That's pronounced gwan shee. It roughly translates 'relationship' but means much more. It is a record of favors done. In this culture, the record must always remain balanced, between individuals. It can create an ever widening circle of influence. For example.
My vet came to see my shop. When I had the last cat spayed, last year, he said he wanted to hang out with me some to learn English. We never followed up on that. Then one day, out of the blue about a month ago, he calls me. He is speaking Chinese, and it takes a while before I figure out who it is. He identifies himself as the 'wuyi', which sounds an awful lot like 'wuye'. The latter is the name of the management office that manages properties, like my apartment complex, and the shopping mall where my bakery is. When I buy things online, I get a call from my apartment's wuye office and they tell me about it. My Chinese isn't that good, so I have to listen very carefully for key words and then guess the rest.
And of course, the wuye office at the mall has been actively engaged in my setting up the shop, involved in many aspects.
Wuyi, on the other hand, is shorthand for animal 'dongwu' doctor 'yisheng'. His name is easy enough to remember, Dr. White, but I didn't hear him say it during this call. Anyway, eventually I understood who was calling, though never did catch if he was just saying hi or proposing a get together.
I had picked up some phrase books for him, at Web, and they are collecting dust. So I texted him a couple weeks ago, saying we should get together and practice English. That's when he called, and said he'd come to the shop the next day.
He came Tuesday, with a friend in tow whose English was considerably better. In the end, though, he spoke more to Tina, who tried to translate. Tina did well in her college English classes, but her spoken English is a mix of adorable and frustrating.
He said he had a friend who worked in the kitchen of the famous Shangri-la restaurant, in the international Fudu Trader's Hotel in Xin Bei, which is the north end of Changzhou, about an hour by bus from me. That guy spoke a little English. Dr. White called him and let me speak to him. He said he would be happy to help me out. Perhaps he could give me some tips, some instructions. He apologized that policy prohibited him from inviting me into the Shangri-la kitchen, but he could send his staff down to my kitchen.
Dr. White came by again the next day, Wednesday. This was the day I was doing a lot of baking in order to bring samples up to Jolly's restaurant, who has been waiting for them. I had brought a change of clothes to work with me, figuring to go right after work.
Dr. White wanted a favor. There is a hand held instant blood analyzer that he dearly wants for his clinic. But the cost in China is very high. He believes that in the States it's much cheaper. He wants me to buy one for him and have someone carry it over here in their suitcase.
Oh sure. Snap my fingers and find an American who has a vet in their pocket, who is coming here in the next couple of months, and has room in their suitcase, and who owes me a favor.
To make a long story short, he offered to drive me to Xin Bei and wait while I delivered my samples. I knew Johnny wasn't going to be at his restaurant, as he had a last minute engagement taking him away. I didn't think I'd tarry long there.
On the way, Dr. White stopped at the Fudu hotel, and I met his friend and the friend's assistant. The friend had his name tag on, identifying himself as a sous chef. While we stood in the coffee lounge, the old German head chef came in scrounging up a cup of coffee for himself at the wait station. He is a tall, portly man, gray haired. His English is heavily accented, but his Chinese sounded pretty good. He seemed to be a jolly humorous fellow. I don't recall that I was actually introduced to him. Chinese cultural protocol would have this man on a pedestal, not disdaining to speak with his help outside the kitchen. A demigod.
We arranged that on July 25 the sous chef would come down to my bakery and help answer some questions, and teach me some stuff.
Then, after delivering the bread at the next stop, Dr. White pulled up to a vet clinic. We all trudged inside, where he showed me the instrument he covets.
As we crossed the busy Nan Da Jie, the old Changzhou downtown district, we made one more stop to pick up a street-food treat that his wife particularly likes. Kind of like egg McMuffins; vendors have a special griddle with six cup indentations. They pour in the batter, then a piece of meat, then an egg, topped with more batter. They turn them over half way through the cooking, and serve them piping hot.
So there it was. He had given me a cheap price on two spays, in hopes of learning English or at least making an American friend. Many months later, he collects on it. He wants a blood analyzer. In exchange, he gets me professional help for my bakery.
I've written my friend, Lori, who is spending the summer at home in Iowa. When she worked at a high school here, she would come visit me of an evening, to get her cat fix. She doesn't have a cat, I have two. So we'd sit and watch a movie, or just drink wine and chat, while each of us cuddled with a cat on the lap. I wrote her asking if she was on good terms with her vet there, and if she could ask him about pricing and ordering this analyzer. She said she could do that. She still doesn't have a job for September, so we don't know if she's coming back to China or will stay in the States.
I got a text message from him last night, asking me how it was going. I told him I was working on it, I'd have news in a couple of days. Then he asked about my visa situation. I told him, no solution. He wrote back, I may have solutions. Now, this perks my curiosity. I'll have to try calling him back when next I am with Tina, so she can translate for us and find out what he might have in mind.
I have cultured a sour dough starter. I am not using the same technique that got me good results back in 2004, but rather the instructions by Peter Reinhart. It grew quickly, in just four days. Yesterday I should have done something with it, it was ready to either be stored or made into a barm. Instead I left it neglected on the shelf, while we entertained our expert visitors and learned how to shape pretzels, and a tall boule. Today I don't want to waste any more dough baking, so Tina and I are going to Metro to try to find some supplies that our new friends say we can buy there, rather than needing to do online shopping. I have given myself the morning off, to stay home and try to catch up with my laundry and other tasks. But I must go in at some point and do something with this sourdough culture before I lose it.
My vet came to see my shop. When I had the last cat spayed, last year, he said he wanted to hang out with me some to learn English. We never followed up on that. Then one day, out of the blue about a month ago, he calls me. He is speaking Chinese, and it takes a while before I figure out who it is. He identifies himself as the 'wuyi', which sounds an awful lot like 'wuye'. The latter is the name of the management office that manages properties, like my apartment complex, and the shopping mall where my bakery is. When I buy things online, I get a call from my apartment's wuye office and they tell me about it. My Chinese isn't that good, so I have to listen very carefully for key words and then guess the rest.
And of course, the wuye office at the mall has been actively engaged in my setting up the shop, involved in many aspects.
Wuyi, on the other hand, is shorthand for animal 'dongwu' doctor 'yisheng'. His name is easy enough to remember, Dr. White, but I didn't hear him say it during this call. Anyway, eventually I understood who was calling, though never did catch if he was just saying hi or proposing a get together.
I had picked up some phrase books for him, at Web, and they are collecting dust. So I texted him a couple weeks ago, saying we should get together and practice English. That's when he called, and said he'd come to the shop the next day.
He came Tuesday, with a friend in tow whose English was considerably better. In the end, though, he spoke more to Tina, who tried to translate. Tina did well in her college English classes, but her spoken English is a mix of adorable and frustrating.
He said he had a friend who worked in the kitchen of the famous Shangri-la restaurant, in the international Fudu Trader's Hotel in Xin Bei, which is the north end of Changzhou, about an hour by bus from me. That guy spoke a little English. Dr. White called him and let me speak to him. He said he would be happy to help me out. Perhaps he could give me some tips, some instructions. He apologized that policy prohibited him from inviting me into the Shangri-la kitchen, but he could send his staff down to my kitchen.
Dr. White came by again the next day, Wednesday. This was the day I was doing a lot of baking in order to bring samples up to Jolly's restaurant, who has been waiting for them. I had brought a change of clothes to work with me, figuring to go right after work.
Dr. White wanted a favor. There is a hand held instant blood analyzer that he dearly wants for his clinic. But the cost in China is very high. He believes that in the States it's much cheaper. He wants me to buy one for him and have someone carry it over here in their suitcase.
Oh sure. Snap my fingers and find an American who has a vet in their pocket, who is coming here in the next couple of months, and has room in their suitcase, and who owes me a favor.
To make a long story short, he offered to drive me to Xin Bei and wait while I delivered my samples. I knew Johnny wasn't going to be at his restaurant, as he had a last minute engagement taking him away. I didn't think I'd tarry long there.
On the way, Dr. White stopped at the Fudu hotel, and I met his friend and the friend's assistant. The friend had his name tag on, identifying himself as a sous chef. While we stood in the coffee lounge, the old German head chef came in scrounging up a cup of coffee for himself at the wait station. He is a tall, portly man, gray haired. His English is heavily accented, but his Chinese sounded pretty good. He seemed to be a jolly humorous fellow. I don't recall that I was actually introduced to him. Chinese cultural protocol would have this man on a pedestal, not disdaining to speak with his help outside the kitchen. A demigod.
We arranged that on July 25 the sous chef would come down to my bakery and help answer some questions, and teach me some stuff.
Then, after delivering the bread at the next stop, Dr. White pulled up to a vet clinic. We all trudged inside, where he showed me the instrument he covets.
As we crossed the busy Nan Da Jie, the old Changzhou downtown district, we made one more stop to pick up a street-food treat that his wife particularly likes. Kind of like egg McMuffins; vendors have a special griddle with six cup indentations. They pour in the batter, then a piece of meat, then an egg, topped with more batter. They turn them over half way through the cooking, and serve them piping hot.
So there it was. He had given me a cheap price on two spays, in hopes of learning English or at least making an American friend. Many months later, he collects on it. He wants a blood analyzer. In exchange, he gets me professional help for my bakery.
I've written my friend, Lori, who is spending the summer at home in Iowa. When she worked at a high school here, she would come visit me of an evening, to get her cat fix. She doesn't have a cat, I have two. So we'd sit and watch a movie, or just drink wine and chat, while each of us cuddled with a cat on the lap. I wrote her asking if she was on good terms with her vet there, and if she could ask him about pricing and ordering this analyzer. She said she could do that. She still doesn't have a job for September, so we don't know if she's coming back to China or will stay in the States.
I got a text message from him last night, asking me how it was going. I told him I was working on it, I'd have news in a couple of days. Then he asked about my visa situation. I told him, no solution. He wrote back, I may have solutions. Now, this perks my curiosity. I'll have to try calling him back when next I am with Tina, so she can translate for us and find out what he might have in mind.
I have cultured a sour dough starter. I am not using the same technique that got me good results back in 2004, but rather the instructions by Peter Reinhart. It grew quickly, in just four days. Yesterday I should have done something with it, it was ready to either be stored or made into a barm. Instead I left it neglected on the shelf, while we entertained our expert visitors and learned how to shape pretzels, and a tall boule. Today I don't want to waste any more dough baking, so Tina and I are going to Metro to try to find some supplies that our new friends say we can buy there, rather than needing to do online shopping. I have given myself the morning off, to stay home and try to catch up with my laundry and other tasks. But I must go in at some point and do something with this sourdough culture before I lose it.
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