Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

After a prolonged period of stability, I finally bid Belgium farewell in the summer of 2009. Uninspired by life in grey, uneventful Brussels, I headed off to China for an unforgettable year of teaching and traveling.

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Waiting for the hangman’s noose to be tied around our necks was driving me crazy! After our showdown with Trudy, all S and I could do was get on with our classes and wait for the agency to make contact. We simply had no idea how Maggie was going to react.

Would she summon us all for another godawful meeting?

Perhaps move us to another school?

Or maybe we’d just get straight out fired!?

I had no idea in which direction the pendulum would swing. Moreover, the suspense was killing me. We hadn’t seen much of Trudy in the week since the shit storm broke. Keeping a low profile, she seemed to be actively minimising her dealings with us.

If only Water, the school Judas, had followed suit. I was so disgusted with her I could hardly make eye contact. But of course she continued to sit in on my lessons, stinking the place out with her betrayal. 

Determined not to let recent events destroy our Beijing experience, S and I kicked off 2010 with a steely resolve to enjoy our free time to the max. Hence we set about exploring as much of the city as we could. With freezing temperatures and a record snowfall that year, China’s capital had become a veritable winter wonderland.

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

One day we hopped onto the subway at Shangdi and zoomed off towards the shiny new Olympic Line. Our destination was The National Stadium, affectionately called The Bird’s Nest due to its twisting, interlocked sections of exposed steel. Shrouded in thick, evil smog, the structure looked thoroughly menacing as it came into view. Literally like a reimagined Death Star grounded on some poisoned planet.

Happily, the atmosphere in and around the stadium proved anything but sinister. In fact, the entire place was positively joyous as people frolicked around in the snow.

Inside the stadium, on the pitch, was an amazing winter-themed fun park. Keen to soak up the atmosphere, we grabbed two spectator tickets at the turnstiles and climbed the stairs to one of the highest stands. Below, kids built snowmen as daredevil teens whooshed down hair-raising slopes on their sledges. Elsewhere, there were snowball fights, ice-skating, snow tubing and a maze. 

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

A few days later we hooked up with Richard, Marisa, Marc and Amy for an afternoon at Behai Park. On arrival, we saw that the lake had frozen over. It was utter madness, with hundreds of people skating, tottering around and falling on their asses.

I found myself fascinated by a popular contraption best described as the Chair Sled. This rusty, homemade curiosity was little more than an old chair fitted with a couple of poles for propelling yourself forward. Whoever invented this bizarre vehicle was clearly making a killing, as the chair sled was everywhere.

The highlight of these wintry Beijing wonders came with an unforgettable morning at The Summer Palace. In actual fact we had already visited the palace the previous July. Back then we’d experienced the place in the company of what I can only describe as a tidal wave of tourists. 

In contrast, that crisp January morning proved incredibly peaceful. The entire lake had frozen over and there was hardly anyone around. Just a few scattered locals and the occasional fisherman cutting holes in the ice.

The views across the lake were so calming. Thus we were truly able to forget about our troubles for a while and lose ourselves for a couple of hours. On the way back down to the entrance gates, we came across an impromptu gathering of middle-aged women. They were passionately singing traditional Chinese songs and seemed proud to have the chance to perform in front of two shivering foreigners. 

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

“Leighton, we need talk,” announced Trudy one morning. She was standing at my classroom door nervously, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Hesitantly, I made my way to her desk, with absolutely no idea what she was about to say. “I have talked with Maggie” she said, clearing her throat. And then she just blurted it out. 

“Can we make a new start? I don’t want you leave!”

What a pleasing and surprising development. Oh to have been a fly on the wall during Trudy and Maggie’s conversation. Even now, over twenty years later, I would love to know what led to her dramatic change of heart. I remember feeling so relieved I was barely listening as she assured me how I’d now have “full control” in the classroom. And that she wanted to create an atmosphere of “clear and open communication”.

Unfortunately, there was an almighty flip side to Tracy’s good news. “I still don’t have enough students” she explained. “And the money I pay the agency is so much. You know, I really can’t continue with two teachers”. There was a deafening silence as the implications of this revelation sank in.

“I’m so sorry!” said Trudy, leaning forward. 

“But Maggie says she will find S a new school. “Please, don’t worry!”

Within a few days S left the school. For a few weeks she found herself stuck in limbo while the agency worked on finding her a new position. Although she put on a brave face, I knew S felt disappointed. After all, it had been fun working together, not to mention highly convenient with the school right on out doorstep.

In the end she was placed at a language institute called Easy English in the nearby neighbourhood of Wudaokou. The school was just one subway stop from Shangdi. All things considered, the outcome could have been much worse. 

While S got to grips with her new teaching job, my schedule was heating up with what Trudy called The Winter Intensive. Chinese New Year was coming, which meant a ten day holiday. But first, my normally light afternoon schedule was about to transform into a gruelling eight hours a day for ten days straight. With a vacation waiting at the end of it all, I knew I just needed to get my head down and push on through.

Trudy pulled out all the stops to pile as many students into the winter intensive as possible. In the mornings, I had a reading class with seven year old Max. He loved the books we read, especially a collection of Creepy Tales. There was one in particular called Strange House that had him howling with laughter.

“Leighton, look! Twenty dinosaurs dancing! Ha ha ha!” 

“Oh!!! Sixteen sharks shouting!! Haaaaaa!!! Fourteen crocodiles creeping!!! Wahaaaaaa!!! I’d never seen anything like it. Max was literally lying on his back clutching his ribs. Tears of laughter pouring down his face as he chatted away to himself. 

My favourite winter camp class saw me teach Trudy’s son Happy, his friend Tom and a teddy bear of a boy known as Monster Frank. Balancing out the boyishness was Becky, a cute, timid girl who spoke so softly I could barely hear what she was saying. I gave them basic geography lessons in which they learned some astonishing facts. Such as what Europe is. How long it takes to fly from Beijing to London and the names of the U.S. states.

We also played phonics games and learned how to tell the time. In a bid to get them to memorise body parts, I had them each create a giant poster. Then label the legs, arms, feet, eyes, ears and so on. The boys all drew hideous drooling monstrosities. Becky meanwhile produced an endearing self-portrait that she was clearly very proud of.

Towards the end of the camp, Trudy started badgering me about clothing vocabulary. “Happy’s knowledge of the wardrobe very poor!” she grumbled. “Please, can you help?” The next day I wheeled in a suitcase from home and we had a dress up session. It was fun to see them enjoy it so much. Particularly Tom, whose outfit appeared to have been inspired by The Artful Dodger in Oliver Twist.

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

My most challenging winter intensive class was a one-on-one course with Trudy’s nephew, James. Before we met, Trudy told me that he was an eighteen year old boy who “really dislikes English”. Despite the fact that James could hardly string two words together, Trudy insisted we work from an upper intermediate Trinity course book. From lesson one it was obvious that he was completely out of his depth.

“What’s your name?”

“I fi thank you”.

“No, your NAME. I’m Leighton… and you?”

“Me nay is James Bond”. 

Ridiculous English names in China are par for the course. Over the years I’ve had students called Banana, Planet, Chocolate, Spiderman, Kissy, Gawain and Nemo, to name but a few. Often, I tried to convince their parents that in native English speaking countries this would make their kids targets for ridicule and even bullying. But they rarely listened.

Over that nine day stretch, James and I spent two hours a day together. While I did enjoy the experience, in truth it nearly killed me. There were so many misunderstandings, even with the most basic of questions and exercises. His pronunciation was so problematic that at times it rendered him incomprehensible.

It was, I imagined, how I might sound if the shoe were on the other foot and I was trying to learn Chinese. As such, I knew I needed to remain as supportive, patient and empathetic as humanly possible.

On so many occasions I had to resist the urge to greet him with “We meet again Mr. Bond”. Or to say that page 35 was “for your eyes only”. In any case, he wouldn’t have had a clue what I was taking about.

Making little to no progress was exhausting, but slowly we did build up a camaraderie of sorts. Through long, painfully confusing fragmented conversations, I learned that James was a fan of Kung Fu movies and that he wanted to be a policeman. 

“I love Orry Hebber!” he told me one afternoon.

It took us ten minutes of farting around on Google for me to realise he was talking about Audrey Hepburn. Another afternoon, I discovered that James’ greatest passion was art and that he had a special talent for Japanese manga. Each day he brought me a selection of his sketches which, to me at least, were really impressive.

He also revealed how his mother was forcing him to learn English. And that she disapproved of his artistic side, calling it “a waste of time”. I couldn’t help but feel for the guy. In our final lesson together, he gifted me a drawing he’d made especially for me. It was a manga version of himself looking sharp in a tailored suit. He even signed it James Bond in his squiggly handwriting.

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

I was so relieved when winter camp finally finished. In keeping with the season, S and I booked a four-night stay in Harbin, a city in China’s bitterly cold northeast. We’d timed our stay for Harbin’s world famous International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival. 

The flight from Beijing was a brisk one hour and forty minutes. When we stepped out of the airport into the late afternoon air, it was minus twenty degrees! Thankfully we were fully prepared, with woollen socks, gloves, scarves, sweaters, hats and long johns.

We stayed at Little Fir Youth Hostel that first night. But oh lord what a horrible, horrible place it was. We knew it was going to be crap the moment we saw the filth-ridden welcome mat outside the entrance. Then, we had the displeasure of meeting the dreadful prison-warden-woman at reception. Neglecting to even say hello, she proceeded to rudely demand my ID, before bitterly arguing with S about the nightly rate.

Our worst fears were subsequently confirmed when we opened the door to our shitty room. The radiator was broken, needless to say, and the floor was thick with dust. And then there was the bed, with its plastic sheet for a mattress, under which sat a layer of soggy cardboard. Wordlessly, we checked out the following morning and booked ourselves into a four-star hotel on Zhongyang Street, Harbin’s main drag.

Little Fir Youth Hostel.

Switching accommodation proved to be a fantastic decision! Following smiles at reception, a brief but wonderful nap and a hot shower, we set off on foot for the Ice Festival. Making our way down Zhongyang Street, we eventually found ourselves at The Songhua River. And… surprise surprise… the entire thing was frozen!

Having become quite the specialists in navigating frozen waters, I thought what the heck, let’s add one more to the scrapbook. Freezing cold, but with a touch of warmth on our faces from the afternoon sun, it took us thirty minutes to reach the other side of the river. 

Soon, we spotted a sign pointing us in the direction of Sun Island, a huge recreational zone that housed the Ice Festival. Following the route, we crossed a bridge, passed some cute penguin topiaries and stopped at a photogenic copper piano sculpture. 

After a while, the road straightened out, treating us to some amazing views of Harbin glittering away in the distance across the river. It seemed like we’d been walking for ages and there was nothing to suggest we were getting closer.

Turning onto what looked like an infinite one-way road of hanging red lanterns and fluttering Chinese flags, we pushed on as the sun sank into the horizon. Before long a sheet of gloom rapidly descended. And then the red lanterns flickered into life and we could see the humongous form of a garish pink neon archway ahead.

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

I’ll never forget that evening. It was like being back at Disney World as a kid. We ran through the pink ice maze, stumbling upon several dead-ends home to snarling ice tigers. Coming out through the other side, we headed straight for the enormous ice-sculpted chessboard, moving tentatively between glacial kings and arctic queens. Elsewhere, there were horse and cart rides, a huge skating rink, snow slides and a five-a-side football pitch with ice-block goalposts.

And then there were the remarkable sculptures themselves. A breathtaking array of intricately carved formations lit up by multicoloured lasers and lanterns. Designed by local engineering students and carved by around fifteen thousand workers, they really were a sight to behold.

Among the best sculptures, I recall a tightly-knit pack of galloping horses and a replica of The Empire State Building. I also remember a line of Chinese pagodas and a colossal fairy-tale palace guarded by mythical dragons.

It was all so fascinating we were actually able to forget about the piercing cold for a while. At some point though, the cutting wind became too much and we took refuge in one of the heated cafe tents. Settling down with coffee and pastries, it was great to refuel and feel the blood pumping back into my toes.

Sub Zero Adventures, a short story from China.

Huddled around an industrial heater, we reflected on what a tough couple of months we’d had. And how at times it’d been hard for us to justify what it was we were actually doing in China.

But for all of Tom’s bad behaviour, Water’s deception, Trudy’s unpredictability and S’s unforeseen ejection, we knew that it was moments like these that made it all worth it. Downing the last mouthfuls of gloriously hot coffee, S and I rose, made for the padded tent doors and disappeared back out into the Harbin night.

‘Sub Zero Adventures’ is the fourteenth tale of my short story series Challenged in China.

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