Last weekend was Dragon Boat Festival and what better way to celebration the protest-by-drowning of a national hero than dressing up in ridiculously gaudy headscarves and attempting a time-honored Chinese sport!
My dragon boat experience can be broken down chronologically of Chinese eccentricity and general mismanagement.
5:30AM: I woke up at an hour that should be reserved for soldiers, mothers, and other combat professionals.
6:30AM: Those reckless enough to attempt dragon boat racing headed downtown towards coffee. Funny, how I didn’t start drinking that potent life-support elixir until I move to a place that requires a taxi to reach.
7:50AM: Packs of expats converged on the Portman Ritz-Carlton, the designated meeting spot. Somehow sculpted mash potato mountains and strategically blinking lights used for alien communication should have somehow been involved in this process. It might have been more successful.
8:10AM: People in pastel pink appear among the crowd carrying cryptic signs that read “Bus 2” and “Bus 7”.
8:17AM: After realizing that we had to approach each bus representative to determine if we were on their list, we waited under the sign for Bus 6 until everyone else figured it out and debated what concentration of “expert” the stragglers were that they were able to receive their Chinese residency visa.
8:37AM: On our bus we are given event t-shirts, which turned out to be XXXL white polo shirts with the sponsors’ logos ironed on the back.
8:50AM: After the amused furor over the polo shirts died down, we were given our matching team zebra -print silk scarves.
8:52AM: We spent the next twenty minutes acting out every possible technique to wear our team colors: Hee Haw neckerchief; Rosie Rivet bandana; bee bop pony tail tie; train robber face mask; blind fold...
9:15AM: After passing buses with Team Sorbet Swirl and Team Tiny Pink Flowers, we decided to embrace the zebra.
9:17AM: The method of zebra-pride is finally decided: ode to Olivia Newton-John headband in “Physical”.
9:30AM: We reached the combination of Disneyland and Waco compound where our race was held. Boating mass chaos began.
9:48AM: Mass chaos continues. Boat leaders were frantically waving flags while nobody paid attention. Life jackets were donned that were either too large to fit the person or too small to keep the wearer afloat. Olympian-sized female rowers were scared out of the canal.
10:28AM: The schedule said that we would be learning the traditional techniques of dragon boat racing. Who knew Richard Simmons got his moves from the exercises involved in warming up for dragon boat racing. I discovered a copyright infringement lawsuit waiting to happen.
10:40AM: Laurel and Hardy and The Three Stooges could learn something from our disorganized organization in lining up in two straight, balanced lines before actually stepping into the boat. Eighteen completely clueless novices with bright yellow life jackets and paddles pulled and jostled each other forward and backward in line.
11:15AM: We finally jumped into the suspiciously flimsy and nervously old wooden dragon boat. Somehow we manage to accomplish this feat without tipping and without sinking.
11:17AM: With a fellow teacher’s ten-year-old cousin manning the oversized drum, we practiced the highly complicated paddling procedure while not knocking anyone overboard or unconscious. Dragon boat racing is literally sprinting in a canoe. The object is to paddle as hard as possible as fast as possible. Ideally, the drummer keeps the beat to let the paddlers know when to dip the oars, but in reality we were all at the mercy of the person four inches in front of us and four inches behind.
11:28AM: DRAGON BOAT RACE BEGAN!
11:36AM: The race ended.
We didn’t win, but the German team was really scary and big. While I do not have professional dragon boat racing in my future, the event was another in a long line of quirky Chinese adventures.
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