May 1st is International Labor Day. This is a week-long, national holiday in China.

In North America I had associated Labour (the correct Canadian spelling) Day, the September holiday, as a last-fling with summer. It was a day of barbeques, cold beer, and lawn chairs. Sure, there were union parades, that grew smaller and smaller as the years passed.

After a couple of months in China I was given an entire week off, paid, for Labor Day, or May Day, or, International Workers’ Day. This is my third and I have never questioned the reasons behind such a holiday. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?
I did some research and discovered this is actually a holiday I can sink my teeth into. Being an anarchist-revolutionary type this holiday speaks to inner rebel.

From Wikipedia
Among American non-pagans, May Day is now more commonly celebrated as a commemoration of the Haymarket Riot of 1886 in Chicago, United States which occurred on May 4, but was the culmination of labor unrest which began on May 1. The date consequently became established as an anarchist and socialist holiday during the 20th century, and in these circles it is often known as International Workers’ Day or Labour Day. In this form, May Day has become an international celebration of the social and economic achievements of the working class and labor movement.

In my neck of the woods the holiday is celebrated this way:

In the People’s Republic of China, International Workers’ Day marks the start of one of the country’s three so-called “Golden Weeks”. Three days off work are given, and the surrounding weekends are re-arranged so that workers in Chinese workplaces always have seven continuous days of holiday starting on the first of May and ending on the seventh. This holiday, known as “Wu Yi” (五一, literally “5.1″) also includes Youth Day on May 4, and is the peak period for Chinese citizens to travel around China and abroad. Also on this day, a huge parade goes through Tian’anmen Square (天安门). It is the largest national parade of the whole year, always televised on CCTV. Most of the parade consists of military demonstrations like air shows and marching soldiers, and many who are selected to join the parade see it as a privilege and take pride in it.

This week long holiday will consist of me catching up on sleep and watching the remaining 10 episodes of Battlestar Galactica, Season 3.

Workers of the word unite! Long live the revolution. etc.

Playing dumb, I have found, is extremely useful. A somewhat lackluster student of Mandarin, or Putonghua, I understand much more than I am given credit for. That said, I don’t use my language skills because I’m somewhat private and reclusive. I once took an aptitude test; the results, read by an amazed guidance counselor, said I should pursue a career as a shepherd.

I was at the drug store last week, a place haunted by grandmotherly and grandfatherly types. I have used the same drugstore for two years, because I fear counterfeit medication, and I’m too lazy to walk another 10 yards to try another establishment. While I trust this store, I have yet to try their 40 kuai ($ 5 US) Viagra.

After selecting my medication I made my way to the cash register. The staff wear starched white lab coats and look extremely professional. Buying prophylactics in such an environment is unnerving, but as the narrator on Hammy Hamster used to say, that’s another story.

The bespectacled, 30-something manager was working the till. She scanned my purchase with a smile. Having more money than I know what to do with leads to an untidy bundle (nay, wad) of bills in my pocket. As I searched for the correct notes the manager and the old man leaning on the counter started to speak.

Old man: Ta hui shou zhong wen ma?
Manager: Shi, ta hui shou yi dian dian.

Old man: Bu shi.
Manager: Shi, ta de lao po shi zhong guo ren.
Old man: (Gasp)
I tried not to snicker. He turned his attention to me.

Old man: Ni hui shou zhong wen ma?
I shrugged and smiled.
Old man (to the manager, vindicated): Ta bu hui shou zhong wen.
Me: Zhe ge, duo shao qian?
Manager: Ba kuai wu.

I paid.

Old man: (Gasp)
He rummaged in the bag for my now purchased medicine. He pointed to the Chinese characters on the box with a calloused finger.
Old man: Ni hui shou?
Me: Shrug.
Old man (vindicated, again): Ha!
I smiled, took my change and fled.

Translated:
Old man: Does he speak Chinese?
Manager: Yes, a little.
Old man: No.
Manager: Yes, his wife is Chinese.
Old man: Gasp.
I tried not to snicker. He turned his attention to me.
Old man: Do you speak Chinese?
I shrugged and smiled.
Old man (to the manager, vindicated): He doesn’t speak Chinese.
Me: How much for this?
Manager: 8.50 yuan.
I paid.
Old man: Gasp.
Old man (his Chinese was actually wrong. He asked if I could speak this, but should have asked if I could read or understand it.): You can speak this?
Me: shrug.
Old man: Ha!

I might have engaged the old man in basic conversation, but as I said, I’m a hermit. Most of the week I am over-the-top, this doesn’t carry over into my personal life. I have learned this phrase, which I will use during my next encounter.

Wo hui shou bing dao wen.

Translated: I speak Icelandic.

Chinese Kung Fu practice between a Master and student.

An early morning, under cloudy skies. Martial arts is not an easy mistress.

I was safe, or so I thought.

I left the cafeteria bound for home, and dry shoes and socks. The staff gate locked, I cut thru the dormitory area and made for another exit. From under my ragged, grey umbrella I spotted a class of Grade 1 boys in yellow and red rain slickers, marching in two rows to their naps.

Damn, I thought, much like a starlet, I hope I wasn’t recognized.

I continued towards the gate, twenty yards away. The puddle-covered, white tile ground required some fancy foot work to stay upright and reasonably dry. I glanced to my left as I walked; the bushes had been recently pruned. Between two fine examples of manicured shrubbery stood Rick.

Rick, my tooth

less fan

He looked at me. I looked at him.

He smiled his toothless Grade 1 smile.

Damn, I thought.

“Si Di Fu,” he said.

“Hello Rick.”

“Si Di Fu,” he said, his voice stronger, his smile wider.

“Goodbye Rick,” I said and headed for the gate.

“SI DI FU!” he exclaimed.

Then, in Chinese: Look! Look!

“Si Di Fu!” he called again, parroted by several of the Year 1 boys I had avoided.

“Si Di Fu!” I heard yelled again, from more of the group.

Within seconds it was a chant from 20+ Year 1 boys. My (incorrect) Chinese name echoed off the surrounded dormitories. I raised a hand and gave a half-hearted wave as I dodged a large puddle.

Then they stopped. A dorm mother must have put an end to it.

I know only five or six of that group, former students of mine. When I encounter them they inevitably have their entire class chant my name. I can’t complain. It’s a tremendous ego boost until I remember if a dog walked by they would be yelling, “Look, a DOG!”

Ahh, to be seven again.

Shenzhen, China:  dawn thru the trees, April 21, 2007.

One hundred and ninety-two hours.

Or 11520 seconds.

Or eight days.

That is how long before my next weekend. Our band of merry teachers must work eight days straight this week. May 1 thru 7 is the national holiday for international labour day (May 1). As is the case with most holidays in China, employees are required to work extra days to make up for the time incurred by the holiday.

i need sleep

It’s painful, but there are seven, unmolested days of rest at the end of the eight day stretch. More than my co-workers that had six weeks off for the winter break (I had 4 days) I really need a holiday. My lao po and I had planned on going to Thailand for a few days on the beach. Fate, that quirky bitch that makes it her lot to create misery in my existence, has dictated Thailand is out of the question.

Why? Read the full story