In Princeton in Beijing Third Year, there were 39 students and 15 teachers, a fairly incredible ratio. Classes started every day at the early hour of 7:30 A.M. – “Chinese style,” according to Zhou Laoshi, PiB’s much-venerated director. There were four fifty-minute classes, separated by two ten-minute and one twenty-minute break. The first two classes were “大班”(“big class”) with eight students and one teacher. In these classes, we’d learn and practice new grammar and vocabulary from the day’s chapter. Then in “小班”(“little class”), with four students and one teacher, we’d review the material covered in 大班 and go on to discuss the material with our freshly learned vocabulary. Teachers rotated every day, and “大班”/”小班” classmates were shuffled weekly.
Discussion was often quite interesting, as our textbooks (all written by Zhou Laoshi), delved into all sorts of topics concerning modern China. We discussed such disparate topics as single-use products (“一次性产品”) and the environment, China’s one child policy, names for foreigners in China (and the historical reasons for these names), increasing consumerism among China’s youth, and the growing presence of American fast food (“样快餐”).
By the time class let out at 11:30, my brains were usually more fried than 油条 (fried dough sticks – a delicious staple of Chinese breakfast.) I found class exhausting, and not just because of the early hour. The problem I had was forcing myself to pay rapt attention for the four fifty-minute stretches. In classes where English is the primary language, zoning out for short periods is usually not a big problem, as I find my brain has a way of sub-consciously following along while I pay a visit to La-La Land, so that when I snap back, it doesn’t take too long to get back on track. Unfortunately, my ability to do this trick is rather underdeveloped when it comes to Chinese. I found that not getting lost in class required quite a bit of conscious effort. The problem wasn’t only that getting back on track might take several minutes, but that the odds of getting called on in the mean time were also quite good. In spite of the frustration of trying to pay attention for such long stretches and the frequent embarrassment of having no clue how to respond to a question, reviewing the material after class, I often discovered that I had absorbed much more than I’d realized. Another thing I discovered was that this problem seemed to lessen as time went on. As my listening comprehension improved, so too did my ability to follow along and participate in class.
On the bright side, meals could be as fun as class was difficult. Twice a week we had “中文桌子” (Chinese table), a meal with a teacher and one or two other students, at a restaurant of our choosing, paid for by PiB. This was, for many reasons, my favorite part of the PiB program. Chinese table not only allowed us to have free and relaxed conversation with our teachers, but also gave us the opportunity to further familiarize ourselves with Chinese culinary customs. On one occasion, a classmate with whom I was to have Chinese table wanted to try dog meat. I was curious myself, so we asked our teacher for that meal where we could eat dog. She seemed a little surprised by our request at first, but agreed to take us to a hotpot place nearby that she knew to serve dog. While not every Chinese table experience was this extreme, I’d often be introduced to new dishes by virtue of the fact that that dish was a teacher’s favorite. Because of the informal nature of Chinese tables, they were a great opportunity to ask our teachers all sorts of questions. I remember discussing things from the typical experience of Chinese college students, to the concept of “hot” and “cool” in Chinese cooking. I think one of the most fun Chinese table conversations I had the entire summer involved learning what sounds Chinese uses to represent animal sounds, and, of course, sharing with our teacher the English counterpart.
In general, I felt PiB offered a rich learning environment, in no small part because of the endless opportunities to interact with our teachers. Apart from Chinese table, we had “个别谈话,” individual sessions with a teacher, in the afternoon. The wonderful thing about this time was that after the first week or so, we were allowed to use this hour more or less in any way we wanted. Sometimes, I would use this time to review the day’s lesson, but more often than not, this time was spent discussing issues particular to Chinese society, culture, and history. In particular, I spent a lot of time discussing with my teachers issues of free speech and openness. I was surprised to find that, in this setting, my teachers seemed comfortable discussing all sorts of topics – Mao, the Olympics, Taiwan, the Tiananmen Square events of 1989, etc. – and, moreover, that each seemed to have very individualistic view points that did not necessarily mirror government mantra. I will never forget the conversation I had with one teacher in particular about Mao Zedong. Even though this teacher was too young to have lived while Mao was in power, she had, through independent reading and research, learned of the countless atrocities and deaths caused by his reign, and therefore concluded he was a truly evil and scary person. Particularly because this view of history is not taught in schools in China, this teacher’s independence of mind left me deeply impressed.
Apart from our teachers, the language pledge was almost certainly the most important aspect of learning at PiB. My initial fear of not being able to speak English bringing me to complete silence turned out to be unfounded. In fact, the language pledge, if anything, made speaking Chinese easier for me. While learning Chinese at Yale, I frequently felt uncomfortable using Chinese to communicate. Perhaps I felt that, because I had the option of speaking English, choosing to speak Chinese instead and making mistakes was embarrassing. Under the language pledge, I figured no one could hold this against me. So in a sense, the language pledge freed me of this irrational inhibition. My other major fear, that the language pledge would mean living two months without meaningful conversation, was only in some ways unfounded. On the one hand, with such rudimentary communication skills, it seemed hard to show any personality, and many of my attempts at joking seemed to fall completely flat. I would liken the experience to talking in instant messages. Not being able to attain that highest level of nuanced communication often felt frustrating and a bit lonely. On the other hand, the content and level of conversation, after the first few weeks, was no longer limited to simple matters like food or weather. Discussing ideas, telling stories, and even debating, all became feasible. Life under the language pledge was not without rewarding conversation.
PiB has, not unjustifiably, a reputation for its intensity. I was a little concerned about this going into the program, and indeed the workload was quite heavy. At times it felt impossible to master such large volumes of material in such short periods of time. I think that in some ways, though, this may be the best way to learn Chinese. While it may have been impossible for me to fully meet the high expectations of third year PiB – to remember all the vocabulary, characters, and grammar structures – I think I gained a lot by trying. Lest I make PiB sound like a labor camp, I should say that life at PiB was actually quite pleasant. While weekdays were essentially dedicated to academic work, after a while I developed a routine, which allowed me to work more efficiently and sometimes find a bit of free time during the week. Additionally, weekends were blissfully free to relax and explore Beijing. To any future Light Fellows, I wholeheartedly recommend Princeton in Beijing. This program is well worth the effort.
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