On Women and Bags (It's Not What You Think) and All Things Chinese

Fury and tact.  One I feel, the other I will now attempt to muster up.

My three-hour layover in Beijing was not something I looked forward to.  It's a long story, but let's just say today I was indignant because of the treatment of the airline en route to Beijing by one of China's airlines.  Yes, I am one of those travel snobs.  I've not yet mastered the art of lowering my expectations from airlines where my status is supposed to make travel more pleasurable.  Because it was Air China that said "No" to things most other airlines says "Yes, of course" to flying into China I was already seething.  Cue three hours in Beijing where nothing is open (I landed at 5am) I plunk myself down in a chair ready to vent.  In e-mails, on Facebook, writing, I wanted to air my angst.  Having done so, I wanted a good cup of tea, some food, and to browse the news online.  Of those six items on my list, I got two: e-mail and food.

I get my access code for free Wi-fi by giving some large Chinese organization (government?) my passport number.  I wonder after the fact if that was a good idea (will they now track all of what I read/write/browse?), will they have my passwords?  Am I being paranoid?  Yes, likely to all.  The tea is Lipton (no), the peaches hard, the sandwiches iffy, so I go for bottled water and ... what are these?

Wife cakes.  Cakes made of wife?  Hang on.  The characters actually read "old bag cakes."  Here we go again.
My husband finds it hilarious (because he knows finding humor in this irks me) I struggle not to refer to him in public in Japan as my lord person, the word Japanese women commonly use to refer to their husbands.  I've asked him not to refer to me as his inside-the-house, the typical word for wife in Japanese.  I've shared with him our son is allowed to refer to me as honorable bag, but he's not actually to do so.  Not in my presence.  I make a quick mental note.  At least in Japanese mothers are honorable bags.  In Chinese, evidently, it's not the mother who's an old (but not honorable?) bag, but wife.  When did women become bags?  (Note:  no typo here.  The word is bag and not hag.)

Is it because we carry bags?  We were gatherers when our men were hunters back in the day, and the bags we carried then turned into our purses today?  Surely not.  Are we kangaroos, carrying our young inside our "bags"?  Is this a good thing, being thought of as a vessel, a holder if items, precious and sacred?  Do bags symbolize our wombs?  Am I reading too much into this?

I have the time to contemplate all this because from Beijing's airport I cannot access Facebook.  The links from Washington Post, CNN, and other major news outlets also don't work.  Is the Chinese mega-machine that is airport-government-and more controling what I have access to?  Wanting a good cup of tea but not willing to settle for Lipton, I make my way back to the small food stand and decide the old bag cakes warrant a photo, if for no other reason, my husband will get a kick out of this.  I take out my phone from my bag (my most honorable), open the glass door where the bag-cakes are kept cool, and snap a photo.  "Sorry, please.  No photo," the young woman standing next to the case tells me.  I look around.  This display of food is the only one with a guard.  Why no photo?  Because I'm surely not the only foreigner who thinks food should not be referred to as old, or baglike, or made from parts of a spouse, thus I'm forbidden to take the photo.  Someone like me will surely post it on Facebook once they get to a place where accessing social media is allowed.
"Uh huh," I tell the pretty, young, professional, but clearly intimidated guard-of-all-things-pastry and walk away, thinking "If you really don't want me to have this photo you should be asking me to delete it," or hide those old-bag/wife cakes.  But, that's the Air China flight fury residue talking.

Remembering back to the security line where only non-Chinese were taken aside for a pat-down I decide this is China.  When in China cakes are wife-bags, internet access is limited, the country where one would think I would have access to wonderful tea is clearly not the case, it simply is what it is.

Some day I will ask a Chinese friend, lightheartedly mind you with no judgment attached, what those old-bag-wife cakes are all about, but today I'll post my indignation and resolve to avoid at least all things Air China and leave it at that.

Why human translators/interpreters will always have work

As I sit at my desk pounding away at my keyboard translating Mayor Futoshi Toba's book, I'm struck over and over again of my role.  Mayor Toba is the author.  I'm the translator.  I'm responsible for putting his words into another language, conveying meaning, context, content, words, and feeling the way he wrote it.  My words need to mirror his words.  On the one hand I'm honored by the responsibility.  On the other hand, it's a helluva burden to carry.

Except not all translators operate the same way.  I once worked with an interpreter who felt it was his role, nay responsibility, to interject his opinion into the conversation.  (It's not.)  We had long discussions into the night, and ultimately I gave up.  Go knock yourself out, buddy. 

Then there are those who simply do not know how to use interpreters and translators.  I once told a group of people using bilingual staff they were "burning through your interpreters."
"No we're not," was their reply.  "We've used interpreters before, Amya."  I almost said, "Not well, evidently," except my phone rang and I took that as a sign that was my time to leave both the conversation and the group.  (It's a long story.)

Ultimately, how well words and text are conveyed from one language to another is the responsibility of the one repeating the words, and the one hiring that "repeater."  It goes both ways.

Which is why when I see signs like this, I can only shake my head in wonderment. 

Is this intentional?  Not being a dog person, I can't tell if this is some inside joke, or if the owners of this store selling doggie goods thought they were being smart, stylish, and catchy.

Right next door to Dog-Wiz is this store.

I'm not sure what is says about me that I can't say whether "Scorn Jazz" is a type of legitimate jazz style.  Or, perhaps being scorned at a jazz cafe is a fetish trend in Japan?

The conversation I had regarding the jacket worn by this man clearly makes my point of the day.  (WARNING:  R-rated language coming.)

I saw him in the group of about 100 or so people gathered at this event, mostly because the foreigners in the group were stopping him, making him turn around, reading his jacket and then either giving him a thumbs up (usually preceded by guffawing) or shaking their heads.  I had honestly put this man out of my mind until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"You're Amya, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Can you tell me?  Is this jacket, uh, 'bad'?"  He turns around.  I see this.

Oh my.  Oh my, my, my, my.  Oh, wow.  What do I say?  What can I possibly say?  He turns over his shoulder to look at me.  "Answer him," I think to myself.  I need to answer him.
"Well, uh...." and I've got nothing.  Nada.  Honestly.  I don't know what to say.
"That bad?"
"Uh, well, hmmm.  I wouldn't wear this outside of Japan," is finally decide upon, but then again, I wouldn't wear this in Japan either.
"Can you tell me what it means?"
No.  I can't.  I can't translate this.  Again, I've got nothing. 
"I don't know what to say," and I decide to fold.  "I don't know how to translate this."
"It's bad, huh?"
"Yeah.  It's bad." I also decide to be honest.
"Okay.  Thanks."  And, with that, I'm saved.  He walks away, but I decide what I've just seen must be recorded, and I snap a photo.

Not checking with a native speaker before naming a store or putting words on a jacket is not a problem exclusive to Japan.  I've certainly google-translated a sentence before and then used it.  The point here is that native speakers, those who truly get the nuanced meaning behind what's being conveyed cannot be replaced by machines.  All this to say, you translators and interpreters out there who know your stuff, can walk the walk head held high, you will continue to have work.  Finding that work is another matter entirely.