Cup of Tea and a Bex

There is a definite back- to- school feeling in the air.

As well as all the kids going returning to the classroom, there seems to be a fresh crop of Beijing newbies starting Mandarin lessons.

I was sitting in a cafe just last week when from across the way I caught the now familiar tortured tones of a Westerner in the very early stages of learning Chinese.

I could feel his anguish as he tried to learn the essential sounds necessary to even begin to pronouce the words, let alone know what they mean.

It sounded a bit like an interrogation by the Spanish inquistion. Eeee, ooww, oh, and not forgetting eeuuww. His teacher was a bit of a battle axe and was showing no mercy. There was a lot of ‘bu hao’ (not good) coming from their corner. Poor guy.

Then just this morning, I came across an Irish girl who seemed to be buying a whole fruit shop with her teacher at a different CBD cafe. Being a tragic eavesdropper I was hanging on every bit of vocab. I could understand every tenth word, but at least I picked out ping guo (apples)!

My teacher is not a battle axe; she is a delight. But after our first one-on-one lesson last week I felt like I needed a lie down in a dark room. It’s intense.

Fortunately for me, we’re doing the lessons at our apartment, so I can mangle the language in the comfort of my own home.

Round two begins this afternoon. I’d better do some revision…

When we first arrived in Beijing, I didn’t leave the hotel/massive shopping mall we were staying in for the first week. Okay, maybe the first two weeks.

The thought of getting outside and getting around this town – which apparently is the same size as Belgium – when I couldn’t speak the language and had no idea where I was going, or how to get home, was just too scary.
But I gradually built up some confidence.

First step was walking around outside. I know you’re laughing, but it’s no easy feat when it’s boiling and dusty and there are more people, cars, scooters and bikes than you have seen in your life.

Second step was finding the subway and using it.

I loved the subway right from the start.

It’s so easy to use, it’s really cheap and all the signs are in characters and Pinyin (phonetic spelling) so you can see where you’re going.

(You may not, however, be able to pronounce your destination – hubby was trying to say the name of our nearest station and the people we were with thought he was asking where he could wash his feet. True story.)

I still had a couple of early incidents on the subway: getting off at the wrong station, being rugby scrummed onto the train by the daintiest girl, and having my 10 kwai note spat out of the ticket machine and (before I could grab it) blown right down into the depths of the platforms.

Although I’d be happy travelling by train for the next two years, there are some places you just can’t get to the subway, so against my better judgement I was forced to start using taxis.

(If you can’t understand why cabs are so scary to me, try getting in a car with someone you’ve never met and asking said person, in a language you can’t really speak, to take you to an address you’ve never been to. And did I mention Beijing is the size of Belgium?)

So the first taxi rides were a few shades of ugly for all the reasons above but with some advice from old hands I feel like I’m starting to get the hang of it.

There are some key rules (see here for more advanced instruction).

Firstly, get in the taxi. Don’t stand outside the car and ask if the driver can take you. Get in and then work it out. If, as sometimes happens, your driver is changing shifts, he will make it clear you need to get out.

(I’ve also found it easier if I get in the front seat – there seems to be more chance of getting a seatbelt and making myself understood.)

Secondly, your taxi driver probably won’t be able to speak English, so know how to say your destination in Mandarin but failing that have your taxi card with the name and address in Mandarin characters.

You might still have issues communicating, so don’t be scared to call your destination (or a helpful Mandarin-speaking friend) and see if they can explain all to the taxi driver.

Finally, know how to get home. This is harder than it sounds.

I know the Mandarin name for our apartment complex but thanks to my useless language skills and the thick Beijing accent it doesn’t mean anyone local can understand me. So I have the complex name and address written down in Mandarin characters.

So far so good, but certainly not foolproof. I’ve had to direct the taxi driver back to our place a couple of times now, and knowing (or having my iPhone say) the words for left and right made all the difference.

I feel I had a breakthrough last week when I was trying to get back from a Carrefour hypermarket with a huge washing-airer-thing. There were no taxis around and the first taxi I approached did not want me to get in with the airer. Why, I don’t know.

Two months ago I would have let him drive on leaving me standing fuming in the ferocious heat with the clothes airer – but not now, my friends. I got in that taxi and after some discussion about where I lived, which mainly involved me pointing at Google maps, he took me home. Success! For now at least.