Living in China isn’t always easy, any foreigner can tell you that. Even for someone who has traveled extensively and boasts the number of other countries they have lived in, China can bring with it some comical and yet frustrating situations mainly because of cultural misunderstandings and above all, language barriers. Beijing is a city with many Western comforts and there is usually someone who can assist in English to help alleviate some of the frustrations. Here you can find cheese, Fed Ex, a myriad of coffee brands, English speaking doctors, and other Westerners to appreciate them with.

Enter Zhuji, Zhe Jiang Province, three hours drive from Shanghai. This is “Real China,” far away from the urban grime and cosmopolitan charm of Beijing.  Since Chinese cities can be measured in size and importance by their population ratio to KFCs; Zhuji is a “small” Chinese town with “only” 1 million people and only three KFCs, known for its fresh water pearl cultivation and its sock factories.

Living in a Chinese city with only five other foreigners has its benefits and annoyances, however. Many people residing in these towns have never seen a foreigner before, and therefore people are very curious and extremely helpful and chatty, even if you can’t understand them. Smaller cities in China have their own dialects, and Zhuji has its own incomprehensible dialect which sounds nothing like the clear Mandarin foreigners study in Beijing. Learning Chinese there carries the added benefit of constant ridicule from big city Chinese who accuse you of sounding like a Chinese farmer - I suppose this would be the equivalent of taking a Thai businessman and teaching him English in rural Kentucky. But regardless of local dialect, people do not speak English, and older residents don’t speak Mandarin. This leaves you, as a foreigner, constantly isolated if your Chinese is barely functional and limited to ordering food items. Most of the time, you accept never being able to express yourself; this is a humbling experience, because you realize that your isolation is your own fault because your Chinese is bad. However, at times you are downright at the mercy of those who are translating for you. As a result of my limited Chinese, the first year was filled with odd experiences and observations, embarrassments and tribulations.

For example, I have concluded that being sick in China is an inevitability simply because it is a drastic adaptation for our bodies to the air, food, water, and the environment as a whole. In Beijing, there are Western hospitals where the doctors speak English and you can explain exactly what is wrong where and what hurts and get appropriate treatment with medicine that you recognize and diagnosis that you trust. In Zhuji, my two Chinese assistants were the only ones who could communicate with me in very simple English.

 

One morning exactly a month after arriving in China, I woke up with a horribly raspy and swollen sore throat coupled with a painfully dry cough. Feeling utterly unfit to go to work, I called my assistant, Sue, to tell her I was sick. She elected to come over and check me out herself despite my assurances that I only needed some hot soup and my hard Chinese bed. After about ten minutes of useless protesting, I ended up letting her drag me to the school doctor. I was a little leery, but I went anyway. Since my Chinese medical vocabulary was limited to “throat hurts. It’s big throat,” Sue translated for me. After a brief conversation with the doctor, the doctor came over and felt my lymph nodes, frowning. She sat back in her chair for a moment, squinting at me. She asked my assistant something; my assistant looked at me blankly and asks, “You cough? You only the throat to hurt?” In a voice that sounded like an old man who had smoked 8 packs daily of Camel non-filtered his whole life, I managed to growl a “yes.”  Decisively, she got up and went to the medicine cabinet which held literally millions of little bottles and pills, etc, and pulled out a cough -syrup concoction in little brown vials. To take the medicine, you have to poke open the vials with a plastic straw-like thing and suck out the liquid. It was the oddest little thing I had ever seen and eerily thick and syrupy. I put my lips to the straw and tasted it, my cheeks actually puffed out and my nose let out a sudden grunty burst of breath; it was probably the most revolting and absolutely vile liquid I have ever tasted! Wincing, in long gulps I slurped it all down. I sat back, paused and told her I’d have to wait a minute before the other one because I suddenly felt unbearably nauseous. With a contorted face, I asked Sue what it was; she asks the doctor, and responds, “For trrroat.” Good enough answer, it was just cough medicine, right? I would be more leery of pills. I went back to my apartment and waited to feel better.

However, no sooner had I arrived at my apartment then my palms started feeling strangely itchy, and my wrist on my left hand looked like it was instantaneously bitten by 30 mosquitoes! Not thinking, I figured I might have been bitten by something and so I put some cortisone cream on it. It is then that I noticed my other wrist was red and splotchy, and not only that, it was spreading up my arm! I frantically concluded at this point that I was having an allergic reaction. But this is China, WHAT DID THEY GIVE ME? I couldn’t ask, and even if they told me I couldn’t understand anyway- this is why people like me need to learn Chinese. I called Sue to go back to the doctor’s with me but I couldn‘t get her at first because inexplicably there is a different number to use for text messaging and calling. By this time, I had a spotted tummy and it had started on my legs! Sue came back, and we went in and showed the doctor my arms. She calmly looked me up and down; she said something to Sue. My assistant nods affirmingly at the doctor, turns to me, and her first response was, "…ah yes, maybe it's the cold wind.” I blinked twice, truly baffled. “What?!” I said, “No! Allergic reaction!” - I showed her my arms, lifted my shirt up to show her my tummy, which was now all splotchy! My panicked situation provided entertainment for all of the staff and some high school students there in the doctor’s office, all of whom started to openly snicker. The doctor gave me a little white pill to take; “What’s this?” I whimpered. Sue turned to me, "Doctor say take this medicine. It help your skin, but maybe make red face.” I bolted up, “WHAT!?  No! Aw God I don’t need a red face too!” Exasperated, I whispered, "I will have a red face?" Sue paused, "not for sure but maybe you sleep and have red face.” Completely defeated, I took the little white pill and went home.

Clutching a mirror, I went home and sat on my computer, waiting to see what would happen. But magically 10 minutes later the rash started to dissipate, but I suddenly felt like I had been awake for a week. I went to sleep and woke up 6 hours later. To this day, I have no idea what I was allergic to in the cough syrup.  Despite the initial trauma of the experience, my throat was completely cured by the time I woke up and I felt fantastic. That’s China for you I guess!

Moral of the story: I would recommend knowing how to say what allergies you have to a doctor, as this is usually one of the first questions he or she asks.  Please check out our section on Going to the Doctor, for valuable information that may be of use. I know people who have far worse stories involving language barriers and getting stitches, etc, so really my situation, though honestly terrifying at the time, pales in comparison to some. For those of us in Beijing, we have the comfort of knowing that we can willingly pay ridiculous fees to have a doctor who speaks English at the SOS clinic; in a small town, you are at the mercy of the translator’s ability to understand you and pass on the message. Learning Chinese not only makes you more competent but allows you to avoid these kinds of situations. While it’s all part of the adventure we were originally seeking when we decided to move here, the lesson here is to learn Chinese, or don’t move to China when you don’t speak the language without having at least a book for medical emergencies!

Related Links

Take a Number: How to Handle a Chinese Hospital
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