people like to ask me for directions
I took a bus from Seattle to Bellevue yesterday, which was a pleasure, and then phoned from the bus station for a lift to my hotel While I was waiting, an old woman came up to me and started asking me how she could catch bus number 249, from, she said, "number one!" She illustrated this by showing me a piece of paper where the directions were handwritten in Chinese characters, while explaining it in Mandarin as she showed me.
I remembered where in the bus station the bus routes were listed along with the information about what bays to catch the buses from, so I wanted her to follow me there. I felt strange, though, not letting her know first that I understood what she was saying, so I said in Mandarin, "You want to find the 249 bus at number one." I used the term she had used, as I couldn't remember the word for bus stop (though I remember it now while writing this). She responded affirmatively with vigour and without the slightest surprise.
When I lived in California and talked with Mandarin speakers in their own language, there was a ritual they very nearly always started up after hearing me speak. The ritual was responding in English, "Oh, you speak Chinese!" and then saying something about how good my Chinese was. Sometimes the compliment was a well-meaning lie to let me save face for having screwed something up, and sometimes (when it was spoken with surprise) it was about me being able to speak with good tone contours. I've listened to foreign speakers of Mandarin, and some get the tones well and some simply do not. It seems to be the biggest factor in having a strong foreign accent vs a passable one. I never enjoyed this ritual, but the part of it that I hated most when the person I addressed turned to his or her companion and said, "Oh, look, she speaks Chinese!" instead of talking to me. That happened a lot. I've referred to this as the talking dog phenomenon. If a dog comes up and says something to you, you don't engage the dog with a reply based on what he said; you turn to your companion and say, "Did you hear that! A talking dog! How extraordinary!" Which is a bit insulting if you don't happen to be a dog.
But this woman didn't do any of those things. She seemed to take it utterly for granted that some random white woman she had asked for directions would reply in Mandarin. It was refreshing in a way, or maybe she was just self-centred.
I confirmed on the posted information that we were talking about the same bus and then looked around for bay one and saw that the numbers started at six and got bigger rather than smaller. I asked two young women whom I guessed to be local if they knew where bay one was and they hesitated, looking around. The woman called out to them in Mandarin and they replied in kind, which actually took me by surprise, and she went with them to look for bay one. As the three of them looked, I approached a man wearing a bus driver's uniform and asked him. He responded (in English, which was almost weird by then) and told me it was across the road. I thanked him and went to the three women and told them so in Mandarin ("the man said number one is over there"), pointing where the bus driver had pointed. As my lift arrived I saw all three of them standing at the bus stop. I felt a bit guilty for having enlisted the two young women; since I hadn't known they were Chinese I didn't realise they would feel obligated to stay with this woman until she was on her bus.
One thing I miss about Bristol is the opportunity to speak casual Mandarin. The Mandarin speakers in Bristol are nearly all rich university students who tend to roam in packs, making striking up conversation difficult.
And people do like to ask me for directions. I mentioned this a while ago to someone who replied, "Ah, you look intelligent!" I laughed in delight at this interpretation and said I had assumed I just looked unthreatening.
I remembered where in the bus station the bus routes were listed along with the information about what bays to catch the buses from, so I wanted her to follow me there. I felt strange, though, not letting her know first that I understood what she was saying, so I said in Mandarin, "You want to find the 249 bus at number one." I used the term she had used, as I couldn't remember the word for bus stop (though I remember it now while writing this). She responded affirmatively with vigour and without the slightest surprise.
When I lived in California and talked with Mandarin speakers in their own language, there was a ritual they very nearly always started up after hearing me speak. The ritual was responding in English, "Oh, you speak Chinese!" and then saying something about how good my Chinese was. Sometimes the compliment was a well-meaning lie to let me save face for having screwed something up, and sometimes (when it was spoken with surprise) it was about me being able to speak with good tone contours. I've listened to foreign speakers of Mandarin, and some get the tones well and some simply do not. It seems to be the biggest factor in having a strong foreign accent vs a passable one. I never enjoyed this ritual, but the part of it that I hated most when the person I addressed turned to his or her companion and said, "Oh, look, she speaks Chinese!" instead of talking to me. That happened a lot. I've referred to this as the talking dog phenomenon. If a dog comes up and says something to you, you don't engage the dog with a reply based on what he said; you turn to your companion and say, "Did you hear that! A talking dog! How extraordinary!" Which is a bit insulting if you don't happen to be a dog.
But this woman didn't do any of those things. She seemed to take it utterly for granted that some random white woman she had asked for directions would reply in Mandarin. It was refreshing in a way, or maybe she was just self-centred.
I confirmed on the posted information that we were talking about the same bus and then looked around for bay one and saw that the numbers started at six and got bigger rather than smaller. I asked two young women whom I guessed to be local if they knew where bay one was and they hesitated, looking around. The woman called out to them in Mandarin and they replied in kind, which actually took me by surprise, and she went with them to look for bay one. As the three of them looked, I approached a man wearing a bus driver's uniform and asked him. He responded (in English, which was almost weird by then) and told me it was across the road. I thanked him and went to the three women and told them so in Mandarin ("the man said number one is over there"), pointing where the bus driver had pointed. As my lift arrived I saw all three of them standing at the bus stop. I felt a bit guilty for having enlisted the two young women; since I hadn't known they were Chinese I didn't realise they would feel obligated to stay with this woman until she was on her bus.
One thing I miss about Bristol is the opportunity to speak casual Mandarin. The Mandarin speakers in Bristol are nearly all rich university students who tend to roam in packs, making striking up conversation difficult.
And people do like to ask me for directions. I mentioned this a while ago to someone who replied, "Ah, you look intelligent!" I laughed in delight at this interpretation and said I had assumed I just looked unthreatening.