The Dumb Laowai

NOTES

1 yuan or kuai (like dollar/buck) is approximately US$.125. Eight to a dollar. Even so, the largest denomination is 100Y ($12.50). Since most things are cheap, this works out pretty well, but large ticket items (cell phones, computers, rent) can be a real pain. I’m not sure there are checking accounts, but if there are, they’re rare. It’s common to see someone haul out a bag of cash and start counting 50-100 bills for some purchases. This has led to many establishments keeping a bill counting machine on the counter, something you rarely see in the U.S.

However, since most things are very cheap, a large number of purchases are less than 5 yuan. We have paper bills for 1 yuan and even ½ yuan (6.25¢). We have coins for each of these as well as for 1/100 yuan (.125¢), which are basically garbage because, other than large grocery stores, no one charges in smaller increments than 1 yuan and there is no sales tax to create odd amounts. The smallest coins are often given as taped stacks of ten and are apparently made from aluminum. You can go weeks and never see a coin.

Pull tabs are still top of the line as far as canned beverages go. Streets are generally very clean because of large numbers of sanitation workers, so tabs aren’t a real problem.

I literally have 87 channels and can understand only two, both of them BBC news programs which come in garbled and go out for hours at a time. (As I write this, BBC World has been stuck on the same picture for over 4 hours.) Other channels are split between cultural programming (one had the Chinese Army band attempting to play jazz) and bad warlord movies.

The Chinese water diet I’ve developed consists of walking 1 mile to the restaurant. On arrival, I am so dehydrated; I immediately down 2 bottles of water. When dinner comes, I’m pretty full already, so I just nibble. If this works, I’m headed for another problem though.

Stores don’t carry clothes in my size, or anywhere close. It took me 4 trips and some uncomfortable trials to get underwear that fit. If I have to look for pants, I’m in trouble. I’ve seen 2-3 guys my size, but can’t even ask them where they shop. For guys, that’s an awkward conversation in any language, much less a new one.

Universal trait – if someone doesn’t understand your language; speak more slowly and much more loudly. I think I’m going deaf.

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PART 2

I managed to get home with my bike and I both in 1 piece. It wasn’t pretty. It was like trying to imitate your favorite athlete. You’ve studied them, you know the moves and the timing and you’re sure you can do it. It just looks easy.

Well, I had been studying bicycle riders for days, first in awe, then admiration, then in the cocksure belief that I could do just as well. I knew the moves! I could do this!

Just back the horse up there cowboy!

The last time I had ridden, I owned a touring bike built for speed. Several of us would head out on a weekend for a pleasant 20-30 mile jaunt, maintaining a good steady clip until we stopped for lunch and headed back. This was going to be a little different. Beijingers bicycle like they walk, at a good leisurely pace (I’ve learned this helps with the heat stroke issues I’d been facing.) As I soon learned, all of those slick weaving moves I swore I had down pat were much more difficult than I had imagined when performed at a very slow speed. As any rider knows, the slower you go, the more unsteady you become. I looked like I was having a seizure. I got a lot of dirty looks and a couple of mild curses (I think), but no physical confrontations or actual collisions. By the time I got home, I was shaking from a mild nervous attack and trying to figure out the best way to sell the bike.

The ego has a great way of healing itself. It can cause us to rationalize and minimize any failures and embarrassments we’ve suffered. We just go out and suffer them again and again until we get it right. I consider it to be one of our finest traits. We don’t give up. Granted, sometimes we would be better off if we had quit early, but on the whole I think we’re far better off.

That is as noble an explanation as I can come up with for rising the next day, showering and running out to my bike, ready to conquer the world. In all actuality, I’ll have to admit that sometimes I’m just too dumb to be scared. There were far fewer evil glares this time and no curses that I heard. I was actually starting to feel pretty good about this. It was definitely time to go customize the bike. I know I’ve explained the short ownership expectancy of bikes in Beijing, but there were simply a few things that could not be overlooked.

When I was riding earlier in life, and I’m sure it’s still the same, no self respecting guy would ever have a basket on the front of his bike. That was the kind of thing that would get you beaten up when I was a kid. As an adult, for whom the bike is a primary means of transportation and not simply recreational, a basket becomes almost mandatory. Besides, if everyone else has one, how can I look like a dweeb?

After some searching I found a bicycle shop with a full line of accessories. After five minutes of trying to make the owner understand that I wanted a black one, his son rescued me and figured it out. I realized then that Pops had known for some time just what I wanted. He was trying to pawn off an older, uglier basket and now even offered to spray paint it black. His son produced a much cooler (I can’t believe I said that) black basket from an unseen stack. I’m sure Pops expressed his displeasure later.

Junior headed outside to put the basket on my bike, leaving me trying to explain to Pops that I needed a new seat. He insisted that mine was fine and it took another five minutes, during which I rubbed my posterior and made painful noises, to get the point across. Twenty years of cushy living and far too many pounds are not conducive to perching on a tiny racing seat for hours at a time, riding over bumpy streets. I didn’t want to be sleeping on my stomach again that night.

By the time the basket and seat were installed, I was so pleased that I let junior mime me into buying a water bottle holder. I should have thought of that myself, but by now, I was pretty pleased with life and not easily discouraged. However, I was going to very disappointed if this bike didn’t stay with me for at least a month. With all of these customizations, I had $40 in the thing.

Thank God for menus with pictures on them. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s better than many. It’s only failed me once so far (twice if you count a mouth burning spicy dish I had). What looked like an appetizing deli platter of meats and vegetables arrived at my table uniformly dirt brown, including the sliced, hard boiled eggs. As near as I can tell, I had ordered beef tongue, large mushy mushrooms, tripe (stomach), something tofuish, and hard boiled eggs, all cooked and seasoned the same bad way. On the upside, the dumplings were fantastic and I had accidentally ordered two beers. Just when I thought I was making some progress. At least the floor show was entertaining.

As I was picking at my food, I saw a large cat working its way through the restaurant, headed for the front door. Several of the staff were chasing it, making noises to chase it out, or so I thought. Just as I was thinking I had witnessed a hilarious argument for an old stereotype, one of the waiters returned from outside holding the cat far in front of him and deposited it in a store room. I’m not sure if it was a pet or an entrée, but I’m a little nervous about the “point to a picture” method now.

All unpleasantness aside, I will be going back to that restaurant. The next day I realized I had lost my passport and went all over town, retracing my steps. When I returned to my room, I walked toward a small bar I been in the night before and, there on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, was the manager, looking for me. He was showing everyone a spare picture I had in the passport holder, trying to find me. He saved me a trip to the police station and to the embassy as well as a lot of money. I’ll eat a lot of bad meals to repay that kind of service.

I left the restaurant and walked to the small bar I just mentioned. Bars are very rare here, except for a few dedicated to westerners and a few nightclubs closer to the center of town. Most drinking is done in restaurants after a meal. I ran across 2 Englishmen I had met before and seen at the restaurant. As we drank, I agreed to show them entertainment area for the district (2-3 bars on 1 street).

Lush (name of a bar) is geared to western students. It’s a pleasant, small, wood floored place to get a meal and some drinks, usually before heading out to the more hardcore bars for live music. Not being heavily into mosh pits, I’d delayed hitting those yet. Lush is on second floor and looks out over the street. However, it took me two days and several trips around the block looking for the entry before I discovered the secret. You must enter the book store downstairs and go to the second level to get to the bar. The bathroom is located in the middle of the bookstore. Since the book store upper level closes at midnight and the bar is open 24/7, they simply hang tarps across the rows of books and position a security guard to monitor drunks answering the call.

There are a lot of businesses in similar situations. It’s not unusual to go through 1 or even 2 businesses to get to the one you want. I’ve gone through both an internet café and a travel agency to get to 2 different pool halls, neither one of which had exterior signage, which may explain why they were deserted. With the Chinese love of large, colorful signs, this makes no sense to me in most cases. One was out of luck because there was nowhere on the building left for another sign, but the others must still be developing marketing skills.

As I walked into the bar with my British companions, I began explaining some of the unique features. They had arrived 2 days earlier and made me look like an old timer. It was the most confident I had felt in a week. Now, as I said, Lush is geared toward western students, with western food, beers, alcohol by the shot, etc. It still retains some flavor of the east though.

As night falls, the lighting changes from bright to a dim rose colored glow. This pleasant change in atmosphere is accomplished by a waiter going through the entire room with a stool and a box of rose light bulbs, manually changing every one. Low tech method, but very effective I guess. On request, large hookahs (water pipes) are available with a variety of scented and flavored smoke. It turned out to be very mild, flavored, Egyptian tobacco, but the image can still be startling.

The biggest shock for a newcomer involves the bathroom. If you’re lucky enough for the bar to be slow, your bartender may inform you beforehand that the bathroom is unisex. I’ve gotten some very amusing looks from several women when exiting the stall they’re waiting for. It becomes pretty humorous when you’re the shocker and not the shockee. As you wash your hands, you’re able to listen to their second shock upon entering the stall.

Eastern style toilets are ceramic inserts in the floor, basically a fancy hole in the ground. No one has thought to put hand grips or rails on the walls, so for those of us unaccustomed to this type of commode, the next few minutes can be quite daunting. Throw in the wet floor customary to many bars and no small number of individuals suddenly find they really didn’t need the bathroom after all.

Once the highlights had been explained, my two new acquaintances and I started drinking. This was pretty standard, every day stuff – American or European beers and liquors and amusing company. They each had spent significant time in Hong Kong years before and were still in shock at Beijing. They had expected something like Hong Kong North, but I believe, and they confirmed, that Beijing is pretty unique. As we talked of their travels I was treated to the best bit of British understatement I have ever heard. As he extolled the pleasures of Australia, and especially the diving, I recalled Bill Bryson’s book from the previous week and started listing all of the things that could kill you there. He replied, as casually as any Australian ever could, “Oh, the whites (GREAT WHITE SHARKS) will nip you, sure, but…..” I never got the end of the sentence through my laughter. There should be an award for these kinds of guys.

Toward the end of the evening, we decided to try something very foreign to us. Absinthe is a 110 proof liquor made from the wormwood plant in parts of Europe. I had only read about it and some of its strong effects. It’s been illegal in the U.S. and most of Europe for a very long time, but here in front of us was a bottle from the Czech Republic. We had to try it. It’s interesting to see it prepared, poured through a sugar cube and set aflame for a few moments, but the thrill is the effect. A small sip of Absinthe goes down like silk, with a taste vaguely similar to Sambucca or Ouzo. However, you don’t get the slightest sense of drinking alcohol. For a split second I was thinking how disappointed I was after hearing about it for many years when my entire upper body got warm and melted. The effect didn’t last very long, but it was quite impressive. I think I see why it’s been illegal. This stuff could be quite addictive.

We staggered to a taxi and our dorm rooms and I felt both a little guilty and lucky at once. My room was very near the entrance and I could sleep in but they had to walk up 6 flights and get up for class in the morning. Yeah, life’s not fair, but I wasn’t complaining this time.