Breaking Free

by Jeffrey Vonk

  Then, early in the morning, at twenty past five to be precise, fresh air welcomes me to Beijing, previously known as Peking. The Chinese hostess that comes to pick up the young British man that I met on the train, warns me to carefully watch my money. She goes on to explain that thieves will easily recognize me as a tourist due to my big nose. Gee, any other compliments you want to make? I think to myself while frowning. I am sure my massive backpack, blond hair and blue eyes will go completely unnoticed!

  As we go our separate ways, it suddenly hits me that I’m entirely by myself in a foreign country far away from anything familiar. Standing in the middle of the street, I can no longer rely on the safety of the train, yet it is comforting to know what can happen when you are aimlessly going about, for it doesn’t take long for me to stumble upon a random hostel, where I immediately check-in.

  Getting some cash at a nearby back, the receipt from the ATM announces my new life as a millionaire in China: one US dollar equals ten yuan, ten US dollars equals a hundred, and a hundred US dollars equals a thousand yuan. Long live capitalism! Completely exhausted by sitting in a crappy train for weeks I sink into my bed, an actual bed, even one that I can finally stretch out in and catch up the lost hours of sleep.

  * * *

  It is unsure whether or not there really are nine million bicycles in Beijing, but at this moment in history, there really are over seventeen million inhabitants living in the capital city of China. You would think that with so many people, the city would be in disarray, and it is. However, the main streets do not display much disorder as they are neat and tidy. All day long, women with facemasks against the pollution, clean up the streets with brooms made of twigs. Most tourists’ gazes focus solely on the well-maintained parks and buildings. No poverty to be detected. On smogless days it looks very clean and modern. Yet, behind all the glory of misleading facades, real life begins to seep through the exterior in the back streets and narrow alleys. Mud and food waste fill dirt roads and houses seem about to collapse. Underfed locals in worn-out clothing watch me from the corner of their eyes. Out of shame I feel incapable of snapping some shots. Hungry stares of children haunt me; the look in their eyes presumably as hollow as their stomachs. In the suburbs everyone looks strung-out; conditions are worse than ever and not all of them will reach a good old age.

  While intentionally getting lost I roam about the city. Traffic signs are unreadable. Even with the Chinese language course I took, most people have no idea what I am trying to say. The intonation of syllables is of extreme importance in Mandarin and unfortunately, I do not reach a lot further beyond “Ni hao!” Lost in thought I chance upon Tiananmen Square. Some of you will probably recall images of the demonstration that ended violently in 1989. Several students ask politely if they can practice their English, and although it’s not my first language I like to believe I speak it fluently. Others boldly request a picture, which is as flattering as it is amusing.

  With twenty degrees Celsius it’s almost a fifty-degree difference in temperature from a few days ago, so I was sweating my ass off. Opposite the square stand the imposing walls of the Forbidden City. Parallel with the walls pink-blossomed trees give off an incredible sweet smell, providing a gentle contrast to the many brusque and dignified looking dragon statues. Above the arch-shaped entrance is a huge painting of the Communist dictator Mao Zedong. If leaders from the old dynasties had known that it would have come to this, they would have burned their empires down to the ground. No less than fifty million deaths to his name and here he is worshipped like a god. Some revolution, eh?

  In spite of it all, it is great to snoop around. Deep red walls are provocative, as are the mighty, curved roofs of palatial architecture, symbolizing their power and early advancements. Since childhood I have always dreamt of visiting this palace, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site for obvious reasons. It is truly a privilege to stand in the inner courts of a place with such a rich history.

  My following experience will forever be linked to the Forbidden City because it all started within its walls. Two students from Xian invite me over for a cup of tea, a common habit in Chinese culture. Having a weakness for Asian girls I agree to join. They are in town to visit some friends and when I inquire where those friends are they quickly answer: “At home!” Fair enough. Through a jumble of streets we keep on walking until we enter a pharmacy. At the end of the store, a spiraling stairway takes us to the next floor where the magic begins. Wallpaper and candles make for a flashy entrance. A charming lady in a tight cheongsam lures us into a small, secret chamber. The three of them are all very talkative but I have no idea what they are saying. Seemingly in admiration, they shower me with compliments. Within the luxurious chamber the charming lady pours at least thirty tiny cups of tea, all with a different herb. This goes on for an hour and a half, and I am having the time of my life. Upon leaving, the girls suggest I treat them for this day and ask me to take care of the bill. How expensive can it be? Without any suspicion, I pay the bill and once outside we go our separate ways.

  Walking back to my hostel I come across a bank, which has a sign on the sidewalk with the exchange rates. As I had just arrived, I had not fully done the math yet. Then it suddenly hits me. In my mind I return to the tea place and see the credit card sticker on the door. Recalling the private chamber and awkward praises I received, I realize that I had been scammed. I gave those girls an entire month of wages!

  Back at the hostel, I feel like an idiot and end up having a restless night. Clothed in shame I tell my unfortunate event to an Irish tourist in my dormitory – I just had to get it off my chest. I cannot believe my ears when he tells me that two days ago they swindled him, too! Okay, this means war. With tingling veins and my blood boiling, I forge a strategy to catch those little rats. It is payback time.

  Early the next day I position myself on the side of Tiananmen Square, disguised in a different outfit, hiding in the crowd and slightly earlier from when we met the previous day. I am thoroughly convinced they collaborate with the teahouse, gathering and scamming new victims every day. Now the goal is to catch them red handed, confront them and demand my hard-earned cash back.

  As predicted, the fake students from Xian show up. The feeling that surfaces upon seeing the thieves is indefinable. Feeling like Jason Bourne himself I shadow them for twenty minutes traversing the square all the way into the Forbidden City. Keeping a distance of about thirty feet I have to be patient until they strike.

  Scouting the area for a new victim one of them looks straight into my blood-red eyes, grabs her friend and they start running as fast as they can. However, those little paws are no match for my Dutch legs and it doesn’t take long for me to catch up and grab them by the necks, a firm grip with my relatively big hands. When I ask for an explanation on why they are trying to avoid me, they start screaming their lungs out. Great, now a large group of bystanders encircle us, which includes some authority figures. Oddly enough, they keep their distance and just stand there watching. The tallest Chinese around starts threatening me but I am still a head taller so I ignore him completely. After bystanders listen to my explanation everyone is on their way again, as if nothing had ever happened. Those Chinese… I tell you.

  Then we walk back through the Beijing labyrinths and into the teahouse. Kicking in the door certainly stirs a commotion. When I confront the manager he is not easily persuaded, undoubtedly protecting his employees and not giving in to unmasking his clandestine operations. Threatening to call the police helps, and the adventure ends with getting a refund, or better put, I gain what was rightfully mine to begin with. In spite of all the evidence, they keep denying my accusations. They are probably scamming unsuspecting tourists to this very day.

  Well-known and lesser-known buildings are all trapped in scaffolding. Renovation works are in full force. We are still more than two years away from the Olympic Games that will be held in 2008, but as of yet the country is overrun with billboards and all kinds of advertisements promoting the e
vent. For now, one can still obtain illegal DVDs on the street for peanuts, and together with other tourists we watch them in the hostel. Some of the guests have already been traveling for months. I envy them, still unaware that I will greatly exceed most of them. At the reception of the hostel everyone laughs at me, for the other day I accidentally chewed on a red pepper during supper and steam came out of my ears!

  Personnel from the hostel show me a good deal for a guided tour of the Great Wall but when they disclose that it’s only a five-hour hike I turn it down. It would be a shame to skimp this two-thousand-year-old structure, one of the wonders of antiquity and, once again, well-deserved UNESCO material. Unintentionally I venture forth as a lone wolf. If I want something I go for it, even if no one cares to join.

  An ultra-modern subway drops me off at a bus station. Well, actually it is not really a station, but more like the whole length of the street. I jump onto a bus which I think is going in the right direction. Climbing over sacks, bags and boxes there is exactly one seat left at the very back. Smelly odors roam freely. The hired help from the driver collects money from the passengers. You have to give the kid some credit, as he has to remember exactly how much change each passenger should get – that skill alone should hopefully get him a better job in the future. Along the way, one can’t help notice the number of statues of Mao. Why do they keep the memory of that miserable beast so alive? Mass indoctrination has residents believe that he was not such a bad bloke after all.

  After the bus ride, I share a van with a handful of Chinese youngsters who have a trick up their sleeve. Arriving at our destination the boys turn out to be penniless and now the driver demands the whole sum from me alone, but I give him my share and start walking. He begins to chase me aggressively until I turn around and take a few steps toward him with an angry look on my face. No words needed. The tiny man realizes he does not stand a chance. I have compassion for some people, so I am happy to give them a tip. Too bad for this man who almost killed me in traffic with his crazy, irresponsible driving. During that ride alone I had about 36 near-death experiences, and that’s no exaggeration. Walking in the same direction the youngsters invite me to spend the night at one of their homes. Not trusting them one bit my feet keep on walking.

  About an hour later, I approach the man-made structure that I have always dreamt of visiting. As dusk falls the silhouette of my reason for being here becomes visible. Passionately anxious my heart starts beating faster until I’m finally right in front of it. With closed eyes I take a deep breath and place my left boot on the first step. Pain and sorrow penetrate my heart as if everyone from my past could see me now. I remember all those people who bullied me thinking I would never make it. Remembering all those people who said I am a nobody and a failure. Too many so-called close friends who had no faith in me, including my closest relatives. Yet here I am putting them all to shame. I feel like the king of the world. In a time before it was trendy to go to Asia and way before airline companies started throwing with insane discount deals of chartered flights, I am really standing on the Great Wall of China, and there is no living soul in the area to disturb me! Only the beautiful pheasants going about their business. Ascending the stairs with a cautious smile and a tear rolling down my cheek, I feel like I am that three-year-old boy again running away from home.

  After a long period of scaling the countless stairs, the sand on the stones grind beneath my soles. As night sets in rapidly, I prepare a place to sleep in one of the collapsed watchtowers. I blow out my tea light and contently fall asleep beneath a starry sky. At five in the morning, I am forced to pack and relocate due to an instant downpour. Yet nothing can break my spirit.

  The first curious rays of sunshine warm my face, while the birds begin to sing until the rusty mountains gain color. Days go by as I make my way along the Great Wall. The souls of tens-of-thousands of men soar before me into the lonely night sky; the men that fell during its laborious construction, their bodies gruesomely used as mortar being bricked into the wall. From Jingshanling to Simatai and beyond, this marvelous structure flows over ridges like a huge serpent. Some parts are destroyed, while other parts are reconstructed to keep tourism flowing.

  Speaking about tourism, every day I am harassed by women who stalk me, repeatedly yelling: “Teesyure, teesyure!” As days pass, I realize they are actually trying to sell me a T-shirt.

  During the walk I stumble upon four green uniforms, the guards protecting the area. Fascinated by each other we sit down to share our food, including sunflower seeds! In fact, our acquaintance is so pleasant that we spend all day together, with them teaching me several card games. When evening falls, they summon me to go down with them, as it is illegal to stay at night. Thoughtful as I am, I convince them that I only desire to make pictures of the beautiful sunset, and will follow soon. In this fashion I continue my journey for a whole week before I return to Beijing.

  * * *

  Memories last a lifetime, like the time I had to run from a swarm of bees, or the time I had to wipe my ass with an old pair of socks because there was nothing else to use. I remember the campfires, the millions of stairs, all the times when random strangers asked if they could take a picture with me, and all the travelers I met along the way and the stories they told. I have never been away from home for as long as I have now and the best thing is that I have no intention to go back. I absolutely love it!

  Massive walls were a necessity; this dynasty had to protect itself against giants and dragons that lived in those days. Something else they had for protection was a great army. Honored by their master Qin Shi Huangdi they live forever in the form of the Terracotta Army in the city of Xian. Thousands of clay action figures and not a single one bares the same resemblance to another! I never travel with a guidebook because I love to leave it up to chance; this attitude often gets you to places no one else ventures to go. The downside of this tactic is you might accidentally miss a thing or two, as I find out the hard way when I long left Xian without having seen the Terracotta Army for myself.

  A two-day train ride is next on the menu. Before I hop on I make sure to bring enough batteries for my Sony Disc-man – yes, call me old fashioned but I don’t care. My compartment has six beds this time, three on either side, one above the other. It is far from comfortable but it is the cheapest I could find.

  Upon arrival in Chengdu, I get a slap in the face by Mother Nature. I delve from an air-conditioned train straight into tropical temperatures, and the humidity causes streams of sweat to run down my back. In spite of the city’s reputation of being well travelled by foreigners, everybody is checking me out. For some reason, they cannot keep their eyes off me which is very uncomfortable. The awning of a restaurant terrace should provide shelter, or so I think.

  I feast on a big plate of tasty rice and veggies when a man approaches. Despite his unsolicited arrival he takes a chair and joins my table. Out of a black shoulder bag he conjures brochures of hotels and places to stay. Repeatedly I let this individual know that I am not interested. Later on, a police officer points out the way to the bus station, finally someone who understands my Chinese. Still being stalked by the pushy man who insists on buying my ticket, I refuse. Getting out of the bus after thirty minutes, he is still following me but this time the man maintains a proper distance, probably due to angry looks I throw at him. A rickshaw drops me off at a hostel, at last. While checking in, the man appears yet again and starts talking to staff behind the reception desk. Now it becomes clear: he tells the staff that he recommended this place and guided me here – he wants to get cash! Obviously, I came here by myself. Once explained to the staff they attempt to send him on his way. However, he has no intention to go and starts getting angry to the point of provoking me. All I can say is, do not try these tricks with someone with a short temper such as myself. I rush toward him and push him so hard he rolls across the ground of the inner courtyard. Just when I am about to lash out at him again, he runs off. Tenacious as he is, five minutes later he ret
urns at the gate and continues his preposterous act, prompting the staff of the hostel to call the police. When they arrive the rascal is long gone but the interrogation which followed paints me as if I were the guilty one here. They check my passport and gaze at my visa for so long, that it starts making me feel uncomfortable. All my information is being recorded. By the time I roll my finger through the sticky black ink for my fingerprints, I think to myself, great, just an hour in Chendu and I am already “most wanted” by the cops!

  * * *

  Spending mornings in one of the many parks is a true delight. Hordes of locals are lined up doing synchronized gymnastics, from businessmen in suits to fanatics in sweat suits. In addition, there are karaoke bars everywhere; out of tune voices know no shame. Older couples are dancing as if it were their last time and I can watch them for hours. A nearby halfway house is well known for its panda bears. Apart from frolicking and nibbling bamboo there is not a whole lot of action going on – but boy are they cute.

  Longing to see more of the third largest country in the world I hop on a bus to head towards the mountains. Idiotic bus drivers are playing with our lives by making a game out of who will arrive first. Doing so dangerously, they navigate through mountains with narrow paths and deep ravines. Little wonder why news headlines often include tourists dying due to some horrible accident in China. Miraculously we make it out alive. Traveling for a few good hours the tropical climate has dropped to uncomfortable temperatures. The streets and streams of Songpan are quaint. Overwhelmed by the serenity of the remote village a sigh of contentment is released into the cold air. That same air carries relaxing fragrances of fireplaces, one of my personal favorite smells. Unfortunately, there is a problem with the electricity and with the boiler in my hotel, so it takes five thick blankets to stay warm at night. Other guests are clattering around with candles. Despite the troubles the true purpose of being in the village presents itself the next morning.