Days in Luoyang are hot and humid, but almost never over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. That's because, ironically, the smog blots out the sun, preventing it from ever really cooking but keeping it hot enough to be uncomfortable. The locals have adjusted--nobody talks about the Chinese siesta, but it is practiced in full force, at least in Luoyang where the world seems to go on vacation from 1-3:30 PM. That's just one of the many different rhythms of life that an American living in China, however briefly, has to adjust to--that and the squatters, the smells, the street sellers, the low-hanging trees, the lamb kebobs, the old women sitting on their stools to watch you as you pass on the sidewalk, the egg seller with his bizarre little wangling horn, or the way that the kids loved to watch Peking/Beijing Opera.
Every afternoon, the kids of our little orphanage in Luoyang's Old City would crowd around the TV to watch the CCTV's high-pitched, jangling Peking Opera productions. When I asked them if they liked it, they would nod and make a small noise in the back of the throat (the Chinese affirmative reply)--after all, some of them were even learning how to sing opera themselves or play the instruments. I suppose it's a culturally acqured taste--in the two months that I spent in China, I never was able to get used to the sound of Peking Opera. Our role in the orphanage was relatively simple, though loosely defined. We were buddies, role models, teachers, counselors, visitors, friends, ambassadors, and most importantly to me, older brothers and sisters. Everyday, we spent the morning with the younger ones, aged 8 and below before resting the afternoon (it's that Chinese heat and humidity) and rising again in the early evening to teach English to the older ones, aged 9 to 18. Eventually, though, the lines demarcating us as teachers and adults versus older siblings (and therefore fun) faded, meaning we were soon playing wall-ball, basketball, and football with the kids. Sometimes we would go up to them, sometimes they would come down to the first floor to us. In particular, the kids liked watching clips of Yao Ming on Youtube from our computers, proving that Chinese kids are not necessarily all that different from American kids afterall...
At some point in the trip, our experience began to revolve around our orphanage's little play production of Snow White. Masterminded by one of my fellow interns, it was our job to write, direct, produce, design, and run a production of one of Walt Disney's best stories, starring the kids--all in English, of course. There are so many memories from China, including late-night lamb kebob runs, strange taxi rides, awkward restaurant ordering, and shopping pilgrimages, but Snow White is the capping masterpiece, the culmination of, at least, my time there. We spent over a month prepping, from grueling practice sessions ("No, Sleepy, a yawn is more of an eeyhhhhhh sound") to set-painting marathons (56 square meters, no problem). Everyone got invovled, from the 3 year olds who played the kindly animals in the forest, to the orphanage's resident "Playa" who we recruited to play--who else--Prince Charming, to the orphanage plummer who manned the light board. There were two shows, a genuine fog machine, and, of course, a kick-butt afterparty for cast, crew, and directors.
In retrospect, it's hard to believe I spent so much time there. Two months? Everything now seems to blur into a kaleidascope of whirling colors, smells, laughs, and bad English accents. Like my friend says, sitting here back in my "normal" life in the U.S. worrying about midterms and college dating, it's almost as though China were only a dream or a passing fancy which played in the back of my mind as I procrastinated while making my study guide. Did we really eat scallion pancakes fresh off the street vendor's pan? Did we really bargain vociferously with grumpy vendors in back alleys over mere pennies? Or was that all a reverie? Most of China you can never take back with you; I have some cheap shirts and trinkets, but the real stuff--the heat, the bustle, and of course, the kids--are only memories now. Except one thing...that Peking-Opera-style excessively-high, piercing wailing still reverberating in my ears...well, unfortunately I may be stuck with that one forever.
--- Dexter Louie, 2008 Summer Intern
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