Chapter 1

A Night On The Town

Reflections And Decisions

I was sitting in my favorite bar, located in the center of Guangzhou's expat area. It was around 9:00 pm and the previous four days' madness was sweeping over me, causing one of my nearby friends to comment, "you look stoned!". In fact, I was lethargic, drained from the emotional roller coaster ride of having to spend three days at my bank trying to access my own money, turning in a police report on my stolen goods and finding out what I must do to replace my passport. One of the nameless Filipino bands that pepper the city's five star hotels was playing half hearted on the small stage behind me and the place was almost empty, or barely occupied--either way you looked at it, be an optimist or a pessimist, it was dead, and that was fine by me. I'd had enough excitement for the week.

Six days before, on Friday, I was in very high spirits. My 45th birthday was two days away and I was going to spend it with friends in Hong Kong. I had been badgered, or actually seduced, into trying my luck in that beautiful city on the urgings of Hugh, an exuberant Canadian who had lived in China long enough to get married to one of the locals. He had started out almost exactly as I had, teaching ESL (English as a second language) in the mainland of China.

It turned out his wife had family connections in Hong Kong, so not long after they were married, they both high tailed it to the decadent city of movie Kung Fu masters and Canto Pop stars. The first time I went to HK, I was enthralled by the sheer up and down of it all; it is amazing how many high rise buildings they can fit into such a small space by the bay. What struck me the most was how absolutely organized it was. In the Chinese mainland, people will run over you, and they don't even have to have a vehicle--they'll just bump you to death in pedestrian traffic! God love the British for their anal attitudes, because in HK, people cue, cue and then cue some more. The orderliness to it all was enough to convince me to move there. But HK also has its urban appeal, the flashy neon Chinese signs and myriad milk-tea cafes and noodle bars and electronic shops and book stores, real books in real English! It wasn't until after my second year in the mainland that I finally went and stayed more than a day in HK at Hugh's place. Before I had only done a visa run--arrive in the wee hours of the morning, spend the day browsing, sightseeing and shopping, then return to the mainland by bedtime. Once I stuck around and looked about more than just Kowloon, but onto the Island itself I was thoroughly convinced that was the place for me.

I had also recently returned from a much needed holiday near Nanjing, in An Wei province, where I stayed for one month during the annual Spring Festival. It had been my first time to experience a real winter in China, having lived in South China for the previous four plus years and all that crisp winter air had seemingly infused me with new energy and a more positive outlook. I would walk around the city's main park, where there was a large central lake that sported a huge metallic dragon fountain in its center. There were only a few old locals who dared to come out in the biting wind, and even they looked at me, peaking through their scarfed faces at the crazy lao wai who dared to freeze his ears and nose off in the crisp freezing air of An Wei.

Living in Guangzhou was like living in a Florida swamp. The moment you came out of the shower during the late spring and all of summer through early autumn, your shirt would cling to you as new beads of moisture popped out from your skin soon after dressing. The air was so thick I felt like those gape mouthed gold fish I always saw in the ponds in the city parks, gasping for air in the fetid green murk they lived in; I feel for ya brother fish. I grew up in a semi arid land of the Texas panhandle and I was always told--desert people never get used to humidity, and I believed it. Yet here I was, contemplating moving even further south to an Island closed in on three sides by lush greenery and high rise buildings guaranteeing me a sultry, water logged life style. But I wanted the civility of the place. Even though I loved Guangzhou, I had enough of the rudeness of its ignorant peasant class citizens. Even the new middle class of Canton wasn't much better. It was not uncommon to see a beautifully dressed woman on a public bus, heading to work in high heels, fake Gucci clutch bag and fake DKNY ensemble, digging deep into one of her nostrils with a finger, then studying the prized goober afterwards, as if it were a trophy. Or a well dressed business man standing at the cross walk, looking about at everyone as he pulled his shirt tails out and up to his chest, rub his protruding gut and then, without warning, hock up an enormous gooey life form from his throat and spit it two feet from him, regardless of anyone nearby. Even aunties or grandmas in charge of toddlers were guilty. They would take their charge curbside and hold the little rascal by the thighs, exposing the kid's ass to the air and deposit a smelly lump or two street side. And unlike dogs in New York or Chicago, these women didn't clean up after the deed was done.

As I sat among my drinking buddies, some of them beer drinking females, I was a little giddy knowing that HK was only hours away and that come early morning, I would be sitting in a comfortable train and heading for a wonderful week away from the smell and chaos of the mainland, trading it for a different organized melee beside Victoria Harbour. We toasted my trip, some asked special favors--bring back some hard biscuits and jam from an English friend, bring back a money clip for an American, because he couldn't find one anywhere in the mainland, antacid tablets for another, chili powder for someone else. I was writing all this down at the bar on cocktail napkins, the ink oozing into dark blue splotches in places because of spilt beer on the wooden surface.

"Michael, come up and sing with us!" The lead singer of the band beckoned. I was in a terrific mood so why not? I jumped up on the small stage and me and Melissa sang a duet of sorts, "Hotel California", a song that is played in every bar, every karaoke joint and every five star hotel and nightclub--the Chinese can't get enough of it! For some reason though, it is the only Eagles song they know. In fact, if you ask a Chinese, "What other Eagles song do you know?" They will ask, "Who is Eagle?" It's the same with the Carpenters, Simon and Garfunkel, Elvis and Elton John. Pop music came late to China, so even today in the twenty first century, young twenty something locals croon to American songs more than thirty years old!

After singing a couple of songs and having a few proffered shots o Yeager from friends for my effort, I felt it was high time to eat, so I said my farewells and headed out the door toward a street famous for its late night food.

Xiao Bei Lu is home to nearly all the Muslim cultures as well as African, Indian and smatterings of other ethnic western groups. It is also where most of the drug trafficking and money laundering goes on in Guangzhou. The road is dissected by the main thoroughfare, Huanshi Dong Lu and so it seems, the trouble. I am not implying that because they are dark skinned groups there, it begets trouble, it's simply a matter of business choice; a large number of Africans, Turks and Pakistanis deal in hash, coke and acid in the area.

I was on the quieter, less troubled side of "small north road", the literal translation of Xiao Bei Lu. The south side beyond the main road housed most of the previously mentioned foreigners, while the north side consisted of small shops, banks, schools, and restaurants. This is where I was. The safe side.

At night that safe side of the street changes into Wai Sik Kai, or food street, as the Cantonese call it. Around 9:30 pm after the car traffic dies down, vendors come out and line up along one side of the road. Here you can find some of the best smelling and tasty food, either being cooked on the back of a bicycle or a real honest to goodness grill on iron wheels. One of my favourites is the grilled oyster on the half shell, it is loaded with coarsely chopped garlic, salt and a bit of cilantro. skewered, roasted meats of all kinds and a few almost unidentifiable abound on smoking, sizzling grills and the scent is intoxicating. By no means are there a lot of vendors. There are perhaps eight carts selling food there. There are areas of Guangzhou where entire streets are closed off at night, tables and low stools are put out and people will fill the roads curb to curb, spitting out their chicken bones or whatever they feel needs to be expelled from their throats until the wee hours of the early morning. But don't be mislead by the lack of manners, the experience is well worth it and can be highly addictive.

The fragrant and tantalizing smells that are carried on the smoke that wafts from numerous carts lining the street throughout Guangzhou rival the food in many fine restaurants. When you look around at the other diners, you get a sense of why you came. Everyone's mood is carefree; smiles paint their faces, and the sound of laughter and the "clack! clack!" of mai jang bricks bounce off the soot covered housing blocks, making everything seem a little less dirty, a little less poor in the shadows of the Misty Guangdong night sky. It's China at it's best.

As my order cooked away on two separate vendor's grills--one had the garlic infused rock oysters and young spring onions I liked, the other had the skewered, spicy chicken quarter, I stepped into a nearby shop and bought a bottle of Jiujang piju (Pear River beer) to wash it all down. I sat at a low, folding table on a kiddy stool which my knees always protested, and attempted conversing with an ancient old woman across from me. She had her entire mouth ensconced within a grimy bamboo tube, a smaller bamboo piece jutting up midway down that held the tobacco. After discharging her smoke, she would grin with a near toothless smile ear to ear, laughing at me, then she'd do it again. I sat at that table and ate while watching the night scenery. A beggar shuffled by me, rhythmically wagging his hand before me; I ignored him. A couple of migrant workers looked on from the shadows of a building around the corner. They weren't eating, so I got up and approached them, handing each one 5 RMB. He tried to refuse, but his friend beside him began thanking me in old Chinese style: a closed fist with the other open hand laying across it, shaken several times before him, chest level. Their eyes lit up, smiling and they quickly scurried off to a cart further down the way, no doubt a better bargain awaited them there. I don't usually tolerate beggars--many of them are professionals, with homes, wives and children. They dress in somewhat dirty rags and wander streets frequented by the myriad ranks of foreigners in Guangzhou. I can spot the truly destitute and will usually oblige them. The two men that I had helped feed that night were dirt poor migrant workers who were waiting in the wings for scraps left behind. The two of them could eat off that money for two days if they spent it right.

Feeling well fed and growing tired of sitting on my tiny plastic stool, I decided I needed to treat my feet and now slightly aching back to a traditional Chinese foot and back massage.