5
Student Life at Holiday Inn

September 9th, 1988

Good Morning from Amoy, Mom and Dad,

Xiamen University – Strength of the South

China’s most beautiful campus, XMU was built in 1921 by Chen Jiageng, a Xiamen farm boy who became the “Henry Ford of Asia”. The picturesque Western-style buildings with Chi-nese roofs symbolize Tan’s dream of modern education built on traditional Chinese values.

Tan also pushed “embracing global values”. In 1956, XMU opened the Overseas Corre-spondence College, China’s first college for foreigners – almost half a century before distance education caught on in the West. And in 1988, we came to XMU solely because it was the only university in China that had housing for foreign students with families. But so many foreigners with families jumped at the opportunity that the dorms were full and they stuck us off campus in the “Holiday Village.”

The 3-story Holiday Village was not close to classrooms and dining halls but our second story window view was right out of National Geographic. The 1,300-year-old Nanputuo Bud-dhist temple and monastery across the street sprawled across the Five Old Man Mountains. Vendors outside its gates peddled Buddhist paraphernalia such as incense sticks, candles, and the “Hell Bank Notes” sacrificed to ancestors. Pilgrims burned stacks worth billions of Yuan. They must have hellish inflation down below.

People right below our window yelled, “Candied crab apples on a stick!” “Fresh sliced pine-apple!” “Tea eggs 3 cents each or 2.50 a jin(1)!” Shoe repairmen from distant Sichuan, near Tibet, resurrected weary soles with glue and thread, and a Tong’an peasant puffed rice with a coal –fired cast iron contraption that went off like a cannon every few minutes. The view was colorful, fragrant and loud – probably similar to when Ball wrote in 1856:

Our window offered a priceless panoramic National Geographic view of China but our front door was not so open. From 10:30 P.M. to 7:00 A.M., it was padlocked from the outside –for our safety, of course. “What if there’s a fire?” I asked.

“Bū yàojǐn!” Chinese’ favorite phrase, it means, “No worries!”. “Bù yàojǐn! If there is a fire, we’ll open the door for you.”

“Wǒ yàojǐn!” I protested. “I want to worry!” In Taiwan in the 1970s, I drove the fire truck as a volunteer fireman and still dream of the people I saw dive from the 10th floor windows of a flaming building. I made a rope ladder, just in case.

While Holiday Village didn’t worry about fire, they took other security so seriously that the police honored them. Chinese and foreign visitors had to show IDs and register at the front desk, and were often interrogated on the way in and out. We complained at first, but soon came to appreciate that small barrier between us and the madding masses.

Privacy or Solitude?　Until the mid 1988s, Xiamen had so few foreigners that we were scrutinized like an outlandish exhibit at the Xiamen zoo. Nineteenth century missionaries called it the “Chinese stare.” The moment we paused on a street, we were thronged by gawkers.

I told an XMU professor that Chinese had tugged my blonde hair to see if it was real. He laughed and brushed my arm hairs. “Foreigners’ hairy arms show they’re closer to the apes than us Chinese. You probably have relatives swinging through the trees in the nearby mountains!”He really goaded me once he learned that I was born in the Year of the Monkey (of which I’m quite proud, thank you).

Even with Holiday Village’s award-winning security, we still had strangers waltz into our rooms, explore our drawers and closets, and settle down on the bed to practice English or see how foreigners lived. It was like “Lifestyles of the Rich and Foreign” (by their standards, we were indeed rich). To us, it was rude beyond belief, but in a land of 1.3 billion people, privacy is a luxury that few possess – or even desire. Amoy missionary John MacGowan, author of a dozen books on Chinese history and culture, wrote in 1907:

Have You Eaten?　Even China’s language reflects their unconcern with privacy. Western greetings are impersonal and nonintrusive. “How are you?” “Nice weather,” to which we give noncommittal replies. Even if dying, we’d gasp out, “I’m fine. And you?” But Chinese greetings get personal.

Chinese greet with questions about what you are doing, a common one being, “Have you eaten?” Or they’ll ask, “Going to work?” “Gone shopping?” “Bought something?” “What did it cost?” I’ve had strangers on the bus ask, “Where do you work? How much do you earn?”

This seeming “nosiness” reflects not only their utter lack of privacy but also their genuine interest in one another. And even when “nosey,” it is with an innocence that is both frustrating and endearing. MacGowan must have faced the same thing:

Home Sweet Home　We had two Holiday Village rooms facing each other across a public hallway. Although the guards could manage the masses, they were helpless at handling an American 2-year-old. In spite of our efforts and theirs, Shannon made it all the way to the street a few times. For-tunately, there were few cars. Even bicycles were a luxury for most people. We often saw 4 or 5 people on one bicycle, and Chinese knew we were rich when Sue and I bought not just one bike but two.

Our Holiday Village rooms each had a bathroom so I used one as a storage room (office). I squeezed a wobbly pine desk beside the toilet, above which I fastened a wire bookcase. A maze of computer, power and printer cords ran behind the sink. Chinese and foreigners alike marveled at the toilet (office) but it was very practical, especially during the first months’ fre-quent bouts with intestinal matters.

Holiday Village had its problems but we tried not to complain – at least not too much. It was plain but very clean, and XMU’s leadership proudly gave tours of it to visitors. I could not blame them. We lived far better than the Chinese, including department deans. Chinese profes-sors and leaders had one room for their families, which sometimes included grandparents – and communal bathrooms. I often saw our dean, walking in a bathrobe to take a cold shower a block away. If it had been me, I’d have gone Tibetan and taken a bath once a year, whether I needed it or not.

Chinese Professors also didn’t have kitchens – a real hardship, given that Chinese lives’ revolve around food. But necessity is the mother of invention (which is why Chinese invented every-thing under the sun). The professors staked out spaces in public hallways, built kitchens of card-board, plastic and tape, and hung iron padlocks on cardboard doors. A child could have ripped open the doors but, like paper walls in Japanese’ homes, it was the thought that counts. Besides, theft and vandalism were unknown – maybe because there was nothing worth stealing.

But even in 1988, students’ clothing was much more stylish than I’d expected.

Dull Yellow　Before coming to China, Sue said, “I need new clothes because in China they don’t wear bright colors or short skirts.”

I suspected she just wanted a new wardrobe. “This isn’t the ‘Cultural Revolution’, Sue. I’m sure they are much more modern now.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “Best to be safe.”

Sue was wrong. Some older Chinese wore dark, old fashioned clothing, but not the youth –especially the girls. While walking on campus with Sue, I pointed to a beautiful young student in a bright yellow mini-skirt. “Look at that skirt, Sue. It’s short, and it’s yellow – not blue or gray.”

She glared at me and said, “Well, it’s a dull yellow.”

No reply to that! But I knew she was wrong again because nothing is dull in China.

Much Love,

Bill and Sue