I’m Big in China

Yantai is an hour’s flight from the city of Beijing, but it might as well be a hundred. The city is one of about seven million people stretched along the Yellow Sea. Most of those seven million speak about as much English as I do Chinese.

None

I’m afraid that teaching me Chinese would be like making panda babies–an extremely delicate procedure requiring repeated attempts and resulting in constant disappointment. I stole that from travel writer, Chuck Thompson. I found it the perfect analogy for my attempt at Chinese communication. It didn’t take me but a day to figure out that a smile and nod are internationally understood, so I did that A LOT while I was in China.

Shortly after arriving in Yantai, an expat living in my hotel took me into the central business district to visit a market. Pronounced “San Jang” in Chinese, it is called Three Stations Market in English. I can’t say that I was all that impressed with the quality of the goods, but I was very impressed with the quantity of goods. You know all the crap-stuff in the US dollar stores that read “Made in China”? Well, it’s all there times a bajillion.

As I wondered the seemingly endless maze of the market, I felt that I was on Harwin Street in Houston. The only thing absent was the soccer moms trying to score fake Louis Vuitton purses. Instead, they were replaced with fast-walking Chinese. I could tell that they were normally oblivious to anyone walking in their paths, but at 5’6″, I was a giant. I couldn’t be ignored. And judging by all the stares received, I wasn’t.

I took note of the abundance of children’s clothing shops; stall after stall contained brightly colored kids’ clothes that told me spring was around the corner. Upon further inspection, I realized that most of the stores weren’t for children at all; those were adult clothes. They all were the size of my accidentally-dried cashmere sweater. Small. Tiny. Doll-sized.  I felt like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.

If you’ve been to Latin American market, you can imagine what a Chinese one is like. Replace the tejano music with Chinese blaring from speakers outside of stalls. Substitute crucifixes and Virgin Marys with Buddhas and prayer beads. The food vendors still looked unsanitary but smelled delicious. It was the same hustle and bustle of a Latin American market. Dirty. Real. It was the haves and the have-nots, much like everywhere else. It was a language barrier that was broken by a smile and a shake of the head. It was the shop girls that wanted to show-off and practice their English in an effort to make a sale. It was everything that traveling is about…experiencing the culture outside of the shiny, safe hotel.

As much as I enjoyed experiencing the “real” China, I was not willing to risk the inevitable days chained to my toilet after eating the various meats-on-a-stick for sale. As delicious as they looked and smelled, I just couldn’t bring myself to purchase, much less eat any. After looking at the ice cream and popsicle options {including a corn-flavored one}, I ran into a woman selling roasted sweet potatoes.

She had a seasoned metal drum filled with coals and roasted them herself right on the street. I figured that they would be my safest option. Much like a banana, I could peal the skin and eat the inside. I paid about 10 cents for one, which she weighed using a stick, string, and what looked like a big washer. She laughed when I picked one of the smaller ones. Perhaps she knew that I would LOVE it and want more. I never thought of a sweet potato being street food, but it fit the bill for me. And, my stomach survived to eat another meal.

After seeing a father encourage his toddler son to defecate on the sidewalk along the busy market street, I knew it was time to get back to the more normal confines of the Crowne Plaza. My hotel was over-the-top in so many ways including the Mercedes parked in the lobby and gaudy fountain with crystal fish hanging from the ceiling. At the time, it was billed as the largest lobby in Asia.

Armed with my iPod and book, I headed to the enormous lobby. I surveyed the scene and chose a seat near a koi pond. Into the comfy couch, I collapsed. It was certainly needed after fighting the madness of Three Stations Market. Settled in and engrossed in my book, I noticed a group of men and one woman taking photos around the pond. I smiled and nodded and then went back to my book. Before I could make it through a paragraph, the woman was upon me. I quickly spotted some folding doors near the bar and considered making a run for it.

Personal space is non-existent in China, just so you know.

She was holding her camera towards me, so I assumed she wanted me to take their picture. I took the buds out of my ears and closed my book. That’s when the woman plopped down right beside me on the couch. The others gathered around me, nearly sitting on my lap. What? They all were very excited to be taking a photo with me.

Smile. Nod.

“One, two, three.”

The flash went off and everyone stood up and smiled and nodded at me. I even heard a “thank you”. I thought, “I wonder who they think I am?” Maybe they didn’t think I was anyone. Maybe it’s like when someone first encounters an armadillo. Perhaps I was the armadillo of Yantai.

Or maybe I was just big in China…literally and figuratively.

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