The flight really wasn’t that bad. Better than others, quite frankly (but I’ve had a few nasty ones). Into Chicago was obviously easy. Changed some money, but should’ve been more. First culture shock came at the Chicago Airport. As the gate, in the far far corner of one port increased in passengers, the sound became filled with tonal influxes of the Chinese language. There must’ve been no more than 20 non-Chinese on the flight holding nearly 300 people. I sat in the last row, stage right of the plane in a two-seat window section and got them both to myself J. This was precisely the highlight. I’ve never managed to do that before, at least on a flight that mattered. I slept most of the way, waking up a few times obviously, and had surprisingly mildly reactions to the turbulent bouts and semi-rough decent. I wonder if motion sickness is something that can be eased away with.. ‘practice.’ More now, I find myself actually looking out the window during takeoffs and while in the air. I didn’t even take any Dramamine (or equivalent) on the long flight. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Anyways, on to my exciting first day, which isn’t even half over yet! Besides the fact I was up at 5, I probably ran between my room (on the 4th floor) and the lobby at least 8 times. I took a nearly-cold shower, as the water handle was marked only ‘cold,’ yet found out just now it also gets warm. I am glad I will not have a week of cold showers. The beds are quite stiff. Pillows, fluffy though. Makes me nervous brushing my teeth and carefully rationing the fresh water supply that I have.
Up and down, made a skype call to Germany and checked my e-mails, sending a semi-late ‘I’m Here Safe’ note to those back in Buffalo, ate breakfast with one of my ‘meal vouchers’ and unsuccessfully tried to contact my company. As the taxidriver dropped me off at the hotel (after driving up and down the small hutong street only one car wide), he handed me the back of my name paper used to identify me at the airport, but only a ripped section with a picture of a telephone, a telephone number, the name of the lady from WSE who booked the hotel, and 3 other Chinese characters. I assumed, therefore that this number was how I should contact her in the morning. When I discovered the phone in my room didn’t work.. (still doesn’t), and went to the front desk, I made the call there. Took me two tries to guess that this was probably his number, because each time a man who couldn’t speak any English picked up. Before our taxi from the airport, he said nothing, only pointing when we had to go up the elevator, and which car to use. As it poured and we drove, I attempted to say “It’s rainy.” Even this simple trial took about three rounds of internal mental coaxing. I need to somehow stop being so nervous when beginning to speak a new language. Anyways, I understood nothing else he tried to tell me (since it was all in Chinese), except the badly pronounced word /oh-tu/ which I correctly guessed to mean ‘hotel,’ and figured he was a bit lost after he asked three people on our little street where the hotel was.
By 10am I was off and running. Equipt with long pants, a light top, and a zip-up sweater ‘just in case,’ I quickly found I was a bit overdressed. With the warm rain when I got in the city, I figured the ‘overcast-looking’ day would be a bit cool afterwards. I was quite wrong. I was now waking toward Tiennamen Square, about 5 short blocks from my hotel. Everywhere smells like cigarette smoke, or a mild mix of smoke and unidentified air pollution. There is a thick grey haze in the sky. The air is heavy and moist. Eyes keep turning toward me and some bold shopkeepers say “Hello, please come in.” Of course in every country you visit, it is the constant paradox that each person only knows, or most confidently knows how to say ‘hello’ in the opposite tongue. So I walk by and respond to each ‘hello’ with ‘ni hao.’ Smiling and nodding just a bit. Politely declining every offer as I am always a wary tourist. I manage to get to the square. It is massive and the ‘gate’ is humongous. Walking around, I notice the intensely long ‘queue’ that wraps around nearly half the square to get into the Memorial building in the center. The Imperial palace didn’t look much better. Today I am not sightseeing, I am not taking photos. I am taking it in. Little knowledge of the landmarks other than ‘there are some important ones,’ I read all the information that’s on the posted signs and take in the grandeur, and the hazy air. I assume the people from Beijing are not necessarily checking out the local landmarks each day. So that would mean that on this relatively early morning and the probably thousand people in Tiananmen Square, each of them would be tourists. I hear and see no signs of American life. A few tour groups, most Chinese or other Asian languages, two Spanish, but maybe less than 1% white in the whole area. I certainly stand out. Can’t wait till my blonde hair, blue-eyed boy gets here. J
Of course, I begin to get blisters on my feet as all walking days do. As always, there are some sneers from young boys as they pass by this ‘western-looking’ woman, but this one kid.. I don’t know what was up but he was definitely following me. From nearly the Imperial Palace down about 4 blocks. I ‘sidetracked’ to look at the fully-Chinese bus route, then walked ahead again. Within a minute he had ‘slowed down’ to my speed. This was seriously beginning to creap me out. He was just one person, not with anyone, and at least 5 years younger than me but seriously. He looked over at me and I stared at him back for an uncomfortably long ‘glance.’ “Move it.” I attempted to say with my eyes. Then he looked away and I just turned around and waked the other way, crossing the street to the Peking Opera house, which ended up to be a great detour.
Its steamy, and I don’t look Chinese, and I’m walking alone. I certainly have to have my guard on at all times and ‘look tough’ and as intimidating as possible upon a moments notice. I’m rather convinced that men have no idea what this feeling is. The opera house looks like this huge blending-into-the-grey-sky bubble that sits on a still pond in the middle of a bit of greenery. Not much greenery, but some shrubs and grass. It is actually quite nice looking. Since my trip to the Southern Sea got detoured, this would be my new resting spot. Some nice, and consistently Asian-looking tourists asked if I would take a photo for them. Then I sat on a concrete border of shrubbery, assessing how warm I was, my blistered feet, and seemingly hopelessly practicing Chinese. It is calm and nice to sit there. I look up at a few people walking by, even running which I can’t imagine in such ‘mugginess.’ Then there is this little old may strolling along. I’m staring into my phrasebook, and he says to me ‘ni hao.’ Though thus far this has been the start and end to all my Chinese conversations, I was just reviewing and said instead to him ‘sheng wu hao,’ meaning ‘good morning.’ He is clearly impressed (perhaps not), but either way he becomes my first real Chinese conversation partner. He so politely lets me practice all my Chinese phrases with him, even though im still staring into my guidebook. He manages to introduce himself. He is called Dong, the word for ‘east.’ He points to each direction and we practice saying dong, (south), xi, bei. I try out all these useless phrases like what time is it, are you here on business?, and finally manage to discover that he is from Beijing. I start to ask a useless question, just for practice, because he’s letting me. I only manage ‘where buy water.’ There are a million little shops and stands selling water, I just wanted to practice asking. He immediately points to the pond in front of us and says (guessing from the gestures), that that is not drinking water. But then he offers me a sip of his bottled water. After about 20 minutes, and as my conversation topics become more and more scarce, the sun begins to come out. Chinese for whatever reason do not like the sun. So he bids me a warm farewell and I am off on my way back to the hotel. What a wonderful morning. Perhaps I may learn Chinese after all.
My walk back, because I obviously don’t want to take the same route I came by, is a bit disoriented. I walk through multiple hutong streets that are nothing short of dirty, smelly, cramped, busy, and full of Chinese chatter. I only have one task left before returning: buy a big bottle of water. So many eyes on you, and I’m staring at the map like such a tourist. I know I’m in the right direction, but not precisely sure which spot on my map. the streets are so tiny, I don’t know if their listed. They’re not tiny in a European way, smushed between two tall old buildings on either side, but unpaved, with potholes and puddles of who knows what between layers of nothing short of small shacks and public outhouses. (Seriously I pray I need not enter one of those. During my early morning walk I also saw young girls with wet hair around these bathrooms. The daily shower, I’m guessing.) I wander a bit, continually in the right direction, and then begin to see signs to my less-than luxurious, but apparently popular hotel. And thus ends my morning. I wonder what the afternoon will bring. I do, however, dislike being alone so long. My Chinese is hardly good enough to make friends. I cant wait till Jan joins me tomorrow.
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