Plump & Smokin

I left the United States for China at a solid 177 lbs, and two and a half years later I left the Middle Kingdom at a plump 208.

I attribute my weight gain to two things: smoking and food. Food was abundant throughout my time in China. When I visited my wife’s hometown for any occassion, my wonderful in-laws made sure I was well-fed at all times. My wife too; I would eat my portion, and then she’d feed me part of her portion too. I thought about refusing, but it just seemed rude. And besides,

The food was so damn good.

Different regions of China have their specialties. Wuhan has a few, my favorite being re gan mian, or hot dry noodles. The thing is, for my first year in China, I refused to touch them. They looked nasty. While I gorged on Muslim noodles (ji dan chao da shao mian), I left re gan mian alone. I have always regretted my decision; had I known how good re gan mian is earlier, 208 might have been more a goal than an embarrassment.

Granted, my first experience with noodles in China was not a pleasant one. My third day in China I strolled onto the backstreet and ordered a bowl of cold street vendor noodles all by myself. And just to show you I had my big-boy pants on that day, I pointed to the ingredients I wanted without the slightest shake in my finger.

It was the first, but certainly not the last time a bad food choice in China acquianted me with the bathroom.

Stir-fried tomato and eggs was among the first Chinese dishes I ate, and throughout my time in China it remained both my favorite and my most consistent. I learned how to say it quickly, and when in doubt, I could go to a restaurant, say the words and have something to eat. Lunch, tomato and eggs. Dinner, tomato and eggs.

Breakfast?

At first, breakfast was McDonald’s. We were fortunate enough to have this bastion of American Imperial Dominance (AIDs) in a strip mall right in front of campus. Open twenty-four hours, I’d usually go there to get their large coffee, which meant to replicate the American large, I had to get two. Sometimes there or four. As for the food, my breakfasts were often McDonald’s meals, and later an occassional helping of oats, maybe with some bread from Semeur de Pain. Everytime I walked into McDonald’s, the man or woman behind the counter placed a picto-chart in front of me, sparing me the embarassment of trying out my burgeoning Pu Tong Hua abilities.

I did quickly learn to say “da bei ka fei, dai zou”.

Let’s go on to the other aspect of the weight gain: smoking. I had been something of a social smoker in America, and the first cigarette I smoked in China came courtesy of another teacher. I was going to take a walk to the local Carrefour, only to find myself ambushed by this other teacher, who was on his way to an interview with a local middle school as part of his scheme to get out of ESL teaching. The moment we sat down for the interview, the headmaster handed us both cigarettes.

The buzz was intense. I sat in that chair listening to my colleague explain that he could not teach the students Chemistry because they lacked the English to understand it, at perfect ease. And when this cigarette was out, and my eas began to subside, the headmaster helpfully offered us more.

I became a regular smoker for my first several months in China. At first, it was a lark; I had free time, in an exotic land, and I could really do anything I wanted. So I smoked. Later, as the Hubei winter set in and I began to wade through what I felt was an existential swamp, as the honeymoon ended and something else began, I kept on smoking.

I certainly found no shortage of discouragement, especially in a city like Wuhan. And seeing some men working, manning the counters at stores the size of bedrooms here and then going in the back and sleeping in a cot or on the floor, I could not blame them for having a cigarette between their lips. Likewise, I cannot blame anyone else for doing so; as one co-worker put it, “Smoking helps pass the time.”

And if you get to the point in life, well, chances are you’re pretty much dead anyway.

Questions about Teaching English in China – Health Insurance

Do schools in China offer you health insurance?

In my experience, no. They offer “accidental coverage”, which means that if a car hits you, and the driver forgets to back over you to make sure you’re dead, the school will pay for it.

Otherwise, much like here in America, you’re on your own.