The Ode to a Cook Book

Dear Betty Crocker,

Thank you for moving to China with me.

Thank you for your straightforward and non-condescending directions. Especially for hard-boiled eggs. (I am thirty-something and I still need to consult page 163 each Easter season.)

Thanks too for great recipes for things like Guacamole and Hummus. Foods that enriched our time away from US supermarkets and don't call for ingredients I can't get here.

You have saved us, Miss Betty, from many a night of cereal for supper. (Especially in that first year when I couldn't tell the large bags of MSG from table salt.)

I remain forever in your debt for your book: Betty Crocker's New Cookbook: Everything You Need to Know to Cook. My roux splattered pages are a tribute to your greatness!

Very cordially yours,

Tai Tai Johnson

April QEM

We're going exclusively on-line this month.

Check out the Qingdao Expat Magazine April 2010 issue.

How Did You Get Here?

So the Tai Tai is curious. I've been linked up to the Expat Expert and CN Review for more than a year, but suddenly the traffic at our humble blog has really picked up. I'm getting hits from all over.

Today, I went for coffee @ Starbucks to meet a couple from New Zealand who will be soon move to QD, and they had been reading The Johnson's in China: The Tales of Tai Tai Johnson!

So, if you are new, could you humor me? Drop a comment in the comment box and let me know how you stumbled on us?

Xie Xie, Ni!!

The Tai Tai's Musings on "Face"

We hear over and over whilst in China about the importance of "Face" in in this country. "Saving Face." "Losing Face." Treading lightly in business, daily life, and interactions, because of the huge importance "face" plays in Sino culture.

China (along with other Asian nations like Japan, and Korea) place a huge value on "Face". These countries (and also some in the Middle East and South America) are considered "high-context cultures". In a "high context culture" you don't say things directly. You beat around the bush. You read context from clues. Status and hierarchy play important roles. Honor is important too. And respect. The most important, honored etc is the one who: (fill in the blank ... pours the tea, who pays the bill -- based on where they sit at a round banquet table with relation to the door, etc). To Americans and others from "low-context cultures" it sometimes seems like a lot of smoke and mirrors.

People in low context cultures (like the one I hail from) speak directly. The meaning of what I say is understood by what I say. Here, not so much. You don't speak directly. If you want a taxi driver who is going uncontrollably fast to slow down you don't tell him simply, "Slow down," you say, "Maybe slow down a little." Yi dian dian (Literally: "one little, little") gets tagged on to so many phrases in Chinese its almost laughable, because you really mean the opposite!

But the high contextual culture of China has been skewed by its modern history. Communism makes all (in theory) equal. So high context gets lost or at very best convoluted. If everyone is equal the need for honor and status go away. But "face" somehow remains. To save someone's "face" often means more beating around the bush, not speaking directly, and not initiating direct conflict, because a high context culture yearns for harmony among its members.

(This is not a treatise on Chinese culture, but a quick lesson, and I will be getting to my point....)

But here is the part I struggle with. Low-context culture or not, I don't like to be embarrassed either. I don't think China has cornered the market on this one. "Face" to a certain degree is a human need regardless of culture. No body likes to get singled out, or corrected, or embarrassed.

But, why the Sociology lesson today, Tai Tai? you may ask...

I muse about "Face" today, because several times in the last week I've destroyed it. My original title for this piece was "Saving, losing and destroying face." And I stand before you today in blogland and low-contextually admit outright that I have been a face destroyer this last week. I have knowingly used what I know will bring attention in this high context society.

Remember all those boxes that came from IKEA last week? Five of the most unmotivated and unskilled delivery people showed up. They told me they couldn't make around the corner. They couldn't get the boxes in the door to my apartment. They dropped my "fragile" box. Then said they didn't. (One girl whispered I should open the box they didn't drop to make sure it was okay.) They were pathetic.

This is China. People hand carry pianos up multiple flights of stairs. They opt to use human labor in place of mega machines. They are some of the hardest working people on the planet. (And just to be very clear, these five have been the exception to most of my experiences over the last four years). Not to mention that these five twenty-somethings work for a shipping company, and thus their job is to deliver large boxes. And, did I mention there were FIVE of them.

But, I tried face saving first....

"Maybe if you tried 'one little little' more it would work?" (Making it a question also helps the statement be less direct.)

I patiently tried again.

"Maybe if You walk backwards and You pivot this way, you both can navigate the doorway?"

I didn't add ("And, you other three are doing a splendid job of doing nothing.. please continue to simply just look on...)

Finally in frustration I pointed to the logo on their shirts.

"This is a moving/shipping company right?"

"Your job is to move/deliver things?"

They got it.

But they lost face.

One of the five had agreed that they could take the mattresses to the second floor.

But after face loss no one was willing.

The low-context, direct speaking Tai Tai was on it.

"Okay, don't take my mattresses up." I said, digging my heals into this "face" smearing event.

"There are five of you and one of me, but I will carry this mattress up by myself."

Two started ducking out the door.

"You wait here." I intoned in a way that made them certain to continue hanging out awkwardly with me and my ayi in my living room.

They watched me un-pack the light weight twin mattress, carry it up the steps and heave it over the railing to the second floor.

I came down, and told them there was one more mattress (an Asian king size) I had to carry up before I would sign their invoice and then they could leave. There was suddenly great interest on their part to carry the second mattress up the stairs after all.

I signed the invoice.

They left.

And then ayi told me. "They couldn't carry that first mattress because they were all too short."

She was "Restoring Face." The collective "Face" of five people she'll never see again, because in the high-context society she lives in, "Face" is everything.

Palm Sunday

At bedtime tonight we re-capped the girls Sunday School lessons.

Eliza showed us the palm frond she made from construction paper.

And then Bea told how the people were, "waving their palms and singing 'Oh Susannah!'"

Staying put ...

We've been tossing around the idea of moving to a new apartment home in QD. So many new places have come on the market in the last four years and we were keen to see what was available.

We are mostly happy with our existing home. And though the interior is mostly in tact, (Chinese construction ages exponentially faster than Western construction) there are certain updates we'd like to see the land lady make.

We decided to stay for the same reasons we chose it in the first place... a yard, a big kitchen, and a nice location (not too far from the Central Business District and and too far from the International School). There are some things we have to trade by staying. We still will have to have our bedroom double as a laundry space, and our view of the Yellow Sea has nearly been eclipsed by the gaudy structure across the street that glows in bright flashing neon at night (It's a banquet restaurant and a bath house... two separate businesses in one seaside location.)

I thought you might like a glimpse of some of the places we took a pass on.

Option #1

Not much for closet space...

Option #1

... But beautifully decorated

Option #2

... Marble floor (and ceiling!)

Option #2

(OTT lighting, curtains, media center, and electronic baby grand ...)

End of a Busy Week

It's 10:40 pm. The house is splendidly quiet. The Three are all tucked in their respective beds, their blond locks resting on pillows of pink, red and white. Mr. Johnson has retired to bed as well, and I am left in the quiet darkness... the computer monitor and the flashing neon lights of the restaurant across the street my only illumination.

There is the smell of snuffed candles and chocolate chip cookies... remnants of our Earth hour observation. And a quiet stillness... at the end of a busy, busy week.

Mom home from Beijing. Dad off to Beijing. Mom at wake up. Mom at bus stop. Mom at dinner. Mom at bedtime. Reassurance it won't always be this way. Yes, you will see Daddy again! A busy Dad tiptoeing in to bedrooms where children have long been sleeping and planting kisses on foreheads. Meetings. Business trips. Business dinners. Conference calls. IKEA shipment delivered. IKEA shipment unpacked. IKEA boxes played in. IKEA boxes dragged to the curb. IKEA furniture painstakingly put together with a widget the size of a toenail clipper. Phone calls to IKEA for missing parts. Push 2 for English (ever wonder how that felt?). Speaking Mandarin to the Mandarin speaker at the end of the "English" line. Writing articles. Editing articles. Laying out the magazine. Conference with the school. Phone calls to the teacher. Paper work for next year. Violin. School. Language lessons. Phone calls from friends who will suddenly move. E-mails with heavy words... that slowly and painfully sink in: brain tumor, malignancy, just 21 years old. (You are on our minds and in our hearts Holman-Nash's!). Listening to Bei Bei read her first book Top Cat. (Watching her slowly sound out the letters and read sentences. "I am top cat... Am I top cat? Am I top cat?") Seeing the pride on her face and feeling the same in my heart. Birthday parties. Slumber parties. Homework.

Finally... Chinese take out. Family night. Cuddling close under chenille throws. Watching the Cheshire cat and Mad Hatter. Lighting candles. Turning out the lights. Cookies. Milk. Little voices. Sweet voices. Reminding that at end of all busyness, obligations, heart ache, achievement, pleasure and pastimes, the sweet distilled sound of our Three favorite voices is the most treasured part of our days.

The Tai Tai's musings on expats...

As my cyber friend Global Gal pointed out in her recent comment (see last post re: IKEA trip), there are at least two kinds of expatriates. She called them "Suitcase Expats" and "Shipment Expats."

Shipment Expats

We've been "Shipment Expats". Our company has been sending people to China for nearly 20 years, so they have run a well oiled machine. The company calls expats International Service Employees (ISEs), and their ISE compensation package is filled with words like: hardship location, cost of living index (and adjustments), R & R packages, international school tuition, private vehicles with drivers, home leaves and Look/See visits. The package has language to describe how shipping will take place, how to arrange long-term storage in your home country, and details on how to import your pets. There are relocation consultants, people available on the other end of the phone in your home country to answer questions, and often people in your host country to hold your hand. (Our proverbial hand holder is called the ISE coordinator... I eluded to her also in a previous post.)

Suitcase Expats

"Suitcase Expats" on the other hand usually come with far less support. Sometimes the term half-pat is used for people who come to work in a foreign country without the backing of fat companies with glamorous expat packages. One definition I found described half-pats this way:

A new name has been coined for foreigners living (/drifting) in China long term: “halfpat“. “Expat” on the other hand, according to this definition, means temporarily-relocated big-corporation type people… those people who never get into “the real china” and enjoy salary/benefit packages from their firms virtually identical to what they get at home.

... [Halfpats] are more stable and committed to China in the long-term and they have significant cultural, linguistic and market understanding.

… There are more than simply financial benefits to hiring halfpat staff. Perhaps the greatest advantage is their cultural understanding and language skills – which simply cannot be underestimated in a market like China. These two characteristics allow halfpats to hit the ground running and give them a sustainable advantage over traditional expat managers.

Probably the strongest advantage of halfpats is their weird ability to live in China and not get sick of it…

The overall stability and long-term commitment of halfpat staff is also superior to that of the average expat. In fact, many remain in China for a 5-10 year period which makes them less of a risk in terms of failing to complete their assignment. Its estimated that 60% of expats are unable to complete the duration of their assignments.

from Shenzhen News & Commentary

I love the line about the "weird ability to live in China" without becoming irritated by the experience! What I find interesting is that often the most successful expatriates are not the ones who come with all the perks. Sometimes the ones who show up only with simply the maximum amount of luggage (and layered in clothes to save suitcase room -- anyone else read this account in Barbara Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible?). These people are often teachers, missionaries, small business owners or just over-grown backpackers with a penchant to learn about other cultures. These people's success, in my mind, is derived from the fact they come because they want to be part of a different culture.

The problem many traditional expats (what Global Gal has dubbed "Shipment Expats") run into is that they come to a foreign country (say, again China) because its a good move career wise, financially, or ... especially in the present economy... there is no other viable options. They are not necessarily Sino crazy, or interested in learning about other cultures, or, for that matter picking up a second language.

The people with expat packages don't have to find and negotiate their own housing, pay their own rent or even do little things, say, try sticky hard-to-find Chinese deodorant (people in China by and large don't wear any underarm deodorant or antiperspirant; and most expats with shipments bring their own!); they don't need to learn the language to function, or even have to learn how to hail a cab. This is not to say that "Shipment Expats" don't do these things. But many times, they don't have to, especially if they don't want to.

So who is happier? Who is more successful? Which one leaves China feeling richer for their experience? Which type of expat gets the most out of their China/international adventure? I'm not sure. (Though I can wager a guess. Spoiler warning: halfpats stay longer.)

I know, personally, that it is important for our family to appreciate the gifts that come as a "Shipment Expat". We have enjoyed every moment of our travel opportunities. We appreciate a company willing to make our time here comfortable. I don't want to take them for granted. More importantly, I don't want to hide behind them and see China from inside the walls of an expat compound. There are certainly choices we need to make on our own. Active choices that effect our quality of life in so much as it enriches our months and years spent outside of the U.S. I can't imagine living in foreign culture and not seizing upon the gift of learning a new language (especially one 1/5 of the global population speaks!) I want to learn about the history of a country that is roughly 25 times longer than my own.

The above are just the laywoman's musings of a longish-term "Shipment Expat" ...

For articles on these issues consider:

Halfpats: the New Expatriate

Foreigners in China: What is a Halfpat?

Back from the Capital

I just back from a whirl wind trip to Beijing. Not a cultural adventure, just a big re-stocking of the can't-get-it-here kinds of things we think we'll need over the course of the next months and years.

I caught the first flight I could after getting The Three up and out the door Thursday morning. At Beijing Capital Airport I hailed a cab and went directly to the blue and yellow mecca off the 4th Ring Road (IKEA or Yi jia in Mandarin). I did a quick perusal of the showrooms (those clever inventions that show how a Beijing family of three can live both stylishly and economically in 4 sq meters space -- okay so it's more than 4 sq. meters, but small spaces nevertheless.)

Giving a nod to my Scandinavian heritage, I dined at the cafeteria on Swedish meatballs, lingon berry sauce, and mashed potatoes replete with a tiny Swedish flag planted squarely in this Nordic staple starch. I was surrounded by plates of food geared more to the Asian palate: pepper beefs, noodles, and veg dishes. I selected a seat near the window, where Beijing's two tell tale signs of spring where evident: trees on the cusp of budding, and yellow-grey skies filled with the Mongolian dust, a product of deforestation and the strong winds that blow in from the dry Gobi in the spring.

Perched beside me were the figures I have now come to expect at Chinese IKEAs. A quartet of fifty-something women, the upper middle class types with perms, polyester pants, and what I presumed to be their New Year's sweaters, jovially playing a ruckus game of poker. They weren’t there for the shopping. Just for the table for four by the window and an endless supply of free hot water for the ever-present tea bottles they tote.

I glanced at my watch, and realized I still literally had hours before I was set to meet my friend from QD who would arrive in BJ on a later flight. Taking a cue from the jovial card sharks, I took time to peruse a few electronic pages of my latest download from Amazon Kindle. Why not take advantage of a comfortable chair indoors on an otherwise dreary March afternoon. (When in Rome… er, Beijing!)

I lingered over my lingon berry juice and pondered my list. (I had e-mailed a pdf of my shopping list to my iphone, which provided exact locations of everything.) Sufficiently nourished on the victuals that gave my Viking ancestors the strength to conquer the then-known free world, I tackled the remaining bulky items on my list.

In total I spent nearly seven hours at Yi jia. Three trolley loads, and several thousand yuan later, I successfully negotiated the shipping of four tables, seven chairs, two stools and an easel; two soft mattresses on which we’ll rest our tired Western backs (no longer will we be putting up with the plywood lined Asian mattresses!) and a sundry of other goods to Qingdao. Suffice to say, I am not eager to debate between the Lycksele Håvet, the Lycksele Lövås or the Lycksle Murbo (mattress brands of the great Yi Jia); or for that matter, see the inside of another IKEA for anytime soon!

I took a short cab ride to our hotel, where I waited for my friend to arrive and check in. In the morning she was off to the embassy district (theirs is a colourful and international family of four, which hold passports to three countries!). I had a leisurely lie in, met up with my friend, perused a grocery store of more can't-get-it-in-Qingdao-and-so-I-will-belligerently-spend-what-ever-the-over-the-top-price-is (if its something any of the Johnson's in QD have had a hankering for). We had a quick early lunch, I bade my friend farewell as she embarked on another embassy visit, I booked a fabulous massage, then rejoined my friend and had time to share a golden ginger smoothie @ Element Fresh with her before we caught a cab back to the airport.

The drama that ensued was exhausting. My friend had to surrender her passport at one of the embassies in order to obtain a tourist visa. (They will mail the passport back to her QD residence in 5 days.) They sent her on her way with a photo copy of her entire passport, a stamp certifying that that country’s government had her passport, and a phone number to call in case we ran into trouble. We had to use the number… but in the end she prevailed. (I had gone ahead to our gate, rationalizing that if she couldn’t make it back to QD on the plane, at least I could be back to help care for her two little girls over the weekend.) Much to my surprise, she arrived at our gate victorious, shortly before we were due to board. (It is not a coincidence that she is one of the “strong” women I had coffee with last week!) I won’t go into the details, as there are not my details to tell, but I will say she’s one tough chic to talk the Chinese authorities into allowing her to travel sans passport. I will also say this: if you ever find yourself in that situation, hope that it’s in a line full of other foreigners, and be willing to make a scene.

When she messaged me this afternoon I learned we had both tumbled into our beds exhausted last night… as it turns out...IKEAs, embassies and emotional outbursts can wear you out!

Three Phone Calls

My morning so far has consisted of three phone calls:

1. Ayi

I hear the phone ringing as I step out of the shower.

Two missed calls from her flashing on my mobile.

Her: are you home?

Me: (in a towel... toothbrush in hand) Yes.

Her: I forgot my keys.

I open the door, much to her embarrassment (but not mine) still in my towel.

2. Bei Bei's Teacher

Her: Good morning. There is some confusion about Bea's snack. She thinks she has two drinkable yogurts today. Does she?

Me: Mind racing... I packed three lunches and five snacks this morning (two of which were for after school activities.), different beverages for each girl... But, miraculously it comes to me... No, just one yogurt today. Yogurt with snack. Juice with lunch.

Her: Okay. Thanks! Have a nice day!

3. Our International Service Employee (what Mr. Johnson's company calls expats) coordinator:

Her: Your landlord just called. Her husband is on his way to plant tree in your garden (yard).

Me: Does she know we are staying?

We've been coached not to tell her. Our contract ends in June. We've been scoping out alternative living arrangements, but in the event we stay in our present apartment home it's good for her to be a little squirmy about how she'll find new renters. This strategy (aka: game of hardball) could help us lower our rent and/or make some much needed improvements.

Her: No.

Me: Okay... (doorbell rings... it's land lord's husband and his team looking for the key to the garden gate.) I guess we'll just have to move them again when we tell her we're staying!

Her: Good idea!

on being strong....

It does not bode well with me to refrain from posting. Please be assured I've been thinking of things other than ironing boards and orange tables (Although... good news... I have found a buyer for our orange and white darling.... And, if you found that post a bit cynical, forgive me, and know that I pledge to be less caustic in future ones.)

I haven't posted of late because I simply haven't had the words I wanted to use. I'm not sure I do now even. I've been ruminating. Chewing the words over in my mind. Making efforts to digest their meaning.

(At least the collage of photos was lovely for you to look at ... those 16 of you who faithfully return day after day to our blog ... )

I'm presently processing our decision to stay in China, our announcement, and what it means for each member of our family. This week I've been thinking about what it means for me.

I had coffee with three wonderful women last week. Strong women... my favorite kind.

Its been ages since I've had three coffee klatsches in one week... and the timing was perfect. I could air my feelings and bare my soul over a cups of steaming coffee. And, as I listened, I heard sage advice and honest renderings from their hearts.

China is sometimes a tough place to be. It's hard on individuals, families, parents, children, and marriages.

We've been The Johnson's in China four years, and have just chosen to stay another two. Everything lined up on paper, in our minds, and in our hearts, but as the reality of 30 more months enveloped me, it was fitting to talk it out with my "lady friends". **

I chatted with one of my mei mei's this week too. Another strong chica in her own way. We talked about this strong streak, and how it effects our relationships. How it cements them, as long as the men in our lives know what they're up against.

I often use those words with Mr. Johnson. "You knew what you were getting into." Meaning when we tied the knot over a dozen years ago he knew he wasn't getting a mild mannered woman. He usually smirks in acknowledgement, and sometimes even admits he "mostly" knew.

This week I've had to call upon my toughness. I've had to be resolute. Because if I were a meeker woman, I might not be up for the extended time we just signed up for.

We recently heard a statistic about living China that we are certain is true:

The average failure rate for international expats is under 4%. That is: only four percent of people who chose to move, live and work abroad cannot complete their assignment and head back to their home country defeated. For China, that number catapults to 20%.

I can think of a host of reasons for this. I can think of the number of expats we've seen pack their bags and catch a flight home. We were at dinner a couple of Sundays ago with several other families after fellowship when this nugget came up in our conversation. I turned to Mr. Johnson, and high-fived him. We've made it into the 80% who make it in China. And I'm praying for the strength to stay there (and here... ) for two more years.

** My great aunt Helen, a strong woman in her own right, always liked to refer to her friends as "lady friends," and I like the ring of it! Aunt Helen also liked to put out marshmallows and a "little lunch" when we'd traipse to her farm on weekends. After a small amount of polite conversation, when she figured us kids had had enough, she would send my dad off to her cellar to retrieve a cardboard box of farm toys. My favorites were the horses. Horses made in a way lost to future generations eager for features and gadgets. Those magnificent animals, pulled from Great Aunt Helen's cellar, were regal sable-colored Stallions and sleek Arabians with long, sinewy plastic legs; hard, molded tails; and fine, strong facial features. Great Aunt Helen was not a gentle woman, more matter-of-fact... maybe even gruff... and certainly strong. But, she was also kind .... she had marshmallows and lady friends; and she knew when to pull out the box of tricks... all in all not someone bad to emulate.)

random black & whites

Bye, Bye Ironing Board

"We'll only be a here a few more months," was my mental anthem... the one I cued when I looked at my despised orange kitchen table, when I noted our increasingly battered common entry way in our apartment building, and when I looked at our pathetic excuse for a ironing board.

We bought the unsightly ironing board four years ago, after we gave up searching for quality (fearing perhaps there was none to be found in a land that seemed filled with bright cheap plastic things, and painfully inadequate household goods.)

The ironing board we ended up with was cheap.... in every sense of the definition.

It had a silver cover with dogs on it.

From day one it had to be shimmed with something (most recently, ayi has resorted to a folded face cloth... which again brings the anthem to mind!)

The thing about our flimsy ironing board, the one of substandard quality, which seemingly was designed for an elf is that I actually really never needed to use it. (As fortune would have it, both of our domestic helpers, who have done nearly all of our ironing over the four years, stand barely five feet!)

Our first elfin-like ayi was a seamstress. She thoughtfully, without even a mention, whipped up pale pink cover that matched the walls, and kept the unsightly dogs at visual bay.

(Now about those dogs: I know that domestic appliances in the West often have interesting themes... think of the last time you perused your ironing board aisle at Wal-Mart and saw all those unsightly floral patterns... unsightly, that is, until you compare them to an ironing board covered with a dog pattern. Who thinks of this stuff?? I also have a lovely dustbin I keep on our balcony with image of a cat on it. Who dreams of cats and dogs as harmonious with domestic housekeeping bliss?) But, I digress...

So when we decided we would extend our stay in China, there were certain objects in our home I had to reckon with. First on the list... the ironing board. I splurged on a sturdy number, one with good rubber feet, and a nifty space to store the iron. It has a neutral toupe cover, and was certainly designed outside of this country.

A further bad sign about just how bad the original ironing board was, was the fact that no one wanted it. Ayi most probably never wanted to see the thing again (and most likely has better uses for her personal collection of face cloths.) Our driver, even, who never likes to see anything go to waste-- their home has been the happy recipient of our former cream and tan loopy area rug (the one our girls found a special fascination in unraveling, loop by synthetic loop); our first vacuum... the Qingdao made sucking machine with a cord as long as my arm (which, in case you were wondering, completely lived up to the sucking part of its name); The lovely orange leatherette chairs which originally complemented the aforementioned orange eyesore. Even after accepting these things, he took a pass on the ironing board. Wise man.

The less wise man was the newspaper delivery guy who pulled it out of the trash in front of our building this morning. He carefully placed it under the flap of his saddle bags, the short wimpy frame extending well beyond a limit we would feel comfortable with in the US, kick started his pollution producing transportation, and motored off down the sidewalk before I could warn him about what he was getting himself into!

How You Going: Randoms from Oz

A few random tid-bits on Aussie culture before we effectively wrap up our report on Western Australia:

"How You Going"

This is the standard greeting in Western Australia which cracked me up every time... I don't know how you are supposed to answer, or if the question even really makes that much sense!

Beet Slice on Burgers

Okay... so we've become accustomed to the addition of a fried egg on burgers, but the beet root slice (something we also noticed in Sydney) is interesting! No big deal though, as it is easily removed and the remaining bits of the Aussie beef burgers did not disappoint!

Snake Catcher

Just a notice on a community bill board in case you have any issues with poisonous snakes! (This is for real. )

Boots

Not the overly-popular... Paris Hilton wears them in the summer down Rodeo Drive Uggs (although they are as Australian as the kangaroo), but the low, sturdy, ankle boots we saw everyone shodding their feet with in the westernmost state. (Although if I were in the snake catching business, I might go for something a little taller!)

The Flat White

I covered this one briefly last year, but its an Aussie creation apparently. It is an espresso-based beverage somewhere between a cappuccino and latte. (Comparable to the Spanish cafe con leche.)

The March QEM

Click here to link to the latest issue
of the Qingdao Expat Magazine

And more of OZ: Rottnest Island

The last bit of our Australian holiday time was spent on Rottnest Island, 17 km off the coast of Freemantle. We took a high speed ferry, the Rottness Express, to the island. Our bags, which we checked at the ferry terminal, were delivered, as promised, directly to our accommodation.

The island is managed by the Rottnest Island Authority (like a park service.) Rates vary by season and accommodation. In the highest season (which we were fortunate to miss by a matter of weeks), there is a ballot (lottery) system in place.

We enjoyed: bike hire (rental); time on the beach; time in the water (with the exception of Eliza's jellyfish encounter); beautiful sunsets; great food on "the barbie"; shucking corn on the back veranda; and relaxing on our the front porch of our simple two-bedroom, barracks like bungalow.

We spent two sun drenched days drinking in the white sand beaches and sharing up-close encounters with the island's famous residents: the quokkas... a small member of the marsupial family that thrives on the predator free island. Whilst walking from our beach side bungalow into the main tourist area, we glimpsed a blue tongued skink, but were only to catch its chubby leathery foot on film (can find it above?).

The island has been known for:

• The salt lakes and former salt factories
• The infamously deplorable indigenous detention center it once housed
• The internment camps during the world wars
• The resort status it has enjoyed since the mid-1970s
• The Quokka. When Dutch explorers first arrived in the 1600s, they mistook these mini-kangaroo-like creatures for rats. They dubbed the island Rottnest (Rat Nest). We had a hard time wondering how these cute little creatures could be mistaken for ugly rats!

Breaking News....

Dear Readers,

It's been a fun adventure living in China, and even when it's not, writing about it helps put it in perspective! It now looks like the tai tai will be writing about China a while longer as Mr. Johnson has just agreed to a new contract with a new division within his company. We will remain in Qingdao, where the new mid-tier excavator program he will oversee will find its headquarters. (Hmm... are you picking up on the theme of "newness" here?) It has been fun to see how Mr. Johnson has grown in his existing hydraulics position, and exciting to think about what the future has in store. For our part, The Three and I are also content to stay in China a while longer.

We were, for all intents and purposes, prepared for a summer repatriation. The inquiry and formal offer stage for this new position moved at lightning speed (in way only things in China can.) Mr. Johnson’s promotion will be formally announced this week at his company. Effective April 1, he will assume his new role as Technical Manager for the Mid-Tier excavator team.

Not what we originally planned

Our time in China was drawing to a close, we believed. We had begun shopping real estate in Kendall County, Illinois (from Asia), weighed the options, and then decided to go ahead and move back into our cute little house with the ample yard and leafy trees. Mr. Johnson bought a car … a sporty black VW GTI, a fast little number with six speeds… something to make up for the four years he spent in China not driving. We took our home leave over Christmas. MGJ popped back into the elementary school she attended as a Kindergartener and first grader; and assured her class she would be re-joining them this fall in the hallways of the junior high. We brought our interior decorator friend into our cozy little home, to get some ideas on colors and new furniture. We brought in a contractor and made plans to gut walls, and redefine spaces. We researched Saturday Chinese schools in Naperville and Elmhurst to enroll the girls in this fall, believing the sacrifice of four hours every Saturday afternoon, would help the girls retain their Mandarin. Back in Qingdao we began lists (mental and physical) on repatriation. I read Homeward Bound: A Spouse’s Guide to Repatriation. We began recounting our “lasts”. Our last trip to the Great Wall, our last trip to Hong Kong, our last foggy February…

Along the way came a call from Beijing. The one I at first dismissed. (Note to self: don’t dismiss such e-mail or phone inquiries… a mistake I made in 2005.)

“Oh, Babe,” I said, “that ship has sailed.” (Direct quote!). Playing up perhaps on my doldrums theme… the intermediate part of our waiting game to find out where we would go next … the “windless waiting.”

I was preparing mentally to repatriate. I was on-line shopping. My mother-in-law’s basement was filling up with slip covers and girly quilts. I knew which Chinese furniture I was going to have built, and where to position in our small American home my existing pieces.

But… then I paused. I stopped making drawings to pass to the Chinese furniture maker. I stopped perusing Pottery Barn and Land of Nod on-line. I stopped the mad clicking (“add to cart, or basket, or bag”), and thought hard… Because I had heard his response, “It would be my dream job.” (Another direct quote).

The timing was a little off. It seemed just a little too late... we were already making plans. And it wasn’t really a formal offer. (At the same time job descriptions on the repatriation end were vague at best. ) On the other hand, the GTI notwithstanding, we hadn’t done anything wholly irreparable. We broached the subject with close friends here, who challenged us to think about why we wouldn’t want to stay. We couldn’t think of a solid reason. We surveyed The Three. They were keen to remain.

Mr. Johnson told the voice on the other end of the informal inquiry not to rule him out.

And then things really got moving. Things move fast in China. They asked formally. We took a week-end (A WEEKEND!) to give them an answer. Which you now know was a yes.

We will be in Qingdao another two years.

Ever watch the movie Seven Years in Tibet? We’re creating our own script, Seven Years in China (subtitle: with three kids, and a commitment that my husband originally promised would only last 24 months.) Don’t get me wrong-- we are all completely content and wholly satisfied with our decision. I’m just fearful our family and friends will no longer ever believe anything we say, and may wonder if we will every really say zai jian to China!