How Sweet the Bitter Soup

by Lori Qian

  He began to make conversation, asking me what I thought of China and how I liked Guangzhou. I began to relax a little, and before I knew it, we were in Yangshuo.

  When we pulled up to my hotel, the girl who would be my guide there came out to greet me. She spoke a little English and welcomed me, calling me “Miss Lori,” just as the other guide had. The driver put my bags inside and I thanked him. I knew the cost of the taxi was included in what I had already paid the agent, but I gave him a tip anyway. I actually don’t like the concept of tipping anymore, but at that time, I didn’t know any better.

  My guide showed me to my room. The hotel was nice. It had a ski-lodge kind of feel about it, and had clearly been made with foreign tourists in mind. I hadn’t even paid attention to what anything cost, including the hotel; looking back, I’m sure it was way overpriced.

  The girl asked me if I wanted pizza for dinner. I was so excited at this prospect that I readily agreed. She left my room and said she would bring the pizza up when it was ready.

  I was freezing, and dying for a hot shower—but when I checked out the bathroom, I didn’t see one. I finally looked up above me and did see a shower head, but there was nothing I would call a shower.

  When the girl came back with my pizza, I asked her to explain how to use the shower. She looked at me with a strange look and indicated that I should simply stand below the shower head, just near the toilet, and have my shower. There was a drain on the floor.

  Okay, I thought. Whatever. As long as the water is hot.

  I didn’t know where she’d gotten the pizza but that, along with a can of Coca-Cola, hit the spot on my first night traveling alone.

  She had supposedly fixed the heat before she left, but I was still cold. I went downstairs to ask for another blanket but was told they didn’t have any. Interesting. I was sure I was almost the only guest in this deserted hotel, and I found it hard to believe they couldn’t round up another blanket—but again, whatever. I wouldn’t let this dampen my spirits. I had made it to Guilin and Yangshuo, and tomorrow I would see the sights. I felt excited and relaxed at the same time. It was great to not have to run my travel plans by anyone or do things I didn’t want to do. This trip was all about what I wanted to experience. I planned to relax, get some exercise by bicycling and climbing, and write in my journal.

  I loved my time in Yangshuo. The guide was a little less than honest, I realized later—for instance, I wanted to buy a painting in a secluded little shop at edge of the river, and she convinced me to give her my money, saying that she could get a better deal for me. I pointed out what I wanted, slyly handed her the money, and waited outside. She came back with the painting and no change, when there should have been at least twenty yuan left over. She said the shop owner had cheated her and seemed in a hurry to get away. She literally grabbed my arm to try to pull me away when I suggested we go back to the shop and straighten things out. As soon as I said that, I saw the panic in her eyes and knew that it was she who had been dishonest.

  I didn’t care that much about the money but I felt sad that this girl would lie to me. I knew she had been paid by my travel agent in Guangzhou for accompanying me, and I really regretted signing up for this. Once again, though, it was another lesson learned. Next time, I would simply buy the airplane ticket on my own and not book the tours and hotel with an agency. Yes, I felt more independent this time than I had in Beijing and Xian, but this still was a far cry from true adventure.

  Things were uncomfortable with the guide after that, as it was clear that she knew that I knew what she had done. For the rest of the trip, I did as many things on my own as I could.

  I spent the next two days bicycling all over the place. I rented a bike and bought a warm pair of gloves and a hat and took off, hoping I wouldn’t get lost.

  I was happy to be in the countryside. I didn’t know how rural this was compared with other parts of China, but I knew it was a far cry from Guangzhou and my gated community at the school. It was at once beautiful and depressing. To me, the conditions seemed very poor, but as I spent more time looking at the people, I began to feel different. I even took the chance to talk with some of the people in a village I rode through. I started talking to one girl and before I knew it, it seemed the whole village had gathered around. One family invited me in their home and showed me that they had a television. It wasn’t plugged in and it actually looked like there was no electricity, but it was important to them to show me that they had a TV.

  My first impression was that this village was cold, dirty, and very, very poor. What I realized, though, is that different people are used to different things. When I saw a concrete house with a dirt floor, my first reaction was, “This house is unfinished,” when in fact it was considered by its owners to be a perfectly good house. They were proud of it. I thought it unbearable that there was no heat, but nobody else was shivering. I thought it was depressing, yet people around me were smiling and going about their business. Nobody, except me, considered these conditions depressing, and after a couple hours among the people who lived there, I felt different.

  chapter 16

  After returning from my holiday, I still had a couple of days before the other teachers returned and the new semester would begin. My mood was sort of melancholy when I returned to the Estates. The weather was much colder, and the skies were gray all day, every day. As I unpacked my bags and straightened up my apartment, it hit me that I still didn’t know why I was in China. This bothered me. Almost haunted me. I had left Chicago in August and now it was February. Things were going well at work. I loved my church congregation, the branch, and my chance to teach the women’s group one Sunday each month as a part of our church program. I felt good about the fact that I was gaining some independence. Although I missed my family, we emailed or talked on the phone almost weekly, and they were fine. So why was I sad?

  I spent the rest of the day in Siqao walking around markets and alleys. What was I looking for? What was it I was craving to see in China? What was missing from my experience?

  Well, whatever I was looking for, what I found were sweatshirts. I spotted a small shop with a sign advertising zip-up, hooded sweatshirts for thirty yuan. Since that was only about four dollars, it got my attention and I peeked in. I felt intimidated at first to try one on, knowing that usually all things off the rack in China were still too small for me. But something prompted me to try, and I felt absolutely exhilarated when I zipped it up comfortably. I couldn’t believe it. I knew that I was getting more fit, but it had been months since I’d tried on new clothes, and I was astounded at the difference. I was so excited that I bought four, one in each color they had.

  As May holiday approached, I wasn’t sure where I might explore next. One of the teaching assistants, Jonny, had asked me if I’d like to travel with him to Hunan province. He was extremely outgoing, and we had gotten to know each other through the Chinese class he taught for the foreign teachers.

  Although I thought it would be fun, I also thought it a bit awkward that he and I would go together, just the two of us. I decided to bring it up with him one day after class.

  “So, Lori,” he said as he erased the board. “Have you decided about Hunan? Do you want to go with me?”

  I knew he wasn’t asking in a romantic way and that to him this was completely fine and innocent. In some ways, it was stupid of me to think otherwise, but I just didn’t know how it would look—the two of us taking off for Hunan together.

  “Well, it sounds fun . . . but do you think it’s better if we invite some others to go too?”

  He looked at me with an exaggerated puzzled expression. “Hmm?” he said. “You want more people to come?”

  “Well, it’s just that in Western culture, usually if a guy and girl travel together, just the two of them, people might think there’s something romantic going on.”

  He laughed out loud. “Really?”

  I found it kind of strange that he’d never thought of this before, since it seem
ed that Chinese were really into their social rules. Then again, Jonny didn’t quite fit into that category. He was a bit naïve but very confident. He didn’t care too much what other people thought of him. He was goofy and seemed to simply enjoy life. It was obvious he had never thought that it might be awkward for just the two of us to travel together.

  I told him I would love to go as long as there was someone else going along. The next day, he found me after Chinese class and said that Sally, another teaching assistant I knew, would join us.

  I decided I could live with that, and we made plans to go to Hunan.

  I was a little thrown off when I approached Jonny and Sally at the bus stop on the morning of our departure and noticed that neither was carrying more than a small backpack. Where were their changes of clothes? After all, we planned to travel for at least three or four days. And what about their journals? I was wearing my backpack, which was totally full, and also carrying a duffel bag. All I could guess was that they planned to wear the same clothes the entire time.

  When we got to the train station, I really regretted bringing so much. As soon as we got out of the taxi, we entered a huge mass of people, all pushing and shoving and trying to get inside the station. It was hard to carry that heavy duffel bag and to maneuver it through the massive crowds of people. But the three of us linked arms and went for it, with Jonny leading the way.

  Sally was a very quiet girl, but I knew there was more to her than met the eye and I looked forward to getting on that train, finding our seats, and getting to know each other. At the same time I felt very claustrophobic pushing through the crowds and was angry at people who were stepping on my feet and shoving me. People stared and commented about my being a foreigner, but it didn’t stop them from pushing me just as they were pushing everyone else.

  I didn’t quite understand the system and why all these people were here. We can’t all possibly fit in this train station, I thought.

  After what seemed like an eternity of pushing, we finally got to the train station entrance. The guards who checked tickets looked so calm. They stood on platforms, a little above the madness, and didn’t seem to be at all worried about the pushing and shoving in which we were so engrossed. We flashed our tickets and were allowed inside. I felt like I needed to sleep for a week, I was so exhausted from fighting and pushing.

  Inside, it was better but still crowded. We decided to keep going rather than take a rest, and forged our way through the crowds again in order to enter the train platforms. An hour later, we finally got on our train. We fought our way down the aisle, stepping over people on occasion, and found our seats.

  So this is traveling Chinese style, I thought. Maybe my adventurous side had been a bit overly optimistic. I thought back to my Beijing trip with Drake and Peggy, who wanted to shop, and then to my Guilin trip alone in February. I had been so pampered, even on my attempt for adventure in Yangshuo. I’d never dealt with such crowds and I’d taken planes, not trains. I felt a little overwhelmed and more than a little disappointed with myself that I already missed some of the comforts I was used to while traveling. It sort of bothered me that I hadn’t been comfortable traveling Drake and Peggy style, and yet here I was, getting the real Chinese treatment, and I wasn’t entirely comfortable here either. Oh well, I thought. We’re on the train now, and I need to have a positive attitude.

  Jonny was a lot of fun and Sally seemed like an interesting girl. We were headed toward an entirely new province, just north of Guangdong, and I was away from all other foreigners. This part I liked.

  The three of us were seated at a table, with Jonny on one side and me and Sally on the other. The train filled up and I noticed that there were people standing in the aisle.

  “Jonny,” I said. “Why are these people standing up?” He looked at me with an expression that said the answer should be obvious. “They don’t have seats.”

  “So . . . they’re just going to stand there the whole time?” He shrugged. “I guess so.”

  He began speaking in Chinese to a young man standing next to us and then turned back to me. “He said they paid the same price we did but they were told they would have to stand.”

  Wow. This felt very strange to me—and I guess I felt sort of guilty. I mean, this was a sixteen-hour trip, and we were going to sit here the entire time while they stood? A moment before we learned this, I’d been on the verge of mentioning how the seats weren’t so comfortable. Now, suddenly, they seemed fine.

  As the hours passed, Jonny, Sally, and I chatted about our plans for the future. Neither of them wanted to stay at the school much longer, but they both felt the experience had been good overall. Compared with other schools, the salary was high, and they felt their English had improved tremendously through working with the foreign teachers. On the other hand, there was no room for promotion, and they felt that they were overworked and under-respected on the Chinese administration side. Jonny wasn’t sure of his future plans but wasn’t too worried about them, either. Sally, on the other hand, was very interested in going to America. In fact, Peggy, with whom I had traveled the previous year, was in the process of helping her get a tourist visa to go to the States.

  As the hours passed, we got into more personal topics, such as romance. They both wanted to know how old I was and whether or not I had a boyfriend in Chicago. I think they wondered why I wasn’t married, since in Chinese culture, women tended to marry a bit earlier. I told them that in America, it was considered perfectly fine to be single into one’s late twenties or even thirties. The truth, though, was that I felt a lot more like they did than I let on. I did wonder why it was that I was twenty-eight years old and unmarried. Was I in denial about how old I really was? Was I going to be single forever? Would I be okay with that?

  I hated myself for having these thoughts. After all, I had come so far in so many ways. Here it was, May; I had been in China for ten months, and my life was drastically different now. So why was this self-doubt creeping up on me again?

  Actually, it had been creeping up for a while. Not only the self-doubt but the guilt. I often thought about how I’d left Mom and Chrissy with all the problems at home. Every time I talked to them, I ached with sadness and shame. I knew what life was there. It was still trips to the Veterans Hospital, getting Dad to take his pills, helping him do basic things, and constantly worrying about him falling or wandering off. It was obvious how incredibly wonderful my life was and how their lives really hadn’t changed that much. There were times that I almost forgot where I came from and what I’d left behind. I would get caught up in my career, my fitness, my friends, my travel, my Chinese lessons, my massages, my manicures, my facials . . . It hit me hard, right in the gut, that only a year ago I’d been immersed in that life back in Chicago—and that they still were.

  The train ride came to an end just as we were on what seemed like our fiftieth round of “Yesterday Once More.” It had been a very surreal experience: A group of university students had begun making conversation with us—some of the passengers who had paid for their tickets but were stuck in the aisle. They were medical students from Hunan, and all of them had studied English. Only one was confident enough to converse with me, and he also managed a rendition of “Yesterday Once More”—and before long, it was a grand sing-along on the hard seat train to Hunan.

  Before we got off the train, we exchanged email addresses with the English-speaking student, and with a couple of his classmates as well. I sincerely hoped we would keep in touch. Sally thought he was incredibly handsome, so she especially hoped to hear from him.

  As soon as we arrived in the dusty outskirts of Zhang Jia Jie, we wanted to get away from the city.

  “We need to get up to the mountains,” Jonny said, gesturing toward the peaks above us. We had heard how beautiful it was up there.

  “Okay, what’s the plan?” I asked.

  “We should catch a bus and just go up as far as we can,” he said. “Maybe we can find a place to stay.”

  We
hopped on a rickety old bus and headed up. It’s fun to travel this way, I thought, with absolutely no plans. We didn’t really know where we were going or where we would sleep that night. This felt very adventurous, and I was really enjoying the company ofJonny and Sally. They were both very fun and interesting people who had no agenda except to relax and have a nice time.

  That bus ride, though, was anything but relaxing. It had rained a lot, and the mountain roads were extremely muddy. It seemed that the whole way up, we were moving at a snail’s pace, and several times we got stuck. When this happened, we all had to get off the bus while the driver tried to get out of the mud. People would help push, and mud would splatter everywhere as the tires just spun around—until, finally, the bus got unstuck and we were all allowed to hop back in and continue up the road . . . until we got stuck again.

  As we got higher up, the road seemed to get better and we could relax a little and enjoy the scenery, rather than having to worry about the next time we’d need to hop out. We stopped every so often to let people on and off, and I kept noticing all the kids who were taking the bus to school. I thought it would be really interesting to see what their schools were like; I mentioned the idea to Sally and Jonny, and they agreed it would be great.

  A few stops later, an old man and his grandson got on. The little boy sat close to his grandfather and held his little school bag tightly in his hands. Jonny began making conversation with the man, and before we knew it, we had been invited to visit a school.

  In the end, this old man completely changed the course of our trip. Not only did he help us find a school to visit, he also found us a place to stay and showed us around. He’d been a teacher as a younger man, but because of his family name he’d been blacklisted during the Cultural Revolution and hadn’t been allowed to teach after that. I could not believe we actually were talking to someone who’d gone through that.