22. Defence: clap, clap

The major motorways north bisected hills covered near-continuously in wheat crops moving in waves up and down the slopes as the stalks blew in the breeze. Under the big blue sky, with not a hint of white cloud or pollution, the flowing green ocean of plant life made the lack of rapid travel more bearable, although as the bus crawled along, other passengers complained at the speed, or lack thereof.

The driver was continuously on his mobile phone talking about an American on board, which I figured was in reference to me and I was wondering what was going on. The modern bus, similar to the one I had travelled to Shenyang on, was struggling for no apparent reason. The driver slowed down and began calling people on his mobile about a “Meiguo ren”, that is American person. I considered the possibility someone may be waiting for me at the bus station in Jilin.

We finally got to Jilin and when the bus stopped out the back of the station, I was weary of any arrival party organised by the driver so asked him where to go. He pointed into the station building so I walked out the driveway in the opposite direction, ignoring his protests.

A procession of cheap hotels near the train and bus stations were easy pickings for a cheap bed and, having taken care of somewhere to sleep, I ventured to the main shopping precinct for some lunch and dinner.

The hotel owner told me how to get to the main shopping area, a good place to find restaurants and out-door dining establishments, such as, charcoal barbeque stalls. The walk there was a mixture of mad-cap crossing of busy streets, watching for random cyclists and motorbikes out of control and long waits for the pedestrian lights at major intersections, which still did not guarantee anyone’s safety.

I passed a monkey “trainer” putting on a street show, which consisted of a guy with several chained monkeys hitting them until they did what he said. The crowds didn’t clap or boo, they just watched. A couple of cops stood nearby, unfazed despite this form of animal cruelty being illegal. Obviously they had bigger issues to police, like the traffic. Well, there must be something they police.

Jilin smelt odd, like a mixture of dirt from the dusty roads and streets, foods of all different kinds, such as barbequed meat and boiled fish, and freshly cut steel from all the construction work happening everywhere. Amongst the shopping and restaurant areas, steel beams were being cut and carried with little regard to shopper safety.

I got a simple rice and meat meal and went for a walk past the outdoor restaurants, surrounded by charcoal barbeques, woks and frying pans, boiling pots and chillers filled with drinks. On the way back to the hotel, I walked through a street that doubled as a livestock market as the day turned to night, chickens in abundant supply housed in tiny cages.

The next day, I was sitting in McDonalds watching advertisements for McDonalds on the televisions situated around the walls. A man sitting at the table beside me turned, reached back in his throat for a fresh hunk of saliva and spat at my feet. I was unsure whether I should feel insulted but he simply turned around to his disinterested girlfriend and acted completely oblivious. I’d had spit land at my feet often enough to make me think people meant something by it, but whether it was meant as an insult or not I didn’t bother finding out. On this occasion, I laughed and left before contracting something contagious.

I went for a wander south through the shopping areas and arrived at the Songhua River, where I crossed to the southern side to get to Century Square. Many young people roller-skated and roller-bladed around the large fountain and museum structure in the centre. There weren’t enough people falling over for me to fit in, so I declined the skate-hire touts. I couldn’t think of a Mandarin translation for “uncoordinated”.

Back on the northern side of the river, I walked east through a park full of old men flying kites and older men exercising. Another bridge connecting to the southern side of the river doubled as a roof for basketball and tennis courts and an outdoor public gym. There were maybe upwards of fifty young men playing a number of basketball games while others exercised on the pseudo-weight machines. While watching the mixture of sporting talent and concentrated aggression, I took out my map to find the best way back to the hotel.

A young man from the basketball courts approached and tried to speak to me in very poor English, to which I responded in very poor Mandarin. Maybe because we couldn’t really communicate with one another I was invited over to the courts to play basketball with his friends. I tried to tell them that I suck, but couldn’t refuse the ass kicking they offered.

He introduced me as a New Zealand person and that I think Jilin is very good. This was all I had managed to say in Mandarin, which led to laughs from most of the men on the court. I felt embarrassed straight away. Soon enough, I was called onto the court for a game and told “Defence” repetitively.

I ran around the court like a headless chicken pretending I knew what I was doing but was comprehensively outplayed by everyone. The young men sunk basket after basket over my head and all I could do was watch. I gave up heaps of fouls and when given opportunities to shoot, and I mean given, I missed every time.

Language, I came to understand, is such a limited medium. The physical world needed no explanation though as, yes, even though I couldn’t tell them, they now knew that I suck.

“Defence,” clap, clap. “Defence,” clap, clap. They all joined in, pointing at me and clapping, trying to urge me into a greater performance. I laughed at the thought of launching my shoulder into someone’s gut and spear-tackling him into the concrete floor.

After embarrassing myself and my country (I’m unsure how clear it is that I suck at basketball quite badly), my team walked off the court and sat nearby where a conversation ensued, employing my dictionary and guidebook phrases. We spent maybe fifteen minutes trying to decipher one another’s comments, a crowd of ten or more people gathering around. We all struggled until Jiandong turned up.

He introduced himself in well-spoken English and introduced his brother Chong Ke, who had invited me to play basketball, and the others in the team. We discussed football and basketball and I tried to introduce them to rugby, but they had seen a game and felt it wasn’t for them. Too violent, Jiandong said. Chong Ke was formerly in the army and had become a guitarist and DJ hoping to make it big in Beijing or Suzhou. Jiandong, a few years younger, studied English at middle school and was readying himself to study English and economics at university.

“Do you all play basketball here often?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “In summer, we’re here every day.” It was no wonder I was humbled only a few minutes earlier.

“What do you do at night time?” I asked.

“We watch television and play computer games.”

“Do you go for walks by the river?” Everywhere I’d been, people walked by a lake or river after sunset, and I figured the Songhua River would attract people each night just the same.

“No,” he said. “Old people do that. Young people watch television.”

It was late afternoon and Jiandong asked me if I would like to join them for dinner, so I accepted.

I was feeling a little suspicious of the two of them as it felt odd to be approached by a complete stranger like this, but I wouldn’t have picked them as having sinister plans in mind. They were playing basketball with their friends and I walked past them, whereas, those who target tourists tend to hang out at bus and train stations and hotels. I chose to trust them. As we left the courts, a friend of theirs gave me a bottle of Pepsi saying, with translation from Jiandong, that he had met two foreigners today. One had thrown a ball into his face and the other had talked to him. I couldn’t recall if my ball passes had inadvertently hit his nose, but I knew I’d talked to him. I accepted the bottle graciously, I hope, remembering to nod and save it for later, which is how one should accept gifts from Chinese people. Opening the bottle immediately would make me look greedy. We crossed the road and Jiandong and Chong Ke stopped a taxi for us.

The taxi took us to the opposite side of town, maybe twenty minutes walk from my hotel, and Chong Ke led us off the main road across some train tracks and down an unkempt street lined with small workshops and piles of hardware outside. Rubbish filled potholes and black puddles along the ripped up asphalt. His father’s welding business, it turned out, was located in one of the workshops and we had come to visit him. I wondered if Chong Ke was asking for money from his father so he could feed us all. I hoped not as the money in my wallet began to burn a hole in my pocket.

“This street,” Jiandong told me, “was very new ten years ago.”

“Really?” I replied. “Why does it not look good now?”

“Because of the rubber factory that moved in,” he said, pointing at the out-of-place monstrous building amongst the ramshackle buildings directly behind us. “Since the factory began operating, the trucks rip up the road and when they spill and drop rubbish, nobody cleans it up.” According to Jiandong, the government stopped bothering with the roads upkeep.

Jiandong also said that he and Chong Ke aren’t brothers in the western sense of the word, but cousins. In one child China, they were raised as, and literally refer to one another as brothers. Chong Ke’s sister lived in New Zealand but not Jiandong’s.

We began walking back into town and were now talking about politics, or more specifically, China, Taiwan, and the USA.

“Taiwan is really part of China,” Jiandong told me matter-of-factly. “And the USA has stopped China from being able to rule over our country. The USA also attacked Iraq and Vietnam with no real reason. They are a very bad country.”

I could have argued the point but confronting Chinese people with views from foreign lands often provoked angry or absolutely bewildered responses. Often, when challenged, Chinese people wouldn’t be able to comprehend the idea that what the government has said could be incorrect. I found myself in a situation where, in the past, I would just say whatever was on my mind but this time I didn’t want to press too hard. These guys were taking me out for dinner and being very welcoming to me.

“You’re correct that a lot of people in the world think the USA were wrong to attack Iraq,” I began, “but to say that the USA is a bad country because of that would forget all the good they have done in the world too. The USA has done many good and many bad things and the New Zealand government has done many good and many bad things. Also, the Chinese government has done many good and many bad things. I don’t think you can call any of these countries good or bad as they are capable of both.”

And Jiandong was taken-aback. I don’t think he knew how to respond. Maybe I had pressed him too far and maybe I had bored him to tears. I couldn’t tell.

Chong Ke led us to a barbeque restaurant and once seated, I was asked what I would like to eat so invited Chong Ke and Jiandong to order for us. Our meat skewers and spicy vegetables arrived after a short wait. The meat was nothing more than gristle and fat but I didn’t want to be rude by not eating it. Once I had plastered it in the spicy powders placed in front of me, it was more appetising.

Something white and skewered was thrust in my direction and upon trying it, I didn’t recognise the taste.

“What is this?” I asked Jiandong.

“I think you call it Squirrel,” I thought he said.

Upon noting the look of consternation on my face, he elaborated.

“They have eight arms and live in the sea.”

“Ah, squid,” I replied, breathing a sigh of relief. Then again, squirrel kebabs may not be so bad.

Once we’d finished eating, they asked me if the meal was, in their words, “good enough”.

“Yes, thank you very much,” I said. “I really appreciate you both bringing me here. I don’t know how to order this kind of food and you both helping me has been great.”

The bill arrived and I wanted to pay it but Chong Ke wouldn’t let me. I was a rich man compared to these guys and they were not interested in me paying for our meal. I had mixed feelings about accepting their welcome and hospitality as I felt I may never be in a position to offer anything in return.

They decided to walk me back to my hotel, Chong Ke growing angry when he heard how much I was paying for my room.

“If you are going to stay for another day,” Jiandong said, “we will argue to get you a fairer price.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’m happy with my room.”

“Well, we’re scared that you will be tricked out of your money. Many people in China target foreign travellers who don’t know better. ” I couldn’t agree more, but I didn’t want them to help me.

“I understand and you’re correct. I have been targeted and I have been tricked. But that’s something I can only avoid by learning things for myself.”

They nodded and laughed. I think they expected me to be ripped off at every turn, a realistic expectation.

We stood outside my hotel and Jiandong and Chong Ke said their farewells. They spoke to the hotel manager who couldn’t believe I didn’t understand much Mandarin.

“She doesn’t know why you would travel around China if you don’t know the language,” Jiandong said.

“Neither do I,” I laughed. “I suppose I want to see more of the world and meet people from as many places as possible. I don’t want language difficulties to stop me.”

And then Jiandong and Chong Ke walked away. I struggled to say any more than “thank you” to both of them. I couldn’t think of the words to explain how I was feeling. I wished them luck in the future and walked back into my room. I switched on television and, as no hot water was available in the communal showers up the corridor, I washed myself with cold water from the hand basin.

I was pissed off with myself at the end of the night. I finally felt safe not when we were sitting at dinner nor during any discussion, but when I had got to my room. I’d been paranoid about these guys’ intentions the whole time, just like I was with the bus driver the day before. Once alone, I really did feel by myself. I was hiding again. Maybe I was hiding during our dinner conversation.