Advice for Travelers in China: Numbers

Without examining it, there is a general assumption that one's own hand gestures are universal. In China they aren't. Numbers are especially confusing, since the Chinese don't count by anything so prosaic as holding up fingers. When you ask how much something is -- using what does seem to be a universal gesture of rubbing your fingertips together -- a shopkeeper will make some random sign with their hand, and leave you as confused as when you started.

Those who have had more experience with tourists seem to know that their own signs might be confusing, but don't quite know a different way. The tour guide we had in Guilin -- her handskills with Rock, Paper, Scissors notwithstanding -- held up five fingers no matter what number she was saying. "There are nine lions carved in that stone." "We are sitting at table number three." "It is a 17 km drive away."

You can get by pretty easily by just writing down numbers, but if you're interested: One through five are simple, done the way we do it in the U.S., except for three, which is the sign we usually make for "perfect" -- thumb and forefinger rounded into a circle, the last three fingers up in the air. (Ok, only just this second figuring out why no one has understood when I've responded with the "perfect" sign every time a waitress has wordlessly asked how the food was.) Six involves sticking your thumb and pinky out to the side while bending the rest of your fingers down to your palm (the "hang loose" sign, or a "y" in sign language). Seven looks like you're pointing a gun, using two fingers as the barrel. Eight, inexplicably, is the same but with only one finger. Nine, you curl all your fingers to meet your thumb in a circle, and then extend your index finger up somewhat, keeping it curled (an "x" in sign language). And ten is simply a fist.

Sep 20: Modernity in Hangzhou

Five years ago when I was in Hangzhou (and Beijing and Shanghai) with Mom and Bill, they both remarked on how much everything had changed over the previous five years. It was my first visit, but the fast-paced catapult into the future would have been obvious to anyone. Shanghai's towering buildings right next to dirt roads. Beijing's first attempts to plant trees along the avenues, stopping precipitously halfway along your route. Hangzhou's Zhejiang University surrounded by broken asphalt that you had to be careful not to twist your ankle on. This time around, I'm not sure that a newcomer would notice the growth spurt of their own accord, but the change between then and now is pretty stunning.

The West Lake -- Hangzhou's jewel, is one clue. It's as gorgeous as ever, just the way one imagines a Chinese lake should look. Water lilies everywhere, pagodas, picturesque bridges, bamboo boats. One side has the view of the mountains it always has; the other side has . . . a skyline. A major, several-miles-across skyline. It is, in the dusk light, a very pretty skyline. It manages to fit in with the lake. But, um, still. It didn't used to be there.

And ZU has changed too. Not only do they have the brand spankingest new campus you've ever seen -- and I don't mean one or two new buildings, I mean a whole new glass-and-metal, fancy-architecture, new campus -- but the social style has taken on a new tone as well.

Tonight we were taken to a variety show put on by ZU students -- dancers, musicians, singers. It was. . . well, surreal. There was the expected traditional Chinese music played on traditional Chinese instruments with names like "Swimming Fish in Garden Lake" and "The Bell Tower in the Evening." But then there was also a series of more, well, "modern" for lack of a better term, items. And all, with a heavy, heavy dose of Chinese flair. There was a crisp jazz saxophone accompanied by an -- I'm sure classically-trained -- pianist all decked out in a perfect white dress and perfect black high heels. There was an accordion -- that was played, emotively, expressively, gracefully. There were singers that hit high notes that would have made Wagner proud. There was rumba danced to Celine Dione. There was a man in a white vinyl suit who did break dance moves while singing the Back Street Boys.

All of it done, mind you, with a smoke and bubble machine adding atmosphere to the stage. Lots of atmosphere. All the time. Continuously.

And now that I think about it, this actually would be a clue to any newcomer about just where in the growth spurt Hangzhou is. Everything all at once, as much as possible, incorporated as quickly as possible, a hodgepodge of anything and everything in an attempt to figure out what they like, what their new identity is. In another five years, who knows where the city will be -- but I suspect the mix of traditional and new will have found a more even balance. Regardless of where China is, and where it's going, one thing is for sure: Mao is spinning in his little crystal sarcophogus.