#collegelife

Here’s a updated vlog of me

I wake up to the sound of e-bike alarms; it was also my lullaby, and I’m becoming oddly attached to it. Today is Wednesday in Hangzhou, and the students of Zhejiang University Yuquan Campus are ready for it to be Friday. It’s not that we don’t like our classes; this is, after all, one of the top universities in the country, and it shows in the academics and campus. Rather, we are hoping for Friday to reward us for our hard work with more seasonable weather and a possible win at trivia night. As of now, nine in the morning, it is stressfully hot and even more humid. 

The food here is delightful, as rather than a sit-down meal of hit-and-miss eggs like I would have in the States, I grab some steamed pork buns, the breakfast of champions and the Chinese. Vitamins are rare in the meat- and bread-based meals here, so I grab a mango-orange juice and pretend it’s healthy. Wednesday morning, for me, means meeting with my counselor to discuss my Junior Research Seminar work, so I sally on up to the balcony and log on to Zoom for my appointment. On the way, I pass people speaking Mandarin, Korean, Arabic, Spanish, English, and what I presume to be Swedish. 

China Center students are notorious for not leaving the bubble, but when you take a look at the variety of humanity spilling from the doors of the International Dorm, it’s easy to understand the temptation of just making friends here. As far as many Global students are concerned, China is here, in ZJU’s building 30.

Wednesday afternoons are a doozy for me. The second I wrap up my meeting, I must procure lunch and hustle over to the Center, and upstairs room in a building fifteen minutes from the dorms. This campus is truly enormous, and I have yet to even walk from one end to the other. I pop across the street for some beef and potato curry with rice, da bao (to go, minus the tones) because I don’t have time to relax. This is my favorite part of the day, walking through campus in anticipation of a challenging yet rewarding class, hot lunch in my hand; I build in an extra five minutes so I can walk slowly. ZJU Yuquan campus is lined in trees, green places to relax, mom and pop convenience stores, and rows of yellow bicycles you can borrow for free, if you’re in a hurry. These bikes are all over the city and are outrageously convenient, yet another example of Chinese efficiency, along with paying for everything, and I mean everything, with your phone, and adequate bike lanes. Hangzhou has about ten million residents and hangs, many days, under a layer of smog; when it rains, you are strongly recommended to use an umbrella, lest the chemicals in the rain cause your skin irritation. Still, despite the smog and the humidity, this campus is filled with trees that make the air seem crisp and fresh. By the time I arrive at the Center, I have a pep in my step and a banana I picked up at a fruit stand, ready to start class.

           With Global College, I have taken either intensive or survival courses in the following languages: Spanish, German (just key phrases), Darija, Italian, and Bosnian. Nothing prepared me for Mandarin. It’s just the tones, they’re a real game changer. The first tone, like you, could care less, the second tone like you’re mildly surprised, the third tone, as though you are wholly incredulous, and my favorite, fourth tone, like someone just punched you. In theory, it should be easy, but English is a language that relies heavily on intonation for meaning, and I personally have some bad habits. The most egregious is the California Upswing, that pesky habit of ending every sentence on an upward tone like I just asked a question? Most recognizable in Southern California valley girls, I am ashamed to admit that we, too, have it in the North.

           Qingqing Laoshi (Sunny Teacher) is unimpressed. Qiaokeli, she says, are you saying can I have some water, or can I have some sleep? Both are shui, and I just can’t wait for class to end so that I can put my notes on flashcards and practice until I no longer feel helpless. We have a grand total of fifteen minutes between the end of class and the start of Junior Research Seminar, so I chow down on my Chinese-style beef curry, filled with cinnamon and perfectly cooked potatoes. I might miss that curry place more than I miss some of my new friends, because food is the best friend I will ever have.

           JRS is a breeze as always, with spirited conversations on research ethics and no shortage of connectivity problems. Finding adequate internet in China is always an adventure. As class comes to a close, we disperse, and the day is ours. Some will nap, others will ride bikes to the lake, find a patch of grass, and nap. Let’s be honest, at some point, everybody is going to nap. I save my nap for later, heading to my favorite local café to study and drink a well-deserved milkshake. Later, I will spend an hour calling family so that they know I’m not dead, and perhaps for dinner I will practice my Mandarin on the street noodle vendors. When I feel I have completed as much work as I wanted, I will meander over to a local bar where all of the bartenders are South African and the tiny Chinese girl who fronts the house band is always crooning George Michael hits. I do not go to drink, although I may indulge in a chicken quesadilla; I go to spy on the local fauna. People watching is, without a doubt, my favorite part of living in a large Chinese city, and a consistently uplifting way to end a school day.

           If you made it this far, I applaud you. While it may seem that this piece was merely an exercise in ego, let me assure you, I had a point. Through my florid prose and unnecessary asides, I wanted to convey this: China, and the Global College China Center, are different from anywhere I have been to date, but a Wednesday here is still just a school day. Every day of college is made up of a series of seemingly trivial components. It is the individual quality of those components that comprise the spice of life. Each day here is both predictably normal and spectacularly exciting. I can only hope to portray even a sliver of that in my writing.

by Julia McCoy