My work commute

One key I've found to acclimating to a totally different culture is developing a routine so at least some aspect of your day is predictable. My morning commute has become this for me. It's almost always the same and in that I take great comfort.

Every school morning, Monday – Friday, at 7:30 a.m. I trundle down the four flights of granite stairs fully bundled in four layers of clothing. Turning the knob with my gloved hands on the light tan door of our apartment building I step out and make a sharp right to begin my walk. I take notice to see if the "recycle man" has been there yet. Recycling is done by someone who turns the contents of our three blue trash cans on the cement, picks out the items to recycle and leaves them for the garbage man to collect and dispose of. I've noticed this done elsewhere, so it appears to be the process of recycling here.

Ahead of my path I see my first of three sets of Chinese senior citizens. Regardless of the weather I know they are there since I started listening to their traditional Chinese music filter through my kitchen window at 7:00 a.m. About 10, mostly female, they do what I believe to be as Ti Chi, very focused and precise maneuvering of their arms and legs. I think what a wonderful example to me; I should be exercising. I walk thru this first group since the area they choose serves as both a connector for cars and foot traffic.

Crossing the small street between buildings I see another group of seniors doing a slightly different routine as the first. All appear like the first: silent and very focused on their movement. I make a right and then a left. The foot and car traffic and noise increases as I head towards the West Campus gate and the major street. As I make this part of my commute, I regularly pass one to three women out sweeping the sidewalk and gutters. Their brooms are made from twigs and are tied to 1" bamboo sticks. They have a specific cadence in their sweeping motion that seems to allow them to gather a tremendous amount of natural and man-made debris with these booms. They pause and deposit the debris in their two wheeled carts and seem completely focused in their work and never look up at me.

I pass through the West Campus gates and begin the adventure of crossing a major intersection. Red and green traffic lights serve as symbols or suggestions of what one should do as the driver of a car, truck, motorcycle...and person. There's seems a rhythm to this seeming chaos...now that I've lived here nearly two weeks, I can see it. My first day crossing I didn't. I know now how to navigate with the lights, which serve merely as ideas for directional motion of all motor and person propelled objects.

Clearing the street I enter the East Gate of the campus. Like the other side of campus, the road and sidewalks are in the finishing stages of construction. Through my two weeks here I've seen the construction workers, without any mechanized tools, clear, straighten and lift heavy concrete and granite stones to create beautiful walkways. I've marveled at their accuracy and dexterity of placing the slabs with a 4-man lift system, comprised of two-inch thick bamboo poles, ropes and four sturdy backs.

Walking straight the road curves to the right and my third group of seniors appear on my left. This is a different group. One man and three women all wield yard-long ceremonial swords that gleam if the light is strong. They maneuver them through the air in nearly perfect timing and with dance-like steps to match their music. I find all three groups fascinating to watch, but this one in particular catches my eye because of their live props.

One more turn in the road and I see my destination, the tallest building on the WUT campus. Most students haven't begun running to class yet and I enter the door and over to the one of four elevators that will take me to the 6th floor. Most mornings I wait, sometimes I forsake and climb the stairs. Either transport device puts me on the 6th floor; I make a right to walk to the end of the hall to my classroom.

I can tell, based upon evaporation of water, how recent the woman who washes the granite floors has visited our level. Almost every day my classroom door is open and the wooden stand unlocked so I can begin the punching of buttons to awaken the PC, projector and screen. The woman with the key and I have developed a special relationship. Neither of us speaks a language we can converse in, but through sign language and smiles we have become friends...she is usually the first person I see each morning who says our version of "hello."

And then my sleepy students start to scramble in from their dorm rooms and another morning class begins. As soon as the bell sounds, nothing in the rest of my day is ever predictable.