Chapter 3

The Boys In Black

How Best to Waste Your Time In China

The first thing that occurred to me was to go to my bank and see if I could somehow cajole them into getting my money out of my account, even though I had no I.D. and no bank card. I did however know they had several photo copies of my passport on file. Whenever I received a wire transfer from the USA, they required me to bring them two copies of both my passport photo page and copies of my China visa. At this point they should have had a small bundle of them.

In Guangzhou, as in most larger cities in China, the main banks were open through the afternoon. When I entered the bank I was in luck; only two people were there and they were finishing up their transactions. When I approached the teller, a young man, he smiled and asked in English, "How are you today!" It was a small comfort and one of the reasons I liked using this small branch of the Agricultural Bank of China. I explained briefly what happened, leaving out the "where it happened"--I didn't think telling them I had been ripped off at a massage parlor would go over very well. There were only two tellers on duty and it appeared, no superiors. The man was very polite however and asked for me to return the following day, Sunday, as they were open from 9:00 am until noon. I thanked them both and left, heading straight to my second home, Xiao Shan (little hill) Bar, the place I had left the night before.

The area around the Garden Hotel and the Baiyun Hotel across the way, which both flank Huanshi Dong Lu, is thick with expatriate hangouts and foreign businesses. The McDonald's where I got my morning coffee that day sits on the ground floor of the Suifeng (CITIC) building, which houses several country's offices, such as the American Chamber of Commerce. The Garden Hotel has the Japanese Consulate. Next to the Baiyun Hotel, noted as being the very first high rise in Guangzhou, sits the infamous Friendship store, built in 1959. And running behind that is Tao Jin Lu, a long narrow road with many shops, cafes and a few clubs and bars. The first Starbucks opened up near the Garden Hotel and within the neighborhood mentioned, there is a Pizza Hut and a KFC and another McDonald's and a Subway "Sub " shop.

So it is no wonder tons of foreigners are to be found in this area. The first time I came to Guangzhou, as I was living in the countryside at the time, I found the Hill Bar, the oldest expat bar in the city, nestled in its lovely little park, right in front of the Baiyun Hotel. I distinctly recall that day I walked into the place. It was early afternoon, and there were a half dozen people inside, two at the bar and another four at a table. The place had posters of American and English rock bands and celebrities all over the walls: The Beatles, Elvis, Jerry Garcia, Marilyn Manson, Marilyn Monroe and John Wayne. The music playing though, didn't match the decor--Back Street Boys! The entire place is done up in an orangy stained wood. Several large, picture windows surround the place, giving the cramped space an airy jungle feel, as they all look out into the lushness of the park that surrounds it. A Plexiglas ceiling over the main floor space completes this odd but comfortable bar. Fortunately these are covered with hanging red awnings to deflect the full brunt of the noon day sun. The bar itself is an L-shape, seating about 10 to 12 people. Behind the bar are dozens of the prerequisite liquor bottles, and running it all are the cutest, young girls in the entire neighborhood.

Almost all the girls are from other provinces, typical of Guangzhou, whose floating population is in the millions. I watched a few of them grow up there; a girl named Flower and a girl named Fiona started when they were only 16! They were indentured servants--"bought" from their family to work in servitude until the debt was paid off. The girls all lived in a dormitory-like environment, with several bunk beds in a two bedroom apartment. They didn't make much, but the free English lessons more than made up for it, and plenty of expats slid money to them on the sly--tipping isn't done in China. I adored Flower, because I watched her go from a somewhat shy girl who could only say, "Hello Miko!" and "Goodbye Miko!" in the first month, to "How are you today? You're looking a bit fat!" and "I am studying computer now." Fiona was a shop-a-holic and a fashionable girl. Every month she would come in with a new ensemble and proudly show it off to the rest of us. Fiona knew how to work the clientele to the point that she rarely ever spent her own money on clothes. Flower simply behaved like a little angel, with a curiosity that touched everyone she met. But neither girl ever fooled around; they were traditional girls in that sense. They both had dreams, but each had their own plan. Fiona wanted to return home to marry. Flower on the other hand, wanted to work for a foreign concern and stay in the big city. Seven years later, and she is still a bartender at Hill Bar--the only one left. Fiona went on home, presumably to get hitched.

The other expats I met in the Hill gave me an education on living abroad. Finding that place was one of the smartest thing I did in my five years in China. I made connections that led to good jobs and found new places of interest to go on the advice of my new friends, as well as some good "do's and don'ts" from long timers. So it was there that I spent my first several hours of the day, nursing a few beers until one of my closest friends showed up, an Australian tennis coach by the name of Desmond. When he heard my story, he plucked out a couple of 100 RMB notes and told me, "a man has got to have money for beer!", and we toasted, not to my misfortune, but to a better day. He always had a way about him; I can't ever recall him ever being in the dumbs or in a sour mood. If he did he never showed it. He was also incredibly humble. He was very vital to Chinese national tennis--he coached both the Jr. boys and girls national teams, and two of his girls won medals in the Athens Olympics!

We small talked and continued drinking into the early afternoon. Then I decided to take a "'walk about" as Des would say, and get some fresh air and perhaps a bite to eat. Heading further down Huanshi Dong Lu, I ended up in a small little hide away grill and bar called Sleeping Wood. It was owned by a couple of talented Chinese with design backgrounds, and it showed. The interior was all red brick and wood, based on some the architecture of some housing that Point, one of the owners, saw in the province of Yunnan. Also, there were many decorations about the walls, in window sills and on shelves from that area. They have a small menu of well prepared western food, and I always find the place a great comfort when I am missing home.

I pulled myself up to the tiny bar--it only sits four people--and ordered a Tsing Tao draft, one of the few places in the city where you could actually get draft Chinese beer, and some Mexican food. I needed the solitude of Sleeping Wood for a little while and also the conversation of the assistant manager-bartender, Eric. His story is one of an energetic young Chinese man who knew how to take advantage of his surroundings and make the best of it. Originally he had learned his craft working at the now defunct Hard Rock Cafe in Guangzhou. He started as a busboy, then a waiter and finally a bartender, all the while honing his English skills at work and at home. English seemed to come naturally to him and his influences were deeply American in style. When I first met him, I had assumed he had studied in the USA, he sounded so authentic! Eric's demeanor also spoke volumes about him. He was a great listener and tactful with his advice, the consummate bartender. I didn't lay my troubles on him that day, I simply wanted a normal conversation and a quiet lunch with a good Chinese friend.

Later, I left and walked back the way I had come for only a half block. Across the street from the Holiday Inn, where the Sleeping Wood sits behind, is a small family owned convenience store. Out front were a scattering of the typical short folding tables seen in front of these type establishments, replete with tiny, plastic kiddy stools. Parked all along the street were a legion of taxis, and sitting at three of the tables were the drivers, some off duty, some just coming on, waiting customers from the hotel. It was still mid afternoon and I wanted to be outside, so I went into the open front store, bought three large local beers and a big bag of shell-in peanuts and joined the drivers out front. This was a regular tradition of mine and the men were always quite happy to see me. On a whim one evening, after leaving a rather dull and empty nightclub along the same road, I stopped by this place and sat down for a beer. I was at once welcomed to a table of drivers, eager to practice their English. I found it was also beneficial for me to practice my Chinese, so it worked out fine. When the light had faded I noticed a number of hookers showed up, also waiting for customers from the hotel, and they flirted me up for cigarettes and soda--no future client wants to smell alcohol on the breath of their future mistress do they?

As the afternoon wore on, my working class friends and I continued to sip beer and nibble our snacks and chat in two languages, three if you counted Cantonese. As the evening approached through a dimming haze, as if on cue a half dozen street girls showed up, sitting on some nearby steps, smoking, sipping soda that I bought, and looking bored. It was still too early to find work for either group--everyone was at dinner or winding down happy hour somewhere.

I returned to the Hill, which was in full swing by now and squeezed in beside another good friend, Mr. Y.Y. Poon. He always sat at the same place, near the cash register, where he held court with the afternoon cashier. Poon is a character of sorts. He was born in the mainland, but lives in Hong Kong. He travels extensively to America on business and is very much in love with the American west and the country music of Willy Nelson and other oldies. He prides himself on wearing "real" Levis bought in the USA, not copies from home. When in town, he would show up at Hill about 4:30 or 5:00 pm., sharing Chinese style snacks with the young girls: dried sour plums, dried cuttle fish, dried, shredded pork jerky. He would ask about my work and so on, but when 5:55 pm rolled around, he would pay his bill and go up the street fifty meters to another wonderful hang out, Elephant and Castle. There he watches the local news for an hour with the very pleasant and helpful owner, Kalvin.

After I told Poon of my robbery, he also asked, "Do you need some money? How much?" He was always very generous. One time I traveled with him back to Hong Kong, as I had to renew my visa. He was curious as to where I did it, so he came with me. The prices had changed though, and for what would have been the usual price for a six month multiple entry visa, now only bought me a single entry three month. Poon talked Cantonese with the young woman and inquired as to the price of the six month. He then pulled out his wallet and paid for my visa, waving me off, saying "You pay me when you have it." That was the end of it, then he took me to dinner at a very expensive Cantonese restaurant, where he managed their books. Young men in suits hustled around the room, whispering into mini headsets to unseen employees on the status of the meals of the Hong Kong elite who dined there. It was impressive to say the least. The manager, a lovely middle aged woman named Kim, sat with us for a round of tea and shark fin soup. We both then went shopping for an Austrian friend at a western foods market, who had requested certain delicacies only available in Hong Kong. Poon paid for everything and told me to tell our friend Mario, the recipient of most of the items, it was a gift from Poon. All in all, it was the best day I had ever spent in Hong Kong.

I accepted 300 RMB from Poon, who wouldn't hear it otherwise and continued the evening at the Elephant and Castle. In the back of their beer garden was a pool table, the only one around that any of us knew of, and playing there were three good friends, Canadian Dennis, Londoner James and Nigerian Kevin. They always huddled in the back, smoking hash and playing reasonable eight ball. Being in the mood I was, I didn't hesitate to partake of the smoke being passed around. Also being in the mood, I relayed my story, buying a round of drinks, either on Desmond's money or Poon's, I wasn't sure. I returned inside after our drink and talked with Poon and Kalvin. Many times Kalvin's family would arrive and he would invite one or two patrons to join them. Poon and I both had the fortune to eat with them this night and Kalvin's nieces were there, two young angels who were encouraged to speak English with Poon and I.

Word of my robbery had gotten around and a girl named Daisy, a girlfriend of another friend, encouraged me to make a police report. She said she would be more than happy to help out, so off we went in a taxi to the police station. The whole experience was a huge waste of time. When we arrived we were completely ignored for half an hour. Daisy, normally a polite and dignified Chinese girl, approached the desk, slammed her hand onto the top and demanded we be taken care of. Two policemen drove us to where the massage parlor was located. Prior to arriving at the police station, Daisy had stopped our taxi at the door of the massage parlor, getting the correct name and address.

Daisy told them to stop and pointed out the place, but they acted as if they didn't hear and kept driving. I tapped the driver's shoulder and told him in Chinese, "Stop! There! There it is!". Obligingly, they stopped in the middle of the road, the driver letting out a resigned sigh. The two officers conferred with each other in low quiet voices so neither Daisy nor I could hear. They made facial expressions and a few subtle hand and head gestures that also baffled us. The passenger cop took out his phone and called someone. He talked for a while, made eye contact with the other cop several times and then rang off. Then to Daisy and my surprise, they made a U-turn in the middle of the road and drove back toward the police station, never bothering to enter the establishment or question anyone who worked there. What was going on?

On the trip back Daisy confided in me that she didn't trust either one of them now and suggested that perhaps the police were involved in this in some way. "Maybe that's why nobody wanted to help us." she said, after giving them the parlor's name and address back at the station previously. That really made sense to me, because that morning the manager of the parlor refused to call the police, even though I repeatedly asked him to. He insisted there was nothing the police could do for me. And it was far from the first time I had been told stories by Chinese and other Expats about corruption in Guangzhou; the city seemed to thrive on it.

When we returned, the policeman who drove us went outside and made a number of phone calls, far out of any one's earshot. Anytime someone walked near, he would quickly fold up his phone, then resume the call when they walked away. Daisy and I both watched this go on with deep suspicion.

Again we were left alone for a unreasonable length of time and again Daisy expressed to a cop the lack of respect for my terrible situation. Within a few moments another officer in a bedraggled uniform, blood shot eyes and messy hair, took my statement. He asked for my phone number and for the second time that day, someone chatted with the thief. As the cop was talking, another policeman walked into the room, speaking loudly to the other officer. The cop on the phone quickly covered the phone's mouthpiece and motioned to the other policeman to be quiet, then he continued the conversation. Afterwards he advised me to make arrangements with the crook to meet in a public place where the police would be in waiting to catch him. I saw failure written all over this somewhat flimsy plan and I left with Daisy, completely disappointed.