The Dumb Laowai

Throughout the warmer months, it’s advisable to stick to lighter colored shirts and preferably white t-shirts. Just a couple of short trips will leave you thoroughly soaked with sweat. Eventually you’ll need to sit down and cool off, preferably indoors. If you manage to dry out, you’ll find that any other color will be decorated with numerous white salt stains. It’s an interesting look. The other option is to take multiple shirts. I’ve started throwing a couple of extra shirts in my backpack for the comfort.

I’ve become much attuned to the wind. No matter what I’m doing, the moment I detect the slightest breeze I stop and face into it for the relief. When this happens, I lose all sense of surroundings and occasionally create a “dumb laowai” moment. I will turn my bicycle in traffic and stop. I will stop on the sidewalk and turn to face startled strangers. I’ll put down my kuaizi (chopsticks) and stand up in a crowded sidewalk café. I really zone out in these moments and nothing else matters.

A compass became a must recently. It took me hours to find in what is billed as the world’s largest mall. I believe the claims. It took me several hours to get through 3 of the 6 floors, walking non-stop. I searched dozens of wilderness and sporting themed stores with no luck. Apparently all of those hiking clothes, boots and backpacks are merely fashion statements here. Anyway, once you’ve lost your way through the mazes of a backstreet market extending for blocks, you realize that a compass may be the only way your family will ever see you again.

I was beginning to become jaded and unconcerned regarding people’s driving habits when I found I still had the capacity for bowel-loosening terror. Night driving is still good for a couple of extra points on the blood pressure because street lighting is not a high priority in blue collar areas. It still amazes me how drivers can consistently miss each other by an inch or two, but doing this at night must involve some voodoo I don’t understand. This was compounded recently when I took a taxi home and was suddenly reminded that they had started tearing up my street for resurfacing. I’m riding in the front seat of a tiny taxi, next to a driver who apparently thinks we’re in a video game, straining to see anything or anyone (there were still plenty of bicycles and pedestrians about), when we turn onto my torn up street and he begins to randomly dodge every bump and hole he can see, as does every other driver. Previous to this, I had gotten to where I could anticipate swerving drivers, but now everyone was juking and jiving all over the place. It reminded me of going to the racetrack as a kid to see the figure 8 races. Occasionally they would turn off the lights and the crashes were spectacular. Being in the middle is nowhere near as much fun!

Caveat emptor (let the buyer beware) applies here as much as anywhere I’ve ever seen, maybe more. Now, there are markets selling knockoff products and pure garbage, but I’m talking about everyday little things from honest merchants. You really have to be extra discriminating and make no assumptions, especially since you can’t read the labels. I recently came back from the store and found that the manufacturer of my 10 pack of toilet paper had cut one very interesting corner – he had decided to forego the use of cardboard tube inserts. Every roll was solid paper to the very center. That was definitely one thing I never thought I would have to look for while shopping!

A day earlier I had awakened with a head cold. Since I haven’t yet adopted the local habit of plugging a nostril and letting it fly, I stopped at a small street kiosk to pick up some tissues. I knew what I was looking for, a package of 10-14 small, pocket size tissue packs. I’d seen them several times. I was pretty uncomfortable by now, so when I saw them on the shelf I quickly grabbed them, paid and went outside. The individual packs were a little strange to me and it took a little experimentation before I could get one open… to find that I now owned 2 dozen panty liners. To make matters worse, I couldn’t wait and had to go directly back in and explain what I really wanted. That got a chuckle or two, but no refund. I’m sure that “Dumb Laowai” was the topic at dinner that evening.

I had been researching and planning this trip for eight months. I got a full physical and made two trips to a travel immunologist for seven shots and several prescriptions. I had shots for Tetanus, Typhoid, Polio, Hepatitis A & B, Diphtheria, Meningitis, et al. I had turned my head and coughed, given blood, peed in a cup and assumed the position. I put together a first aid kit second to none; I had gauze, tape, band-aids, antiseptics, bowel loosening and firming treatments, ace bandages, Ben-gay, Chap stick, allergy tablets, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, pain-killing patches, malaria drugs, temporary dental fillings, and even my own pack of syringes and suture needles. I had spent a couple thousand dollars getting all of this in order. But do you think I packed one dollar’s worth of decongestant or cough medication for the common cold? Of course not!

Constantly coughing and soiling tissues, I went on a fruitless hunt. Eventually I had to give up and return to my bed. I will try traditional Chinese medicines at some point, but I wasn’t about to use gestures to be prescribed herbs I neither knew nor knew how to use. I think I’ll wait until I can at least ask “Take how much, take how often, and take how?”

Before retiring to bed, I realized I was going to have to remedy another lack of planning. I have always been a voracious reader. I would normally go through 2-3 books each week, reading instead of watching television and even reading while eating, much less the standard throne reading. Weight and space being an issue, I didn’t pack any reading materials, sure that I could pick some up here. It wasn’t quite as easy as I thought.

To discover where I could buy books in English, I actually had to buy a guidebook in English, called “The Insider’s Guide to Beijing.” I’ll get a lot of use from it. It’s not designed to help the short term tourist but rather, the long term resident with information on everything from tenant’s rights to summer camps for children. You may think this sounds like an extreme measure just to find some reading material but remember, I can’t even read the Yellow Pages, if there is such a thing. I quickly found a referral for a good book store and jumped in a taxi.

After only two weeks, I’ve started thinking in local economic terms. I wouldn’t think twice about $250 for a camera, because it was a price I was accustomed to. But I became irritated when a taxi fare was 25 Yuan rather than 20 ($3.12 vs. $2.40). I had never thought twice about giving the driver $10 to get home in the states, even though it was less than 2 miles, but here I was contemplating cents when planning my trips. Since I had a rough idea of the bookstore’s location from my map, I knew it would be no small fare, but I was desperate. I was not going to spend a few days in bed with nothing to read. I’m sure there were some interesting sights during the 30 minute trip, but I’m afraid I spent most of my time staring at the meter, mumbling “Come on, enough already!” I was in shock when we finally arrived and I had to pay 48 Yuan ($6).

My $6 planted me at the edge of a 3 block long, upscale shopping district that was blocked off to cars. Normally this would be the time for some interesting exploration, but I wasn’t in the mood for a pleasant stroll and headed off with tunnel vision. Less than a block later, I was joined by an attractive young couple who spoke excellent English and we chatted amiably for a time before they made their soft pitch – the infamous “Beijing Art Scam.” This is usually initiated with something like “We’re art students and our master has put together an exhibition of works; would you like to see them?” There are numerous variations, but the general idea is to get you isolated and pressure you to buy worthless art at what seems like a good price for a “masterpiece.”

Fortunately I had read quite a bit about this scam and caught on immediately. They were persistent and I was irritable, so I’m afraid I went right for the jugular. I said that I was sure they could tell that I was quite sick and that I wanted to get home. When they went for the second pitch, I started coughing violently and deposited a large amount of phlegm at their feet. I have never done this before in my life. Public spitting is fairly common here but I thought that a westerner doing it might get the point across. It was even more effective than I had hoped. I got the idea that if I had tried to follow them, I wouldn’t have been able to catch them. I continued the search for my books.

A hundred yards up the street I spotted a bookstore, swore and continued on. The last thing I wanted at that point was a “Foreign Book Store.” I wanted a regular bookstore, damn it! It took several steps before I realized that, even though the sign was printed in English, “foreigner” meant me. (Cut me some slack; I don’t think very clearly when I’m sick.)

It was an impressive place, with seven floors of books in a variety of languages including, Thank God, English! (3rd floor) I’ve noticed that the Chinese are generally very serious people when it comes to reading, learning and self-improvement. Book store aisles are often impassable due to dozens of readers seated on the floor in sections such as sociology, history, economics, etc. The management of this store apparently thought that I was the same. I love history and a few other serious topics, but all I wanted was some good escapist reading; spies, battles, aliens, whatever – something I wouldn’t feel guilty about reading and forgetting. After searching several aisles and grudgingly selecting a couple of historical studies, I finally found the popular fiction (trash) section. I don’t think they have ever heard of a best-seller list, but a few looked like they would fill the time in bed and I was happy. I reverted back to my other economic mindset and didn’t think twice about paying 66 Yuan ($8.25) apiece for the books, each more than the taxi fare which had made me grit my teeth.

Life here is a series of contrasts; a donkey hauling bricks to a 1,000 unit modern apartment complex, Dell computers being delivered on the back of a bicycle cart, or a taxi driver talking on a cell phone that costs two months wages. At times I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this, but then I pray I never do. I hope I never get jaded and just pass on by. I think it’s much more stimulating to see things through the eyes of a child, or in my case, a dumb laowai.