Language, Barriers

I'll be honest: I'm better when I'm drunk.

Or at least I think I am.

There are sometimes when you just have to head straight towards the barriers at break-neck speeds and hope for the best.  Successfully clipping-out, hitting the ground on the right foot, taking a few giant strides, leaping over whatever's in front of you, another step (or two or three, if you're me), and a buttery smooth remount.  This all happens in a blink of an eye, at least in a cyclocross race anyways.

If you're like me and made the hilarious decision to move to a country where you don't speak the language, the process of clearing the language barrier takes a little longer.  Why didn't I study Chinese in college?  That one year of intensive Italian to fulfill my language requirement is all but worthless.  For the life of me, I can't think of any Italian phrase other than "che cazzo fai?"  Four years of French in high school and a lifetime of bumbling Vietnamese and Cantonese words to my parents and relatives are similarly of no use to me in Beijing.  Hell.  If I even studied more English in school I'd probably be better able to communicate with people here, but as it stands me English it no so good.

Fortunately, I won't be helpless in China forever.  I have a tutor, helpful coworkers, and an essential survival mentality here in the Middle Kingdom.  The process of learning something from nothing can be a little overwhelming.  It's definitely slow, that's for sure.  And if you've ever seen me race, it's pretty obvious I know a few things about Slow.  Slow lets the mind wander.  It creates doubt, self-consciousness, and occasionally, paralyzing fear.  The phrase "Speed kills" should more often be used with its second half: "but Slow sucks."  Like I said though, I'm making progress.  My vocabulary is steadily growing beyond "whiskey, no ice." And I'm starting to understand my coworkers' conversations and be understood in turn.  But damn if I didn't wish this whole learning-a-new-language thing would go a little faster.

Sometimes you just have to be a little reckless with this effing language.  Sometimes you have to just play the game before you know all the rules.  You can only do mindless, structured, roadie-type training for so long before you lose your mind.  The beauty of cyclocross is that being a physically strong rider is only part of the equation.  You need finesse (which I don't have), smarts (definitely don't have that), and a whole host of different skills to get you through the race.  Some days you have it all and everything clicks.  More often than not, you'll be lacking in several of these categories.  You still play the game though.  And if you're like me, thoughts of poor equipment choices, lack of training, and  the 16 beers you drank the night before all go out the window as soon as that whistle blows.  The only thing that occupies my mind is putting up the best fight I can with whatever I've got.  And you know what? That's part of the fun.  There's no sense in letting an opportunity go to waste, be it a race or the chance to move abroad.  Just barrel straight towards whatever's in your way, consequences be damned, and get through it without trying analyze every single step of the process.  A little bit of booze sure helps too.

I've recently discovered China's passionate relationship with getting drunk.  Doing business here necessitates a hearty liver and strong stomach.  It's not fancy and it's far from pretty.  When you go out with your friends or coworkers the emphasis clearly isn't on having a sensitive, discerning palette, as evidenced by the popularity of baijiu and pale, watery beers.  Drinking here is a social thing.  It's all about process, respect, and getting very, very drunk.  It's also the perfect opportunity to let fly with some horrible butchering of the Chinese language.  Every time I go out with the folks from the office, I swear my Chinese gets a tiny bit better.  It's a lot like the "race into fitness" mentality that has consistently failed and entertained me throughout the years.  By just throwing caution to the wind (and adding a little liquid courage), I've learned a lot about what to say and how to say it, usually with a total disregard for proper pronunciation or the inclusion of appropriate regional tones.  It's been a good way to break the ice and get to know some of the people I work with.  Speaking Chinese to them in an inebriated state is a whole lot less frightening than trying to talk to them in the office with my lacking professional vocabulary.  And before you start thinking that I'm messing around too much and telling me to start taking life more seriously in China, just take a deep breath and relax a bit.  I'm making decent progress.  I promise!  I can even drunkenly mumble directions to a cabbie to get back to my apartment after rowdy nights stumbling through hutongs and Sanlitun.  See?  Progress!