26. Meltdown in the big city

I woke up early and headed to the airline offices via the underground. I was told I’d have to pay a large fee if I was to fly from Shanghai, but if I left from Guangzhou, in the south, the fee would be waved. I figured I’d head south and see that city before I left, and was told it’d be at least a day before my flights would be confirmed.

The next stop was at the hostel from the night before. They had a discounted bunk vacant that had no locker and shared a room with twenty other bunks. I paid for a night and went back to the hotel to check out.

As I waited for my bond, a clerk offered me the room at half price for that night. I shook my head. If they had offered that deal last night, I may have stayed all week. I accepted my money back and returned to the hostel, finding my bunk was actually a stretcher in a meeting room.

Brett, an American, and Brits Angus and Sam were all sharing their travel plans, and I lay on my stretcher and joined in their discussion.

I went for lunch with Angus and Sam who went exploring afterwards, and I returned to do some laundry, finally, and met Paul, an English teacher from New Zealand.

“We’re the spill-over, are we?” he asked with a grin as he dropped his bag by a stretcher. I recognised his accent straight away and we fell into a conversation about all things political, sporting and otherwise regarding home. It seemed like hours later when Paul excused himself to go for a walk. I pulled out a book and read the rest of the day away before having a beer with him at the bar, overlooking Shanghai’s majestic buildings.

The next day, I met a friend of Tee’s, Devrim, who offered me a bed at his apartment. He had been working in Shanghai for a month and said he was happy for the company. We had dinner near his work and then walked to his apartment complex nearby.

I told Devrim that while China was a land of extremely weird and strange events, it had lost its surprising nature for me. Just then, a burning cigarette butt was thrown from a deck a few stories above us and landed on my head. I wasn’t surprised. I was pissed off but not surprised.

Having gained my bearings, I returned to the hostel to collect my bag. Not long after 8PM, I was saying goodbye to the people I’d met at the hostel, wishing them well, when a Korean man who had been on the stretcher opposite me burst through the doors, breathing heavily.

His English wasn’t great, but he managed to say he’d just been mugged only five minutes walk away. Two Chinese men had cornered him, threatening him with a knife. This after he’d reported the night before that he’d been physically assaulted at the People’s Square only ten minutes walk from the hostel.

He was visibly shaken, and began warning everyone about this city. I wanted to get on my way before I thought about it too much. I waved goodbye to Paul and the others and stepped out the front door, walking west towards the People’s Square, and considered taking a taxi. Instead, I headed for the underground, more because it was economical than me being brave.

Forty-five minutes later, I arrived at my new accommodation unharmed with no other incidents happening. I collapsed on the couch breathing a massive sigh of relief.

“You look freaked out,” Devrim said.

“I am freaked out,” I thought out loud.

With my flights out of Guangzhou confirmed, all I had to do was get there and enjoy the final few days in the country. I went to the train station for tickets, and upon entering the main ticketing hall, saw the massive queues lining out the door. People were everywhere, pushing their way to the front of the lines, arguing and shouting. I decided to skip that mess and walked to the English-speaking ticket counters in a hotel nearby. It would cost a surcharge, but at least I wouldn’t have to fight for service.

No tickets were available to get to the southern city for at least three more days. The lady at the counter told me a national holiday was coming, and travel around the country would be difficult, so I took the first available bunk.

“What time of day does it arrive in Guangzhou?” I asked her.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to arrive at night.”

“Why not?”

“Getting a hotel room late at night is very difficult,” I told her, straining to not talk to her like a child.

“I understand,” she said, nodding as her eyes lit up like someone had flicked a switch. The other ticket clerks in the office listening to our conversation also nodded, as if I’d told her the secret to hydrogen energy stability.

“What time does the train arrive in Guangzhou?” I asked again.

“1PM,” she said, with a smile. “Early afternoon.”

I thanked them all and walked outside, instantly bombarded by touts trying to sell me hotel rooms and girls. I ignored what they had to say and crossed a driveway where I almost got run over.

A tourist bus steamed out of a gate nearby, and as I had my psychological blinkers on to avoid the touts, I completely missed the bus heading straight for me. The driver screeched to a halt and I had to jump into a full bicycle rack to get out of the way. The driver leaned out the window screaming at me and the touts all started laughing. I smiled, waved an insincere apology, climbed out of the bikes and walked towards the underground station.

In one of the subway underpasses on the Pudong side of the river, I saw a young man playing an instrument so beautifully it was unfathomable that he was a busker. So many people to be heard busking in China and the only dollar they would receive from me would be in pity, yet this man was amazing. What led to him being stuck for work with the talent he had I didn’t know. The idea this man would play this spot for the next twenty years was disheartening. I dropped Y5 in his hat, enough to buy an ice cream and a drink and I took a seat on a nearby staircase, listening to the concert he was playing for the millions of people in his head.

I was wandering the shops, unsure what I wanted to buy. As I looked at cameras and MP3 players, I was approached constantly and offered the goods at inflated prices. The shopkeepers thought I was stupid. I didn’t bother bargaining with them, as that would suggest I wanted to make a purchase and they wouldn’t let me out the door empty-handed.

When I saw other foreigners spending up large I realised why they thought I was stupid too. Foreigners paid Y50 for a cigarette lighter with Mao’s inscription on it, whereas it was quite easy to get ten identical lighters for that price. I’d managed to get five for Y25 without bargaining that hard and I was still a bargaining novice.

Of course, idiot tax was still hitting me as hard as anyone else new to the country. As I walked around waiting to go home, I was able to reflect on what everything was worth with more discretion, as I was able to see how much Chinese people would pay for things. When I first arrived I forgave myself for being ripped off but after I felt the initiation was over I was a lot harder on myself.

On Nanjing Lu, the main pedestrian shopping precinct in central Shanghai, a man with a massive friendly smile approached me, and I smiled back. He tried to tell me something, and brought a pamphlet out of his pocket to show me some photos of high-tech gadgetry. I didn’t understand him nor the Chinese written on the pamphlet, and didn’t know what the gadgets were for either. He was trying to sell them to me, so I lost my smile and waved him away.

He continued talking to me, his smile not diminishing, and waved the photos in my face. I walked away, but he followed, smiling and telling me, in Mandarin, to look and something about being friends. When he finally got the message, he turned to another foreigner, smiling even wider.

I walked to the hostel to meet Paul for a beer, and wondered what all of this tourist dollar was in aid of. From what I had experienced, China doesn’t want or need more people in the country, but to invite money from around the world, foreigners are greeted with open arms. It seemed that my apparent wealth was the only reason I was welcome.

The longer I spent thinking about it, China was just some place to buy something inordinately overpriced that stated, “I have been to China.” As far as I could tell, they wanted money and I was just the vessel carrying some. Whatever they had to do to get it, they’d do, and didn’t respect me at all.

The crazy lady at the internet café in Haerbin, and a myriad of bus drivers, taxi drivers, hotel staff, touts and the tour guide Postman Pat had treated me like crap. People were constantly rude and gave the message that they didn’t want me around. The cop who pointed his rifle at me in Changchun may have secretly wanted to pull the trigger and spit had landed at my feet more times than I bothered to count.

Walking the streets, people stopped and stared, my presence making them uncomfortable. They didn’t want me around and the feeling was growing more and more mutual. As I approached the hostel, I had the urge to run back to Nanjing Lu screaming that I don’t care that Chinese people don’t want me. And I wanted to scream that I don’t want China.

“I don’t want you, China,” I wanted to tell everyone.

“Hey China, get fucked!” I wanted to scream.

“You’re already fucked, China, but really, GET FUCKED!”

So Shanghai wasn’t my cup of tea. I visited a different restaurant for every meal as the food choices were fantastic, but that was about all that got me going. I read for the rest of the week, starting and finishing three books within five days while I waited for my southbound train.

Although I smiled, was courteous, and spent time chatting to Devrim and people at the hostel, I was sulking. I had come to Shanghai to sulk. Before I left though, I was able to at least be woken out of my depression.

I was walking along Nanjing Lu again and saw the aftermath of a van versus motorbike altercation in the middle of a busy intersection. The obligatory crowd of ten to fifteen people had already gathered around in the middle of the road, the intersection buzzed with vehicles continuing on with their own private journey.

The lights changed and as I crossed the road, there was a short, sharp crunch. A scooter had parked itself on top of a bicycle right beside the first accident, probably due to both riders rubber-necking the other accident.

The two riders stood and began cleaning up the respective loads they had both spilled and the crowd in the middle of the road watching the first accident’s aftermath barely moved. They merely turned around to watch the aftermath of the second. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.