Border Crossing

After a week in Northern Vietnam I was ready to be on my way to Laos, a land mythically beautiful and less touristy. Unfortunately, given my current financial situation, my expedition was defined by my budget. This is sometimes a good thing, and sometimes a bad thing. In the case of reaching my destination, Vang Vieng, Laos, from Hanoi, it was… painful. “A 27 hour bus ride from hell”, a fellow passenger later described it.

 I met people in Hanoi who had made the trek in reverse, “DON’T DO IT MATE!” an Aussie begged me with a crazed look in his eye that told me some parts of that bus ride would be with him for the rest of his life. I didn’t really have a choice, given it would swing an extra $180 dollars to fly. I’m young, if it can be done, I will do it.  I strapped in at 5pm on a Sunday in late January. I had some vodka to help ease my sleep, but upon noticing that there wasn’t a bathroom on the bus, I knew that it was useless. I have the bladder the size of a 3^rd grade school girl. Drinking vodka in this setting could only come back to haunt me, possibly for hours on end. Who knows how often they stop? After I finally nodded  off, the bus stopped at 7 am. “Passport.” The Vietnamese driver stated. The entire bus passed forward our passports in confusion. The driver could not speak English. We all decided to use this opportunity to go to the bathroom. Who knows when we will stop again? This was truly a bus wreathed in mystery by the language barrier. I was the last to get out because I was in the back, but the cognitive wheels of the group had already started to turn. There, in maximum distance of visibility, 10 feet because of the misting rain and fog, was an official looking Vietnamese building. There’s something to this we all decided. We got our passports back, went inside and paid our exit tax for Vietnam. When we came out on the other side of the building we looked all around for our bus, but we could not find it. It wasn’t where we left it and it wasn’t on the other side. We all were wandering around this building in the frigid cold, on top of a mountain, I might add at 7:15am.

Eventually, we started asking the Vietnamese soldiers what was going on. They too, had limited English, but they had clearly learned one phrase in tandem with a gesture. “Walk to Laos”, one man said as he pointed vaguely into the mist. “Excuse me sir, I didn’t know that I should have gotten my compass, local map, and thermal goggles out of my bag before I got out of the bus. I figured I would just get them out on this side of the building and then run into the mist looking for ‘Laos.’” No luck. “Walk to Laos.” He repeats again and again while pointing. Our group was all thinking the same thing, “This guy can’t be serious.” Girls were in sandals, guys were in tank tops shivering, it had to be around 32 degrees, and nobody knew to prepare for this when getting off the bus for a pee break. We began our long blind walk into the mist searching for Laos as if it were a single treasure jest. I almost expected to hear somebody to my left or right, “hey guys, I found it. Yeah, it was right over here under this rock the whole time. We are so silly.” But, no. We were looking for a country. After wandering around for about an hour which included a trip back to the man/robot who sent us on this treasure hunt, we found the Laos border. We all bought our visas and found our bus on the other side. I have never been so happy to get back on a bus-- knowing that I have almost 12 more hours to go.

I Smell an Ambush

Upon my return only a few days before my second semesters as a teacher would begin I received an email that read something like this, “Welcome back. Tomorrow we will have a staff meeting at 3:00 p.m. to discuss this semester, and afterward we will go get something to eat.” Hmm, I read this message to Joe and Gillian. They had received similar ones. We kicked it around. Something’s not right I concluded. “This reeks of an ambush banquette”, I warned  them. They agreed, but also reasoned, “No, maybe not, the last Christmas banquette should have taught them a lesson.” All banquettes involve the ceremonial baijiu alcohol hazing. I think I have talked about this before. Even if you abstain from alcohol completely they will judge you and try to force the liquid fire down your throat.

 The Christmas Banquette was by all accounts… “debacle” is not the right word because the Chinese administration loves to get all the waigouren five sheets to the wind and see what happens-- but the Christmas banquette was different, there was music. Somebody hooked up their iPod which completely changed the dynamic. People drank harder and starting dancing - the banquette yielded several blackouts, somebody threw up on the bus on the way home-- one of the other foreign teachers tried to kiss a Chinese teacher who was married, and the next morning I’m pretty sure almost everybody involved woke up with a headache and thought, “woah, that was a bit much..”

Anyway, our suspicions of an ambush banquette were justified. They took us to the same restaurant where we had our first banquette; it didn’t take a detective to know what was coming. As we all sat down they adjusted the seating arrangement to their liking, pairing weaker drinkers with stronger ones and mixing Chinese administrators with the waigourens as well. Our boss is a funny lady. Gao Wen is horribly over worked, but maintains a great since of humor, and she is always amusing herself. Part of this characteristic played out at this banquette-- seating the married girl who was kissed at the last banquette right next to her would be suitor. She knew exactly what she was doing, as did everybody else at the table. As the shots start flying I go to the bathroom. I come back to intermittent laughter, seemingly at me.

 Julian, a very small but funny Chinese administrator informs me that I have missed my turn and thus I must be punished. He makes his way over to me and tells me that I must take 5 shots to amend my cultural blunder. I square things up, and Gao Wen informs me that if I want to be rich I should take one more. I indulge her, before my arm can even come back down again she is already firing out her next baited question, “Do you want to be lucky?” Not too coy Gao Wen. No I think I will take the money and run.

This banquette was actually in honor of the lantern festival, and the last day of Chinese New Year. Also, it is arguably the loudest day as the remainder of all the fireworks should be used up. The result is a bouquet of noises, well really just two noises: fireworks and car alarms. Hopefully it is as close as I will ever get to a war zone. One must keep his wits about him walking down the street as strings of fireworks are simply placed on the sidewalk, lit, and run from. It is easy to be talking to someone and all of the sudden you’re under fire because you unknowingly walked into a timed explosion of light and noise. Anyway, at the end of the banquette we were all given our own lanterns and let loose on the city of Zhengzhou. Home again, home again.

Back in China

                After roughly five weeks of traveling around South East Asia, I was not sure how I would feel being back in China, a country I had not left in over four months. As I grabbed my carry on and made my way through customs in the Guangzhou airport I still did not feel like I was back in the strange land of smog, dumplings, and the horrific rice liquor. It only took one word to rip me back down to the reality of my stay in China, “HELLLUOHHH” a small boy yelled at me as I waited for my connecting flight. Ah yes, there it is. I am back. I am a novelty, a foreigner, a waigouren (foreigner in Chinese). Ni hao, I replied. It is very common for people to just see a white person on the street and yell to them, “Hellooo!”

In River Town by Peter Hessler, he says that in the town he lived in one general term for a foreigner was “a hello.” It’s clearly China’s lack of diversity and exposure to the outside world which creates the idea that this is acceptable, but I can’t help but think, what if I saw an Asian in Raleigh and as we passed on the street I yelled, “NI HAOOO!” I will add that most likely they would not speak Chinese, and could also be many other things other than Chinese - Chinese American, Thai, Vietnamese, etc.… but none the less this is per usual in China.

 I am rare in China whereas Asians or Asian-Americans are not rare in America. I believe that the number one reason that I am here from a pragmatic Chinese perspective is because I am a novelty, a status symbol for the college where  I teach. My students pay much more than students at nearby comparable colleges mostly because Henan Institute of Education has foreign teachers and is connected to an American University, Marshall. Like one of the many disturbing couples of older white men and young Thai women I saw in Thailand, we both get something out of our relationship. I get to come to China, study the language and culture and see some of this part of the world. They get to use my white face for publicity.

 I have heard of companies paying people like me to come to ribbon cutting ceremonies and pose as a “western contact.” It’s even better if this person doesn’t speak any Chinese. Like so many things in China this can be tied back to the concept of face, or saving face. Outward appearance is vitally important in this culture. There is even a club here where foreigners get free beers because it is free publicity for the club. It’s interesting coming back to China now because I do know something about the culture and people. I’m not trying to get my bearings; I am in familiar territory.