Tidbits From the World

I’m back in Montreal since last month already.

I missed this view of Downtown Montreal from the Mount Royal.

As a ritual, I got a poutine in the first few days after my return. This time I was with tourist friends from France, among them, Florence, who also lived in China.

Walking around downtown, I saw that Montreal hasn’t changed much since my departure. The same streets are being repaired.

I quickly readapted to the North American lifestyle.

Compared to China, the sidewalks here are narrower and empty. One can look in all directions, in the middle of the afternoon, without ever seeing one single human being! (In China, at anytime, including at night, and in the countryside, there will always be, at the very least, a few people).

Pure air, nature, trees…

Water, wind, one million dollar villas…

But I still miss China and its flamboyant artists, with their vivid, dyed blond hair, their lens-less, thick-framed glasses, their pink Converse, their pants with strange patterns that don’t suit the rest of their clothes, who sing in a strange mix of Engrish and Chinese. Yes I do miss them, and I want to go back and see them perform live.

I miss the people too. Everywhere you go in China there is someone to be seen, there is bustling activity at anytime, nearly anywhere, even in the countryside. Conversely, in Quebec, there’s nobody. It’s dead. Past 10pm you won’t see anyone in downtown Montreal. Two extreme opposites.

I left Ying behind me… and that is what I miss most of China.

And friends.

I left my dirty apartment on Zhuque Avenue. On this picture, I had left the window open for a few days only and so was the result: a thick layer of dust on the walls, floor and furniture, all in a misty environment, covered in a perpetual thick smog… Really, those Montreal “smog alerts” sound ridiculous to me now!

Chinglish…

Please follow the usher or duty manager.
Duty manager will arrange those who have
the older, children or the deformities in by priority.
DO HAVE A GOOD TIME IN PIZZA HUT

In Montreal there is not really any Chinglish to be seen. Some Franglish can be seen but they are a little less obvious or funny. However, here and anywhere in the West, you see the opposite phenomenon: “Engnese” or “Frannese”… in short, mangled, meaningless Chinese tattoos.

Sometimes, it’s just a translitteration of a name. I guessed someone I saw in the metro was named “Ghislain”, because he had it tattooed in Chinese on his leg. In this case, on the picture above, I don’t know what it is. “Xingshengmeng” (hsingshengmeng). It doesn’t sound like a name…

If you break down this tattoo, you get 星: star ; 生: be born, create ; 夢: dream. One could try to interpret this riddle in a thousand ways!

On my Beijing-Toronto flight, two Chinese children were sitting beside me. I originally thought they were Canadians coming back from vacations visiting their family in China. But in the end I realized it was quite the opposite: they were growing up in Shenzhen, while their parents were immigrating in Canada. We spoke Chinese during the whole flight. And when we were close to landing, one flight attendant, a Torontonian of Chinese origin complimented me on my Chinese. Well, in general, you only need to say “ni hao” to get congratulations. But this time it seemed really sincere.

When we got the Canadian immigration papers, the customs declaration card, a senior Chinese woman asked me to help her fill her form out. She couldn’t understand the questions in English or in French. So I read each question one by one, and she had a funny reaction when I translated to her the last question: “Have you been on a farm in a country other than Canada in the last 14 days?” half surprised, hald shocked she replied “no! I’m from the city! I am not a peasant!”

Notice to prospective buyers: huge, three-storied house to sell in the Laurentians. Needs a lot of repair. Price around C$ 300,000.

Here’s someone who is contemplating his new house.

Lots of repairs and renovations to be done here. I could take the same picture in six months and see the difference. Before and After.

The Quebec French (or Canadian French in general) dialect, language or regional variation, whatever you decide to call it, is one of the only languages whose swearwords are almost exclusively religious terms. Here are some of them that pop out of my mind:

Hostie (host, wafer), tabarnak (tabernacle), calice, Moses, Christ, sacrament, baptême (baptism), …

Some of these expressions can be used as verbs or pronominal verbs, such as: (se) calicer, (se) crisser, (se) sacrer,… (“se” being the mark of pronominal verbs in French) Each one of these words has its own set of meanings and nuances.

Quebec nationalistic posters pasted on outside walls are not rare.

An Acadian flag. The Acadians are a French-speaking minority that nowadays mostly inhabit the province of New Brunswick as well as some communities in Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and Louisiana.

Another example of nationalism.

Let’s see some entertainment. Here musicians are practicing for their concert in a park.

An acrobat is rehearsing his performance.

A serial lover is preying on his next game.

A faux Jimi Hendrix is playing music…

Unfortunately nobody is listening.

The first time I saw Tian’anmen Square was in a taxi that was taking me to a hospital (where a sick traveller needed me as a translator). Then, as we were riding, all of a sudden, it appeared right next to me to the right side of the taxi.

I felt so excited! I had that strange feeling that always comes to me when I visit a famous place for the first time. It’s as if I was entering the TV, the photo, the magazine, the book or any other image from which I’d always known this place. I was finally there, I could see it in 3D, see all the parts that are usually omitted in photographs, and I could answer such trivial questions as “what stands in front of Tian’anmen Gate?” Now I just had to turn my head and I could see. (I didn’t take a picture of it, so if you want to see it, you need to come there!) I had that same feeling before, when I first came to Manhattan, when I saw the Eiffel Tower, the Red Square and the Ermitage as well as other less famous places, but equally important to me, which I had known only through photographs before seeing them in person.

Before I left Beijing, I visited the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong. I had already visited the Mausoleum of Lenin two years prior, so I could notice a few differences between both.

First of all: queues. Visitors to Lenin’s Mausoleum form a relatively long queue which moves slowly.

However in China, the queue is incredibly long, but moves fast. It takes around half an hour to get from the starting point of the queue to the end, at the entrance to the Mausoleum. I estimated that any time there are about 5000 people queuing. They come from all over China: grand parents and their grand children, parents and their children, tour groups, foreign tourists,…

The Mausoleum of Mao is much bigger and more imposing than Lenin’s. It was built in 1976-1977, after the death of the Chairman. The intention was probably to build a more imposing Mausoleum which would surpass Lenin’s in all aspect. It was built during the Sino-Soviet Split after all.

“毛主席纪念堂” (Máozhuxi Jìniántáng) = Temple to the Memory of Chairman Mao (litteral translation).

Inside, there are two rooms (in Lenin’s Mausoleum there is only one open to the public). In the first room there is an immense statue of Mao, sitting and smilling, showing a sympathetic, paternal and reassuring face. Thereafter we enter the second room where Mao’s body is lying. He lies in an open coffin. Over him, there is a red flag with yellow hammer and sickle printed on it. You can see this symbol at the base of the coffin too. A glass dome is placed on top of the coffin, so we see Mao through this glass. All we see of Mao is his head. His eyes are closed, as if he were asleep; his sparse, grey hair are combed in the same way as in the 70s. Behind him stand four armed guards. Mao’s coffin is located inside a room with glass walls. Visitors walk outside the room and see Mao through the glass wall, at approximatively 3 metres from the corpse.

As in Lenin Mausoleum, one cannot bring a camera inside, nor can one take a photo with his cellphone. You need to deposit your bag in a building located a little far away from the Mausoleum. Also, you need an ID proof to enter (ID card for the Chinese, passport for the foreigners). This rule is often heard from the speakers around the Mausoleum, but only in Chinese. The first time you see the rule written in English is at the entrance to the Mausoleum, that is after queuing for at least half an hour. If you can produce an ID card at the entrance, you will be denied entry. One also has to wear if not formal clothes, at least “respectful” clothing.  Men cannot wear sandals and women cannot be too sexy.

That was my last tourist activity in China before departure.

On the cone: “和谐社会” (héxiéshèhuì) Harmonious Society.

On January 1st 2010, there was a buddhist concert in Xi’an. A popular Taiwanese singer came to give a performance in Xi’an’s auditorium. This singer is trying to popularize buddhist music by incorporating some elements from pop music.  She only sang during the last thirty minutes of the two-hour show. During the first hour and a half, various kinds of Buddhist music were played: monks hitting their gongs, children singing in chorus and orchestras playing traditional Chinese violin. After the show, some spectators complained that the Taiwanese singer had been lyp-synching because she sang over a recording, instead of with an orchestra. I personally believe she was genuine, because as she would move her microphone closer to her mouth and then back further again, one could hear some mild distortion in her voice… a small detail that can prove a lot!

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A man is standing in front of the scene with a panel which reads:

Please turn off your cellphones
No Pictures
No Recording
Do not Talk

Security guards were located in strategic locations to make sure the directions were properly followed.

It was, however, allowed to take photos of the concert hall.

Outside, I found an interesting ad that, in its English version, doesn’t respect the “One China Principle”:

The centre for Ajison Noodle is located in Kumamoto Kyushu, Japan, and since 1968 over 500 noodle shops have been established in Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Taiwan and China.

“味千拉面” 是以日本九州熊本为中心，自1968年创设以来，到目前为止在日本，香港，新加坡，中国台湾，大陆等地已拥有500余家的连锁店。

Usually, when Taiwan and China are referred to in the same sentence, they are always referred to as “Chinese Taiwan and the Mainland” or “Taiwan Province and Mainland China” or other variations… In the Chinese version, the distinction was made, but not in English… Is it the work of the “Japanese Devils” English translators?

On a bag of dog food you get the directions to feed your beloved “gestating bitch” or your “lactating bitch”. I’m not sure if the word “bitch” is still commonly used to indicate a female dog, but it surely looks awkward on a nutrition table.

I got the result of my standardized test of aptitude in Chinese (HSK)… and with great regret, I learned that I am still considered a BEGINNER (level 5). After one year and a half of intensive studies, in China, I am still a beginner… If I had gotten 1% more, I would have been able to move up to the intermediate level (I needed 262 points out of 400, but I got 258). I will have to try again in March in Montreal.

In my apartment, all the mirrors are too low; I always have to bend down to see my face. And yet I am not particularly tall and I don’t find the Xi’anese to be short either… I don’t know why all the mirrors are so low here…