Meeting Feng Bo in the Dalian Fog

Just prior to starting my new teaching assignment in Chongqing, located in southwestern China's beautiful heartland, our director asked if I would "fill in" at a sister-program in Liaoning Province (bordering North Korea) for a teacher who had become ill.  The assignment was at Dalian Medical University, so it was an attractive idea.  I was sad to leave Chongqing behind, but off I went.

Dalian sits on the seaside, so skies were clear blue and the air was fresh.  Students were studying medicine, nursing, pharmacy and laboratory sciences and, like anywhere, they had varying degrees of interest in learning English.  Nonetheless, graduation from university in China requires a successful score on the College English Test, so we had to "teach to the test" and focus on the appropriate skills, all the time trying to make language learning interesting and fun!

I'm back in Chongqing now, having returned after six weeks in Dalian. I happily jumped into the teaching here on the day after my return, moved into a 12th floor tower apartment and, once again, savored my favorite and spicy Chongqing noodles.

Here's a narrative poem I wrote before leaving Dalian.  It speaks of stillness, friendship and Chinese culture.

Meeting Feng Bo in the Dalian Fog

I went for a walk last evening in the autumn fog that was settling over campus. 

How peaceful this place is, the stillness, so utterly devoid of noise!

Perhaps it’s the quietest place I’ve ever been in all of China.

In the dark of night, only the chug-chug of the fishing boats could be heard.

Soon a lone student peddled by on his bike.

He glanced, did a 180, then rode over to my side.

My best guess:  he wanted to practice his spoken English.

We chatted as he explored the depths of his memory, pulling out some impressive vocabulary.

He asked if I knew Kyle; I said that I didn’t. 

(Apparently Kyle was once an English teacher here, now gone, leaving my bicycle friend no one whom he could practice with.)  

He lamented, "Others make fun of those who chat up foreign teachers."

Who can explain the shyness of young students?  Who can explain jealousy? 

Xue Feng was his name, but his parents call him “Feng Bo.”

He explained how families add “Bo” to the end of a given name, a familiar way to address a young child. 

It slips off the tongue easily, we agreed.

With credit to the romantic loveliness of the Chinese language, he added: 

“'Bo,' first tone. It means ‘wave’, like the sea," as he pointed over there.

Aware now that all I could hear was the sound of waves coming in from that sea, waves crashing on the spit of sand to my back, I was reminded of the peacefulness of the now.

Feng Bo rode on, and I was again alone in the fog…..but not lonely.   [rf, october 12th]