: Being a Tourist at the Summer Palace

I’ve been here for six weeks now and I’ve barely been a tourist. I’ve never been much of a tourist, really, seeing as most of my travelling has been related to my music (i.e. work), but I did imagine that I would do more “tourist-y” things while here in Beijing than I have. That dawned on me this week when I realized that I am half-way through my trip and I have yet to take the bus just ten minutes down the road to check out a major tourist attraction and historic landmark:

The Summer Palace (Yi He Yuan Gong Yuan)

Today, my friend David and I hopped the #726 bus from outside of the university and we headed for the site with cameras in hand. I slathered on the sunscreen (despite the hazy skies) and we geared up to be tourists for once, agreeing to rent the self-guided tour headsets and buy the tourist guides. I even declared that this would be the first occasion that I would buy postcards from the relentless vendors. And so I did. (Successfully bargaining down from 20 kuai to 5 kuai for a package of 10, I might add!)

When we got to the site, it began to rain. It didn’t last long, however, and the freshness in the air combined with the expanse of green (and therefore, oxygen) that surrounds this gorgeous landmark made the air feel light in my lungs. I breathed deeply. Even with the slight chill in the air, I was certain that a bit of cool rain was going to be good for my health.

We bought our tickets, maps and rented our headsets and then started the tour by following our noses, almost ignoring the maps altogether. We went through the east gates and turned right first, finding ourselves walking through beautiful gardens and mounting the “Longevity Hill.” This took us up to a beautiful pagoda that overlooked the grounds. Here, we could see the Kunming Lake and the tips of several other ornate pagodas and towers.

The headsets were configured to sense where you were and then provide a brief history lesson about your surroundings while you’re there. The contraption dangled around our necks like backstage passes and the headset fit on one ear. I felt like a security staff person or something and we laughed at the fact that our sensors were spaced differently so that suddenly mine would start talking when Dave’s hadn’t registered yet. It made for some awkward conversation stoppers. I’d have to interrupt what he was saying with: “oops, uh, someone’s talkin’ in my ear again! Sorry!” and then try to concentrate on what was being said.

We found that most of the content of this self-guided tour was replicated on the signs which were written in both English and Chinese. Still, I didn’t mind the storytelling. For just $40 kuai (less than $6 Canadian), I got the luxury of not having to push my way to the front of the crowd to read every sign.

One of the most magnificent structures was the “Tower of the Fragrance of the Buddha” which stretches 41 metres high and is a three-storied octagonal building with four tiers of eaves. The headsets told us that successfully ascending the one-hundred steps leading up to the tower would represent a long life of at least one-hundred years. Since we had come upon this tower from the opposite side, I wondered if descending these steps would have the opposite effect. Let’s hope not!

We walked down them and eventually found ourselves next to the water’s edge and the “Long Corridor.” This is a raised, covered walkway that enabled the Emperor and then the Empress Dowager to walk along the lake without risking the elements. It stretches 728 metres long with 14,000 pictures painted on its ceiling. They are magnificent pictures full of exquisite detail and intricate designs. It is known as the longest painted gallery in the world.

Of course we followed this corridor to its end where we found the stone “boat” pavilion, a structure that was used for leisure and entertainment purposes that looks like a boat but is made entirely of marble and stone — definitely not gearing to float away anytime soon! Behind this ironic relic, we decided to cross over the water by the stone bridge to find out what was on the other side.

What stretched before us then were some of the most beautiful trees I have seen in a long time, the oldest willow and mulberry trees in the Beijing area. The willows were first planted during Qian Long’s reign (1735-1796) and nineteen of these trees still remain. I was touched to see evidence of preservation efforts; a crew was working on one tree while we passed and some of the other trees were propped up with permanent braces as though their age had crippled them and they need canes to stand upright. It struck me as a merciful sight.

On either side of this stone walkway were waterways that were breathtaking. Small inlets with lotus flowers on the right-side or the wide expanse of the Kunming Lake stretching back towards the palace buildings on the left. Small bridges with intricate stone carvings and wide steps. Everything was so beautiful that it was hard not to photograph something new with every step.

It was about here that I started to get really tired. We had walked endlessly and the beauty was remarkable, but I was losing my ability to concentrate and take any more in. We hopped in a boat that took (weary) people across the lake rather than having to walk around and then we checked out just a few more buildings that we’d missed in the beginning before returning our headsets and heading home.

One of the last buildings we entered was one that housed an old car that was bought for the Empress Dowager and is purported to be an early Benz. It was surrounded by four rickshaws and on display behind iron bars. On the other side of this room were several personal items of the Empress Dowager’s including her famous portrait and a few pianos and pieces of furniture.

Two young girls on either side of these displays stood in period costumes including (what appeared to be) extremely uncomfortable high-heeled shoes. They had wide headdresses and looked gorgeous in their outfits, but their eyes were tired and bored and I wanted to take them by the hand and lead them out of there. What a job to have to stand there and be beautiful all day, smiling for photographs and pacing slowly behind iron bars! Of course, I didn’t take their pictures. I smiled at them with a look of sympathy and I received a flash of appreciation from one of the girls, as though she registered my meaning. I wish I’d had something to offer them, but all I could give them was my shy retreat and the silent respect of a lowered camera lens.

When we hopped in a cab for “home,” I was ready for a long nap – being a tourist is exhausting! I highly recommend seeing this landmark, though, because it felt like a moment of countryside in the middle of a bustling city. It’s wonderful that Beijing has preserved such a stunning site. The Summer Palace should definitely be on your list of places to see if you’re passing through Beijing.


(This is us posing before the famous statue of the Bronz Ox, said to be the controller of floods. It was cast during Qian Long’s reign, 1735-1796.)

A Canadian in Beijing: The Inevitability of Karaoke

I really don’t enjoy karaoke. I’m sure it comes from the fact that it had a peak of popularity in North America during my high school years – a time that I don’t often enjoy recollecting!

I started to perform live when I was ten and so all of my classmates knew that I had a “nice voice” and I was often cajoled and dragged and/or berated into singing at various parties and school events. Usually, the songs were cheesy love songs with bad keyboard sounds and wind chimes. Whitney Houston was a favourite, I recall, as was “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers.

When I hear the word “karaoke,” I feel a rush of an ancient mortification being unearthed in my body.

I remember being worried that the pitch would be wrong for my voice or the words hard to see on the screen. I can see my classmates looking at me expectantly and remember feeling impossibly shy without a guitar or my own songs to sing, fearing letting everyone down. . . and then missing the opening line of the song because of all the over-thinking I was doing. I was a typical teenager and typically awkward in those settings.

Eventually, I started to hate karaoke and when I was solicited to sing, I would root my feet firmly where I stood and refuse to go up and sing “other people’s songs” as though this were an affront to my artistry. In all honesty, I was scared to death. I built that whole phoney stance around my fears. I suppose this is a human response, but being here in Beijing has forced me to acknowledge it.

Because really, karaoke isn’t that evil.

The psychological effects of karaoke aside (!), it was inevitable that I would have to face my fears here in China. Singing is very related to partying here. There is often a karaoke option in clubs or restaurants and people are just accustomed to getting up and singing after they’ve enjoyed a meal and had a few drinks. It’s a cultural experience, shall we say.

In fact, when I discuss my DVD with people here, I have to explain that it is not a karaoke DVD. Videos here are most commonly karaoke videos (with the lyrics running across the bottom of the screen) and many homes have microphone attachments to their VCRs so that friends and family can sing along to the videos being played on the screen. It is popular, to say the least.

On Wednesday night, I was invited to a party by my friend Zou Rui. She is a professional singer and she has a beautiful voice and several karaoke DVDs. She truly does have an incredible voice. It’s one of the loveliest voices I have heard in a long time.

She was invited to this party by her teacher, a singing coach, who also works for the government. When I arrived, I noticed that we were two of only five women in a room of over fifty people (not counting the waitresses.) I was the only foreigner and everyone came over to greet me and clinked my glass to say hello (in English) and toast my arrival. I was drinking juice, which was a good thing, because it was regularly being emptied with every greeting; had it been beer, I would have been drunk within twenty minutes!

We then sat down to eat and the food was fantastic. Yet another example of the hot pot, but in this case each person had their own “cook station” which meant that I could be comfortably and independently vegan at this table. I enjoyed every bite but was amazed by the amount of food that was not eaten. So much waste! To compensate, I ate more than my fill and felt grateful to have been invited to join in.

After the meal, the karaoke machine started to hum, the t.v. monitors lit up and Zou Rui got up to start the entertainment. She sang a few songs to everyone’s great delight and mine included. Turns out that she knew she was supposed sing and she encouraged others to get up with her and do various duets of famous Chinese songs. The men at the party didn’t need much encouragement and they lined up to sing with her. She also sang “I Will Always Love You” by Dolly Parton (but made especially famous by Whitney Houston, of course) and I was once again rocketed back to my high school awkwardness.

Right on that cue, she grabbed my elbow and said “lai, lai” (“come, come”) and pulled me up on the stage. The whole place turned to see what this foreign girl would do. Zou Rui had chosen one of the few English songs in the repertoire of titles available and suddenly the opening chords of “Hey Jude” by the Beatles began. She sang the first verse and in the pause, she introduced me to the audience in Chinese as “a very famous singer from Canada” and motioned that I ought to start singing the second verse.

ACK! My throat tightened and I was sure that I was going to vomit right there.

I had the microphone in front of my face but I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I opened my mouth. Not only was I supposed to sing “Hey Jude” (a song that I don’t know very well – thank goodness for words on the screen!) but now I was supposed to demonstrate my “very famous” singing voice!

I opened my mouth tentatively and, thankfully, the notes came. My body bailed me out. By the first chorus, I was actually smiling and singing at full volume along with Zou Rui. By the second chorus, we were harmonizing. By the end of the song, they were on their feet and cheering.

So karaoke isn’t so bad. I can handle it.

Next time, however, I think I’ll have a drink first!

A Canadian in Beijing: Naked Baby Bums Everywhere!

I wonder how babies in China feel in the wintertime. I mean, they must experience some severe crotch frost considering the built-in air-conditioning their clothing has! This no-nonsense approach to raising not-yet-potty-trained children has me both baffled and amused.

Here in China, children under the age of approximately 4 years old wear pants that are crotchless. In other words, their pants do not have any crotch, just an open space where the crotch should be. At a Pride Day parade, this style would be called “chaps”! Here in China, they’re just regular kids’ clothes.

Basically, when the child has to go to the bathroom, they are taught to squat wherever they are. This can sometimes happen on the sidewalk or on the grass, but it also happens on public transport or in shopping centres.

How does a society deal with that?

Mops. Lots of mops.

This phenomenon further stresses the fact that sitting on the grass or the sidewalk here in China is an absolutely disgusting proposition. Any number of children could have urinated or defecated there. Top that off with the spitting, the rubbish and overall dirt that is generated by 14 million people and you have yourself an extremely unsanitary seat.

The more I see this happen here in China, the less often I have found myself sitting on the ground. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever sit on the ground again after three months in Beijing. It may have scarred me for life! (C’mon, a little drama never hurt!)

I finally got up the courage to ask about this ‘crotchlessness.’ The moment came when we were in class and discussing what things we found to be “qi guai” or “strange” here in China compared with our home countries. My teacher laughed out loud when we all started to comment on this phenomenon and then she covered her mouth shyly with her hand as she explained and then laughed some more. She said that she once asked a mother whether or not her children were cold in the wintertime and the mother’s response had been that this section of the body is hot enough on its own and so the missing fabric is “mei wenti” (no worries).

Really? I don’t buy it. I know it’s hot down there, but is it hot enough to keep those bits from frostbite? I don’t think so. Of course, I am a Canadian here and I have heard that Beijing winters are not as cold as Canadian winters. Hmmm. Wo bu zhi dao (I don’t know). I’m shrugging my shoulders here.

(I’ve since found that lots has been written about this. Here’s a really cute picture.)

Now, besides the so-called functionality of this clothing design, I have to admit that it’s really cute. When a child is being held either on its mother’s back or in her arms, the child’s legs are bent around her and all you see is his or her little bottom. Everywhere I go, I get glimpses of naked baby bums and I smile every time. How can you not? So perhaps that’s part of the function: kids’ clothing that make the foreigners smile.

When I was on the subway heading downtown one day, a small child of about 2 was sitting on the lap of the woman across from me. He was fussing and irritable and so she took him off her lap and stood him between her legs to steady him as the train rumbled along. He continued to whine and wriggle, wanting to get out from the jail cell that had been created by her knees, but unable to breach her legs for any free space since the train was fairly crowded.

Suddenly, he bent into the squatting position and peed. His mother lifted her feet slightly so that she wouldn’t step in his urine and then threw a tissue at the small puddle and let it soak up the urine before kicking the sopping tissue under the seat with the sole of her shoe.

It was my first experience watching a child pee on public transport and I was amazed. I’m sure my eyes were the size of small dinner plates because she looked right at me with a “haven’t-you-seen-this-before?” expression on her face that was mixed with a sort of diffidence that made me lower my gaze. I don’t want my amazement to translate into judgment and so I spent the rest of the trip looking out the window.

About a week later, I was standing on the street and I saw a small child being led to one of the small saplings that line the road. His mother opened the gap in his pants and positioned his body to urinate and then waited until he had emptied his little bladder under the city tree. I watched this with great amusement.

Later that same day, I was riding my bike back home and it was late in the evening when the twilight can trick your eyes with its dim shadows. I saw a small girl of about 5 years old step into the street a good block ahead of me as I was leisurely pedalling along. She lifted up her skirt and crouched down and I wondered if she was looking for something in the gutter. Seconds later, I watched her hop back up onto the curb and disappear into a building and when I arrived at the spot where she had been, I discovered only a damp patch of asphalt that I had to swerve to avoid.

It seems to me that even as kids grow a bit older, it’s still OK for them to urinate (and what about #2?) on public streets. I wonder how common this is or if I just saw a rare moment here.

Either way, at least it saves on paper and non-biodegradable diapers. That’s a huge something!

Now if we could only tackle the smell …