China Bound: Relocate, Rebuild, Reinvent

China Bound

Relocate, Rebuild, Reinvent

Dedication

To my father, who taught me, Until somebody puts some money on the table, all you have is talk.

Table of Contents

Preface

1) How Did I Get Myself Into This?

Invitation to Climb Song Shan – Trip Jinx – Mountaintop       Surprise - Mountain Country Life - Nine Dragons Lake – Chinese Brigadoon – Home Sweet Home

2) Preflight

Breaking Point – Going to China? – Intervention by Fate –Goodbyes – Last night in America - Flying to China

3) First Week

Beijing Airport Encounters – Welcome to Zhengzhou – Tawny - First Morning – Chopsticks – Hot Pot Meals – Little Emperors - Chinese Drivers

4) Second Week

First Impressions – Dylan – Teachers Orientation – New Campus Tour – Apartment 302 – Student Friends – A Car-Free Life

5) Third Week

First Classes – Classmates – Housekeeping – Another Campus Tour – Shopping Solo – Dining Halls – Chinese Foods – One-Key       Life – Noodles – Public Buses – Henan Museum

6) Fourth Week

First Home-Cooked Meal – Neighborhood Markets – Foreign Experts – First Big Mac – Downtown Shopping Trip – Trip to       Jiaozuo

7) March

A Changing Society – Tree Planting Day – First Haircut – Solo Bus Trip – First Bad Weather – Security Door – Tai Chi – Feng Shui

8) Early April

Breakfast Club – Sports Meet – Mu Dan Festival - Longmen Grottos - Second Trip to Jiaozuo – Fishing – Q&A

9) Late April

Exchange Rate Concerns – Traditional Chinese Medicine – Tea – Ma Que - Academic Pressure Cooker – English Majors – Good Enough – Jiaozi – Noise – TV Program Experts – Train Tickets – Rose City

10) May

It Doesn’t Matter – Golden Week – Kaifeng – Hotels – Helen – New Rules - Water Balloons – Class Life – Preparing for Final Exams

11) June

Gao Kao Exam – Angeline And Ellen – Finals Week – Chinglish –      Globalization – Cutting Ties – End Of Semester – Marriage And Credit Cards – End Of An Era

12) July

Museum Guides Training – Home Alone – Coaching Speech Contestants – Middle Class Family Life – Summer Weather – Hainan Island

13) August

Alone on Campus – Luoyang Again – Comparisons – Preparing For The New Semester – Home

Epilogue

Preface

Warning: This is a long preface. But that is perhaps reasonable; this is a long book. You might want to get a cup of coffee and find a comfortable reading position before proceeding. 

In fact, that might be a good way to read this whole book - in segments and with lots of coffee breaks. Imagine that I am your old friend, back from China for a visit. We are sitting in a quiet coffee house in your hometown, talking about my experiences in China. Sit back, relax, enjoy your coffee, and listen as I tell of my adventures - for I love to talk about what I saw and felt and learned. 

Okay, let’s get started.

One of my favorite books, Kon-Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl, begins with a wonderful passage:

Once in a while, you find yourself in an odd situation. You get into it by degrees and in the most natural way but, when you are right in the midst of it, you are suddenly astonished and ask yourself how in the world it all came about.

This narrative is an attempt to make sense of my own odd situation and the degrees by which it all came about. To go from a quiet, small-town life in central Missouri to living on the other side of the world - literally - in a large, bustling city in central China, is a rather dramatic transition. Yet these remarkable changes came about, as Heyerdahl says, in the most natural way.

In February of 2004, I arrived in Zhengzhou (pronounced Jung Joe), the capital city of Henan province, in north central China. I had been invited to be a foreign teacher for one semester at Zhengzhou University. I came, I taught… and I loved it. (Although the original invitation was for one semester, I had such a great time that I stayed for 11 years.) This book is about my experiences, observations, and reflections in that first semester. By degrees, I went through a transformation that carried me to a completely new life. That new life was such an extreme change as to suggest that perhaps Fate had a plan for me but neglected to make me aware of it. Or maybe Fate didn’t think it was necessary for me to know. Maybe it would have spoiled all the fun if I had.

There is a tale, probably apocryphal, about Samuel Clemens (better known as Mark Twain). One day, as he was telling his adventures to his biographer, Albert Bigelow Paine, Paine exclaimed, Your stories make wonderful copy! Clemens, puffing on his inevitable cigar, replied, Yes, and the most remarkable thing is that half of them are true. This are my stories and the most remarkable thing is that all of them are true.

And you, dear reader, since you have gotten this far, what’s in it for you if you continue? Will it be worth your time and money and missed opportunities while spending a few hours reading about my China adventures and reflections? I hope so.

Why? Well…

China is a country that is, at once, an enigma, a bogeyman, an economic powerhouse, a regional and international competitor, a vital trading partner, a military and technological force to be reckoned with, and a convenient target for misapplied and oversimplified labels. Above all, China is a force in the 21st Century that is not going away. Yet, for most Americans, China remains a mystery. I have attempted, without a political or economic or religious agenda, to describe the China I encountered at ground level.

The following experiences were mine alone; as the car manufacturers say, your mileage may vary. What occupied most of my days and thoughts (and this book) were the rather routine and mundane matters of how to go shopping, learning to count from one to ten in Chinese, ordering then eating breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, preparing and conducting classes, riding the city buses and describing what I saw out the windows, and noting some of the little details in the daily lives of the local people I met as they experienced the ongoing maelstrom of sweeping economic and social changes.

This book is organized the same way new-born babies develop their worldview. Once in China, I was concerned, like an infant, with the things in my immediate surroundings: How do I get fed, keep warm, and learn about my own home? What are my favorite toys and who are these strange people taking care of me? Next, like a toddler, this worldview expands to include exploring the surrounding neighborhood and making new friends. Then, like a child ready to begin kindergarten and further their personal and social development, I write about looking around to see how my immediate surroundings and daily life fit into the bigger picture of life in modern China. And that is why I hope this will be interesting and informative enough to justify your reading to the end of my narrative.

However, that certainly won’t be the end of the story of the amazingly complex, constantly changing relationship between China and the rest of the world. In the coming years, China will continue to be a huge factor as an emerging world power, a global leader with political influence and economic clout, and a topic of daily conversations around the water cooler at work - to use an anachronistic but accurate image. The more information you have about China – real, accurate, and dispassionate information, free from hidden agendas, outdated and unfounded assumptions, and bias – the better you will be able to understand modern China and its effects on your life.

At this point, I will take a moment and warn you that some of the narrative you are about to embark upon is going to be slow reading – maybe dull, although I hope it will never be truly boring. Some characters make only a brief appearance and are never mentioned again. Routine activities are mentioned over and over. Most of my days were as exciting as doing my laundry.

Why? Honestly, for normal, real people, much of life is exactly like that. Normal people don’t live like the characters in a movie or a soap opera. (For example, when was the last time you had a car chase scene in your neighborhood, the kind that seem to be mandatory in all of the action movies?) For every day in real life that is full of events, chaos, or surprises, normal people have a few days (or weeks) of repetitive, unexciting daily routines. We survive the crisis of today and clean up the mess… but then forget about it tomorrow. Many parts of this book will be that way also. I chose to leave them in because those descriptions are part of the complete picture I am trying to present. The boring stuff only gives more color and meaning to the exciting parts.

Throughout this narrative, there are references to several books which either influenced my own development or which are directly referred to in China Bound. For clarification, let me offer the briefest of annotated bibliographies:

Kon-Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl. The epic tale of a drift voyage across the Pacific Ocean in 1947. A true story, this back-to-nature experience captures the peaceful sense of everyday life for six men living on a balsa raft as it drifts across the ocean. They had no contact with the rest of the world for three months as they sailed from South America to Polynesia. A low-tech life indeed.

Stories of the Old Duck Hunters & Other Drivel by Gordon MacQuarrie. A collection of short stories by Wisconsin journalist Gordon MacQuarrie about his literary creation, The Old Duck Hunters, Inc. Gentle humor, evocative descriptions of outdoors living, and a time capsule glimpse of a simpler life before our Digital Age.

My Country and My People by Lin Yutang, a multifaceted Chinese scholar who was educated in the US and Europe. Written in the 1930s, much of what he says is still relevant. Through his books, he brought a greater understanding of Chinese culture and thought to Western readers of the Twentieth Century. He also wrote The Art of Living and he translated into English a beautiful and serene love story from ancient China, Six Chapters of a Floating Life.

Walden by Henry David Thoreau. Taken from the journals of this famous naturalist after he returned from living alone for two years in a tiny cabin he built by himself in a forest. Thoreau wanted to experience life reduced to the basics; simplify, simplify. He lived without technology, without social expectations, and with none of the labor-saving, time-wasting conveniences that occupy so much of our modern day.

The Sliverado Squatters by Robert Louis Stevenson. In the 1880s, this Scottish novelist spent a summer in northern California in what would later become its famous wine producing region. In his time, it was virtually undeveloped and unpopulated, a fitting setting for his retreat to nature and nature’s healing powers.

When I asked others to review this book before publication, I received a number of helpful and insightful comments. After all, even with the best of intentions, the self-editing author frequently cannot see through the forest because all those silly trees that keep getting in the way. Friends help friends, including, in some cases, closely reading and commenting on a lengthy book such as this one.

Subsequently, in addition to the universal editorial admonitions to put the entire manuscript on a crash diet, there were some comments about my seeming preoccupation with foods and dining in my new home. It is true that I included many detailed descriptions of meals and eating patterns; this was for several reasons. The first reason is because you are what you eat; our foods preferences/taboos and patterns are deeply personal and revealing. But, they also tell us a great deal about the culture around us – the level of food transportation and storage technology, the degree of acceptance of new foods or preparation methods, and the range of ingredients commonly used by the local inhabitants.

The second reason for such detailed descriptions of foods and meals is that they take up a substantial part of our day. Like sleeping, our time spent eating doesn’t get a lot of attention but this activity is hugely influential in determining the rest of our day. (As Lin Yutang says, we only think we are the boss; the truth is that our stomach is the boss. Don’t believe it? Miss two or three consecutive meals and see how well you are able to focus on your carefully selected, highest-ROI, life-changing goals. Unless you are a truly exceptional individual, all you will be thinking about is getting some food in your stomach.) Ultimately, I left many of the food and restaurant descriptions intact because, like other mundane activities, they contribute to a more rounded picture of how I was spending my days. 

It is customary to acknowledge with gratitude the many individuals who helped in the long process of getting a book into the reader’s hands. Certainly, that is true with China Bound. I was happy to write about my experiences and reflections. Great fun. Not so much fun, however, was the careful editing and revising to get it into the final form you are seeing. In that part of the publishing process, a number of people helped me. I won’t use any names but, if they are reading this published form, they know who they are. Without friends and family to proofread carefully and suggest - sometimes with brutal frankness - how to improve it, China Bound would still be riddled with errors, duplications, and boring passages understood only by me.

The manuscript for China Bound was written and in the revisions stage before I created the subtitle relocate, rebuild, reinvent. Although the theme of reinventing your life runs quietly throughout the book, it was only in the close re-reading and revising phase that it became apparent. While China Bound is nominally about living in modern China, the reinvention principles can be applied to virtually any person in any situation, regardless of physical location. In the years since I made my own desperate grasp at the new beginning implicit in the invitation to move to China and teach English, I have come to believe that the reinvention process is an ongoing and hugely important factor in determining the degree of control we feel about our life. Certainly, I was never conscious of it at the time but, if you read closely, you may see the point at which I stopped sinking and started going up. The process was slow and not always smoothly upward but the overall trend was unmistakable… in retrospect. Perhaps my experiences will inspire readers of China Bound to do some reinventing in their own lives.

And one last thing…

A critical factor in reading enjoyment and comprehension is your own attitude as you read a book. Let me illustrate this point with a story from my past. When I was a college freshman, my English professor assigned my class to read Thoreau’s classic Walden. For any who are not familiar with this book, it is the story of a man, Henry David Thoreau, who built then lived alone in a small cabin in the forest near Concord, Massachusetts. This was a true story, taking place before the American Civil War, i.e., before cars, computers, telephones, television, and radio. Even before all of our modern digital devices and the internet appeared, Thoreau believed life was becoming overly rushed and complicated. He felt there were too many arbitrary social rules; people were so concerned with appearances and profits that they forgot the basics of life. His experiment was to retreat from society and try to identify what was truly essential. He lived alone in his tiny cabin for two years, tending his crops, wandering through the fields and woods, and keeping a journal. When he emerged after two years, he used his journal entries to publish a book. Since his cabin was located near Walden Pond, that body of water furnished the title of his book, Walden. Cool name.

Sounds like a great and interesting experiment, right? But remember, this was a book with no dialogue since he was living alone. Also, there was no action, unless you count working on his few rows of beans or swimming in the lake or walking through the woods. As a freshman, I found it to be the most boring book I had ever tried to read. Two pages was enough to put me to sleep. (I hope that China Bound won’t have that effect on you.) To this day, I cannot remember if I managed to read the whole book – Sorry, Prof. Quinn. – but the only impression I carried away was one of profound boredom and dry writing.

Many years later, I found that same book, Walden, in a bookstore. With a mixture of curiosity and nostalgia, I purchased it and began to read again. To my surprise, I found that Prof. Quinn was right; this was indeed a wonderful book, filled with great insights and observations that are still true today. The difference was that, this time, no one was telling me that I was required to read it. By removing the resentment that we all naturally feel when told that we must do something, I discovered a book that I could really enjoy. No, it will never be the basis for an action movie since there was no action, no suspense, no conflict, no character development, or, indeed, no characters except for Thoreau himself. What it did have was some genuinely interesting and lasting concepts about life in society and our relationship with the natural world.

I won’t pretend that China Bound is on the level of Walden but I hope that you will read and enjoy all of it – even if it is, at times, a little boring.

After reading this book, if any of my experiences or reflections resonate with you, the reader, I would love to hear from you. You can send email to randy@randy-green.com. (The dash between my names is critical.) Or you can visit my blog, randy-green.com. I do my best to read every comment and email. On the blog site, you can find updates, exchange comments with me and other readers, see photos from that period, and read my newest blog posts.

Randy Green

Chongqing, China

June 2018

Chapter One

How Did I Get Myself Into This?

Imagine you are at the airport in St. Louis, Missouri early one cold, snowy morning in the first week of February. You are traveling alone, accompanied only by three overstuffed suitcases, with a laptop computer as your carryon luggage. You fly to Chicago, then board a second plane for Beijing. Arriving in Beijing, you immediately transfer to a much smaller plane for a flight to Zhengzhou in Henan province in the very heart of China. You have accepted an invitation to be a teacher at a Chinese university. You should, naturally, expect a few changes in your lifestyle. There will be.

Now imagine that it is August, six months later. In the first week of that sweltering month, you find yourself near Zhengzhou climbing a mountain, Song Shan, one of China’s Big Five. That hot August afternoon, halfway up the mountain, you are breathing heavily. Leg-weary, and sweating profusely from the summer heat and humidity with still a long, long climb remaining, you can well imagine asking, How did I get myself into this?

You might mean more than just why were you struggling up a mountain on a hot summer afternoon; you might mean the whole new life you had found.

This is a true story, my story. I really did leave St. Louis, Missouri on a cold, snowy February morning and fly to China. Six months later, I really did climb Song Shan on that hot August afternoon. I really did start over and find a completely new life. How and why? It’s a rather long tale.

But before I begin, let me finish telling you about that mountain climbing adventure because it is typical of many of my experiences in China.

Some events are jinxed. From its very beginning, the trip to climb Song Shan was certainly one of them. That doesn’t mean that all my adventures were jinxed; most were not. But there is no other explanation for all the calamities, disasters, and continual minor mishaps which occurred on our trip to climb Song Shan.

The trip to climb Song Shan began innocently enough. One evening on the campus, I had dinner at the student cafeteria with my freshman friend Jimmy and his girlfriend Jennifer. Jimmy presented me with an intriguing invitation. By now, I knew of the nearby city of Dengfeng. Dengfeng was near enough to Zhengzhou to be considered part of Zhengzhou’s metropolitan area which numbered about seven million. (Zhengzhou itself had a population of only about three million at the time, not a major city by modern Chinese standards.) Tourists went to Dengfeng to see the Shaolin Temple, the ancestral home of kung fu (also called gong fu). Dengfeng was at the base of a famous mountain, Song Shan (Song Mountain), on whose slopes the temple was located.

However, Jimmy’s immediate proposal didn’t involve kung fu. Jimmy told me that Song Shan was an attraction in its own right and he was inviting me to go with him to climb Song Shan. No, we wouldn’t actually visit the temple site, Jimmy said. We could come back some day in the future for that. This time, we might only see it in passing as we climbed to the top of Song Shan. Song Shan, he said, was considered one of China’s Big Five mountains that knowledgeable travelers visited and climbed. Best of all, since Dengfeng was so close to Zhengzhou, travel there would be quick and inexpensive, two highly important factors in student adventures. I agreed to go with Jimmy and he said that he would make travel plans so we could go soon, perhaps in the upcoming week.

Jimmy had indeed moved quickly. Consequently, only a few days later, we rendezvoused at the south gate of the campus at 6:30 in the morning to begin our journey to climb Song Shan. The previous day had been rainy but this morning was clear and still. Our group consisted of me and Jimmy, his girlfriend Jennifer, and a high school classmate of Jimmy’s, Suzy Wang. Suzy, also a college freshman, attended another local university and, like many students, was using her summer holiday to travel and visit old friends.

Wearing my fully loaded backpack, I joined the three students. We would catch Bus 68 to go downtown where we would catch the intercity bus to Dengfeng. Our tentative trip plan called for us to take a bus to Dengfeng and climb to the top of 1440 meter (about 4,700 feet) Song Shan, then return to Zhengzhou that evening. We were getting an early start but it was still unsettled if we would return that evening or stay overnight and return the next morning. It was my summer holiday; I was between semesters. With no classes or planned appointments, I could relax and, with the students, say, It doesn’t matter.

It was at this point, even before we left our campus, that our trip jinx made its first appearance. A brief delay was caused by the discovery of something vital left behind in a dorm room which must be retrieved. Then, another delay to purchase some drinks and snacks from nearby vendors. Then yet another minor delay. And yet another. This was only the beginning of what our trip jinx had in store for us. As our day became a successive comedy of errors, the agenda was altered repeatedly. Indeed, our initial rendezvous at the bus stop to catch Bus 68 was the only thing on the whole trip which went strictly according to Jimmy’s plan.

After a series of minor delays, the first major problem arose when we arrived at the downtown bus station to purchase intercity bus tickets to Dengfeng. Only after we stood in a long line and finally reached the ticket counter did we learn that the bus to Dengfeng used another terminal. There was nothing to do but leave this terminal and wait for another city bus to take us to the second terminal. Then, upon arriving at the correct terminal, we found we were too late for the early bus; it had already left. We purchased tickets and waited to board the next bus to Dengfeng. Thus, despite our early start, by the time the next bus finally pulled out with us on board, it was already past 11:00 and we still had an estimated one hour of travel time to cover the short distance to Dengfeng.

Once underway however, the next problem arose. The one-hour estimate was quickly made questionable by repeated stops after we left the terminal. In addition to scheduled stops, it seemed that not all passengers got on at the stations. Apparently, the route of the bus to Dengfeng was well known so many people simply waited at the side of the highway and flagged down the bus as it passed, paying the driver for their ticket as they boarded. Even before we left Zhengzhou, we had already stopped several times.

Our day’s schedule were already in tatters and any possibility of climbing to the top of Song Shan and coming back down, then returning by bus to Zhengzhou that night, was growing more remote with each new incident. However, in the August heat, still stopping occasionally to pick up additional passengers, we were at least on our way. As the bus chugged along the rough highway we encountered after leaving the city, we four relaxed and enjoyed the snacks and bottles of water we had all brought along. I had learned to carry food and water for just such eventualities.

When the bus neared the city of Dengfeng, I could see that it offered quite a contrast to Zhengzhou’s floodplain flatness. Actually, the rolling hills and distant tree-covered mountains we saw through the windows reminded me of the Smoky Mountains in America. So what if we were late? We were on holiday. Six months in China had taught me more patience. Like my student friends, I was learning to say, It doesn’t matter.

Because of all the delays, by the time we arrived at the bus terminal in Dengfeng, made our way to the base of Song Shan, and began our ascent, it was early afternoon. The August weather was hot and humid, we were getting a very late start, and the challenge ahead was daunting - at least for me - but this was what we had come for.

As we commenced our climb, I was a little disappointed that a summer haze covered the area, making the distant horizon fuzzy and generally limiting our view. Sometimes the eye needs to focus on long distances and scenes other than city streets and buildings. Soon after starting our climb however, I was more intent on climbing than on vistas anyway. I saw no trolleys or ski lifts or paved roads for tour buses and private cars leading upwards. The top of Song Shan was reached by climbing steps - many, many steps. Innumerable zigzag flights of concrete steps set into the side of the mountain were the only way to get to the 1440 meter summit. The stair flights varied in steepness and in the number of steps of each flight. They appeared to have been made in different periods of time, or perhaps by different builders. Still, they were well maintained and their metal hand rails made the ascent safe enough. In the August afternoon heat and stillness, we four began the endless zigzag trek to the top of the mountain.

Setting out at a fairly brisk but sustainable pace, I did my best to keep up with my three student friends. After six months in China, I felt as if I was in pretty good shape. They had been six car-free months in which I walked everywhere and climbed steps daily to my classrooms and my apartment. Indeed, compared to when I arrived in February, I certainly was in much, much better condition. However, nothing in my new life had prepared me for climbing a mountain, even if it was made easy and safe by the concrete steps and hand rails built into the slopes. After a few dozen flights of steps, I was already slowing down significantly.

That day, I discovered that 1440 meters is considerably higher than it sounds. However, once you start, there was nothing to do but keep climbing. Like a marathon runner, you must simply keep going until you get to the top. Fortunately, we were often shaded by the trees growing on the mountainside so we were not in direct sunshine. Frequent breaks for bottled water helped too. Due to the lateness in the day, there were few other people climbing alongside us.

Talking with Jimmy as I toiled up the mountain, we decided to stay overnight at the top. Staying overnight meant that we wouldn’t have to walk down all these steps again today, plus we could look forward to seeing a mountaintop sunset and sunrise as bonuses. I had brought some emergency cash and, by now, I knew I would cheerfully pay for a couple of rooms rather than descend today. This decision to stay overnight meant that all I had to do was ration my energy sufficiently to get to the top of the mountain. By this point in the late afternoon, all I was thinking of was reaching the summit then finding a nice cold beer, a comfortable room, and a cool shower. Just get to the top became my mantra.

At last, we could see the summit ahead of us. After the prolonged effort of climbing hundreds of concrete steps, I knew that I was going to make it. I was tired and my legs were a little rubbery but I was still moving steadily. I was actually feeling proud of myself; I was climbing a mountain and maintaining a good pace. Then, almost at the top, my self-congratulations were interrupted. Perhaps my brisk pace wasn’t so brisk after all. Climbing at what I thought was still a reasonable tempo, I was nonetheless passed by a young woman who sped right by me and was soon out of sight. Like me, she was wearing a backpack but it didn’t seem to be slowing her down - unlike my own, which, by now, felt as if it were loaded with concrete blocks. I told myself that there was no shame in being passed by a girl. She must simply be in a bigger hurry than me. However, I admit to being a little dismayed for, in addition to her large backpack, the girl was wearing high heels. (Some Chinese girls wear high heels everywhere, even climbing hundreds of steps up a mountain.) Oh, and she was also carrying a small baby in her arms.

It didn’t matter. Like a tiring marathon runner, I no longer cared about getting to the top quickly; I just wanted to reach it. Victory wouldn’t be from turning in the fastest time; it would come from simply finishing.

Tired and sweaty but triumphant, we finally arrived at the top of Song Shan. After reaching the tree-covered summit, which was not a single, sharp peak but rather a large, rounded ridge with a few small buildings hidden among the trees, we began taking the obligatory celebratory photographs of each other and the view from the mountain top. Even from the very top, however, the view was still somewhat diminished due to the haze which had accompanied us the whole day. It had rained all the previous afternoon and today’s higher humidity and the photo-limiting haze were the consequences.

This haze may have prevented us from clearly seeing long distances from our mountain-top perspective but it could not diminish the sense of accomplishment or the camaraderie which had developed during the afternoon climb. Most of all, however, I was looking forward to a relaxing evening. My day’s work was done. Since we were not going back down the mountain until the next morning, I could just take it easy. Upon arriving at the top, I had immediately purchased two cool bottles of beer from a vendor in a small stand. I was eager to sit down and enjoy this modest victory libation with my climbing partners, then get a room and have a shower. After that, my ambitions extended no further than a leisurely dinner on top of Song Shan, followed by a very early bedtime. It was this vision which had kept me going during the last phase of the ascent.

But it was not to be. It seemed that our trip jinx had also accompanied us up the mountain and was ready now for more mischief. A fresh dilemma was not long in arising. Jimmy’s inquiries soon determined that, due to a remodeling project, there were no rooms or any other type of accommodations available on the top of the mountain currently. This explained why we had seen so few people during the afternoon climb. Others must have known that they had to get up and down Song Shan the same day. Stunned and dismayed at this news, we four quietly surveyed our situation. There were still a couple of hours of daylight left but I was far from enthusiastic about walking back down all those steps we had just climbed. My legs were still burning and shaky from the ascent. However, it appeared that we had no other options.

At that point, one of the vendors, upon seeing our predicament, offered us a room for the night in a small building used by workmen on the site. We walked the short distance to inspect it but, looking inside, it was pretty grim. The tiny room contained only four rickety single beds covered with sheets of indeterminate age and dubious cleanliness, and a naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Tattered screens on the uncurtained windows invited mosquitoes and flies inside. Dirty floors and penciled messages written on the plaster walls plus cigarette butts and abandoned playing cards strewn about the room showed this to be exactly how it was described to us: temporary housing for workmen. I didn’t see any bathroom facilities so I had to assume that they would be quite primitive as well. Down the hall might well mean down the hill. Furthermore, the leisurely dinner I had visualized would have to be whatever snacks we still carried in our backpacks plus what we could buy from the mountaintop vendors.

Still thinking glumly about the prospect of walking down those many hundreds of steps before we could find a place for dinner and rest, I felt a tremendous internal conflict. Exhaustion won out. Since the room’s condition stopped short of being an actual health hazard, I decided that I could accept it for one night. I could tell from the look on his face that Jimmy was reaching the same reluctant conclusion.

The two girls, however, felt no such indecision. Apparently, even petite, soft-spoken, traditional Chinese girls have their limits and, with this unwelcome surprise at the end of a hot, tiring afternoon climb to the top of a mountain, Jennifer and Suzy had clearly reached theirs. I didn’t need an interpreter for the ensuing conversation as they converged on poor Jimmy. Although they were speaking in simultaneous, rapid-fire Chinese, their message was obvious even to me: Absolutely not! What was he thinking? Was he crazy??? Under no conditions, they shrilly told Jimmy in stereo indignation, were they going to stay overnight in that room - and, furthermore, the matter was not subject to discussion. They went on to add a few more comments that I did not understand but I thought it best not to interrupt their conversation to ask Jimmy for a translation.

It is not quite accurate to call this a conversation because Jimmy made only a few tentative comments and those were quickly overwhelmed by another gust of female Chinese outrage. Like a sudden summer thunderstorm, the tirade was quickly growing in intensity, with Jennifer and Suzy standing closer and closer to Jimmy until the two tiny girls seemed to be towering over him. With his classmate and his girlfriend seemingly on the verge of physical violence, a chastened Jimmy wisely submitted. Standing up, Jimmy quickly announced his executive decision: As the trip leader, he had decided that we must get off the mountain and return to Dengfeng for the night. Let’s get started!

By now, it was well past 5:00 but we still had a couple of hours of the August daylight left. Shrugging and glad that my language limitations had largely saved me from the verbal onslaught, I resigned myself to the inevitable. Wearily, I stuffed the two large bottles of beer into my backpack, stood up, and prepared for the descent. The libations would have to wait until we were down from the mountain.

We started back down. I would like to say that I set out at a quick pace again but that would not be strictly true. After several hours of climbing a 1440-meter mountain in the August heat and humidity, it would be more accurate to say that, at best, I began the retreat at a gravity-assisted trudge. However, once underway, the girls were pacified. Good spirits and harmony were soon restored. Certainly, there was no danger if we simply descended carefully. Furthermore, getting lost would be impossible, even in the dark. Staying on the steps was all that was required.

Jimmy’s hastily revised plan was to walk back down the mountain and find a hotel in Dengfeng for the night since, obviously, it would be too late to catch a bus to Zhengzhou. Still, some dinner, a clean room, and a chance to relax and enjoy my beer was all I asked at the moment. Never too cool even when I purchased them, the two bottles of beer in my backpack were now rapidly warming in the August evening temperatures. But that was not a significant problem. I just wanted to get down the mountain, find some food, get to a hotel, and go horizontal. It was a very inviting vision; it kept me going.

In the growing dusk and carefully grasping the handrails, we retraced our steps. Of course, now I had gravity to help me but going down steps can sometimes be more dangerous than climbing up. I reminded myself to concentrate on walking upright and carefully on the long descent. On this mountainside, a stumble or fall in the dark could be disastrous. Besides, we were all tired by now. Still, as we got into the rhythm, our spirits lifted. This was not a major problem I told myself, only a slight hitch in our plans. It didn’t matter. As we descended in the growing dusk, the evening coolness and a slight breeze made us more comfortable.

Continuing downward, there soon occurred a memorable incident which made my own plight seem far less distressing. As we were going down the zigzag stairway which was frequently shaded by overhanging trees, it was often impossible to see very far ahead or behind. Since leaving the top of the mountain, we had been almost alone. Now, approaching us from below, we heard slow, labored breathing sounds that seemed abnormally loud in the evening stillness. Soon, the source of the noise came into sight.

As they appeared, I saw that it was a group of about a dozen workmen who were delivering supplies to the construction site on top of the mountain. They were very slowly making their way up the same steps we were descending. We stood to the side and watched as they passed. Wearing only shorts and canvas shoes, each of them was carrying bags of cement or other construction materials. These were suspended from both ends of a wooden pole balanced over the workman’s shoulder. I estimated each laborer, every one of whom was smaller than me, was carrying 50 to 80 pounds up the same mountainside I had so recently struggled up while carrying only my padded backpack.

As we stepped aside and watched, I saw that each step was a distinct effort for them, including a noticeable pause before the next step. As aerobic exercises go, this was at the very top of the scale. They wasted no energy in talking. Every breath was slow and resonant; this breathing sound was what had first attracted my attention. I thought to myself, "This is their job. They climb 1440 meters up this mountain - with a heavy load – and they do this every day." I felt humbled. As they continued upward, our group silently resumed our descent. I had no more complaints about our own minor misfortunes. My backpack now seemed feather-light.

Near the bottom, the gradient became more gentle. We finally left the steps and began to walk on a paved road leading to Dengfeng. We soon encountered a family who were, we quickly learned, locals. They were not climbing Song Shan; they were merely out for an evening stroll on the paved roads of the lower slopes. Obviously curious about the foreigner, they began to talk with Jimmy and the two girls, then turned around to walk back down with us. Yes, they would be happy to help us find overnight accommodations in Dengfeng. They would even give us a ride in their car which they had left in a parking lot at the bottom of the hill.

What a relief; we were saved.

I was delighted with this new development. After going up and down Song Shan in one long afternoon, my feet were sore and protesting and my legs were burning. By now, it was fully dark and I was getting very, very weary. I had been looking forward to simply finding a hotel - hopefully, very soon. Now, I told myself that I could surely hold out for five more kilometers, the estimated distance to their parked car, especially since most of it was on a paved, downhill slope.

As we continued to walk slowly down the road with our new friends, they asked innumerable questions which Jimmy translated for me, then translated my responses to the curious family. We walked and walked and walked into the night, always going downhill in the darkness. Chattering and walking on both sides of me, the family certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry. I began to wonder how long it would be before we finally reached their car.

Our enlarged group finally reached the bottom. Now, in the pleasant summer evening, we began to see more and more people. As the slope leveled out, our new friends insisted that we stop for dinner at one of the outdoor restaurants we were passing. By now, it was obvious that they were proud of their foreigner. As we had descended and, now at the restaurant, they excitedly spoke with others and loudly let everyone know that their group included an American friend. I was only interested in getting to a hotel but this was obviously a social coup for them. Entering the outdoor restaurant, we sat at a center table they selected - obviously for maximum exposure. I ate and smiled at everyone… but I certainly wished they would hurry a bit. Still, since we were getting a free ride, I couldn’t be too upset if they didn’t share my sense of urgency. I was straining my It doesn’t matter capacity but they clearly were in no hurry to finish eating and end this splendid evening.

Finally, well after 9:00, they concluded their leisurely evening repast. By now, I was ready to begin pulling out my hair in sheer frustration. In all this time, we could have walked to Dengfeng and found our own lodgings and I could already be asleep. Only at this point did the father take action. When it was unmistakable that I was growing impatient, father casually reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Jimmy told me that he was giving directions for a friend to meet us at the restaurant, get father’s car keys, walk to the as yet unseen parking lot, locate the car, and then drive their car to the restaurant to meet us. Smiling, father turned back to us, content to resume the interesting entertainment, having guaranteed himself a captive foreigner for a little longer.

As everything continued to proceed at a snail’s pace, I had no choice but to wait for father’s friend to reach the restaurant. Then, upon arriving, the newest friend had to be introduced to us. Of course, the newest friend also had to be provided with full details of my history and our adventures on Song Shan, plus I had to answer a few additional questions. Only then did he get the car keys from father and depart into the darkness. He was on the way to the parking lot to locate their car and drive it back to the restaurant. All this could have been done while we were eating but they were having too much fun to cut the evening short.

Finally, another half-hour later, the friend did arrive with their car – it turned out to be a small van – and we tiredly piled in. The family was still beaming and bubbling with enthusiasm. During the course of the meal, they had extracted a promise from Jimmy to meet again in the morning. They were going to show us other local attractions then take us to the bus station to begin the return trip to Zhengzhou. At this point, all I was concerned with was getting some sleep so I accepted the change of plans as graciously as possible.

Then, finally, everything went smoothly. Perhaps our trip jinx had already retired for the night. He may have been worn out after the long afternoon climb and descent. At any rate, in a matter of minutes, we were deposited at a local hotel that probably rated two stars at most. Still, the room Jimmy and I now occupied offered shelter and security, a quiet refuge, and, best of all, two clean single beds. Under normal circumstances, I would have deemed it as barely adequate but, tonight, it looked like a blissful haven.

Before we fell asleep in our tiny, non-air conditioned room, Jimmy and I finally got to enjoy those two bottles of beer I had carried all the way from the top of Song Shan. The beer was warm, the room was warm, and there was no shower but those victory beers tasted wonderful. We had certainly earned them.

My friends were right; it didn’t matter. Despite all the delays and unplanned events of the day, and despite the antics of our trip jinx, we had achieved our goal of climbing Song Shan.

Two minutes later, I was sound asleep and nothing mattered.

The next morning, Jimmy and I were up and about by 7:30. A night’s rest had restored energy and good spirits… and appetites. We four met in the tiny lobby and checked out. Looking around outside, I could see that we were in a run-down, working class residential area. It wasn’t dangerous, only shabby and old. I am not sure why our new friends had chosen this particular hotel in this particular location but probably price considerations, i.e., student budgets, were a major factor.

Leaving the hotel, the four of us walked a short distance to a small neighborhood restaurant. Really, such a tiny establishment barely warranted that appellation. Located in the middle of a block-long, two story building that contained many different small businesses, this working class diner consisted of only a single, medium-sized room which served as both kitchen and dining room. Once inside, the entire dining area was only a handful of small, rickety wooden tables and unmatched wooden chairs and stools. The front door was propped open; flies and dust entered freely through the unscreened doorway. Since this was a breezy morning, there was more of the latter than the former. Curiously, I glanced around me. Except for a couple of other customers, obviously workmen, the room was empty.

In one corner, a large, friendly looking woman sat at a table next to the stove. She was apparently the owner, manager, and cook. Her kitchen facilities were minimal but included all the necessities. The small stovetop held several old pots and a bamboo steamer. On the table in front of her was a battered metal bowl full of the chopped food that was to be the filling for baozi, the steamed bun that was a close relative of the jiaozi, my favorite. (With baozi, the dumpling is cooked by steaming instead of being boiled like the jiaozi. Baozi are larger and the wrapper is thicker.) Her equipment inventory was meager: the pan for holding the filling, a short wooden plank that served as both work table and cutting board, a small wooden dowel for rolling the dough into circular wrappers, kuaizi (chopsticks), knives, a few spoons, and a cleaver. (No self-respecting Chinese kitchen would be considered fully operational without a cleaver.) With only these basic implements, she was producing a hearty, filling breakfast.

As we entered, she was already at work preparing the baozi. Beaming at us without rising, she continued rolling out circles of dough to be the wrappers for the next batch of baozi. She then filled and crimped them by hand and put the completed baozi in the steamer baskets. Other baskets, previously filled with the baozi, were stacked on the steamer, already cooking. We had only a short time to wait. As the steaming time was completed for each basket, a young daughter removed that basket from the stack and served us and the other customers who had come in. The equipment may have been minimal and the level of cleanliness somewhat disconcerting as even more dust was drifting in through the open door but the warm welcome in her smile was genuine and her deft movements and the complete lack of any wasted motion gave evidence that she had been making the breakfast baozi for years.

And the results were delicious. We enjoyed a simple peasant breakfast of baozi. In addition to the baozi, we each had a large bowl of the porridge which was a steaming combination of rice, beans, and peanuts – hot, simple, and frugal. Everything was priced and portioned for hungry working people… and touring college students. With such a filling meal to begin the day and a cool, windy, sunny morning promising slightly lower temperatures for the afternoon, we relaxed and any upsets from the previous day were forgotten.

By the time we finished breakfast, our new friends from the previous evening had phoned Jimmy. In a few minutes, they arrived in their van and were ready to be our guides. Through Jimmy, they told me that they would take us to two local sites, an ancient astronomical observatory and Nine Dragons Lake. Then they would get us to the bus stop to catch the bus back to Zhengzhou. I was assured that I would sleep in my own bed in Apartment 302 tonight. With this basic plan in mind, we set out to see what new adventures awaited.

So far this fine morning, there was no sign of our trip jinx from yesterday. Perhaps today would go smoothly and as planned. Nonetheless, we were in rural China where many millions of country people still live uncomplicated lives with minimum planning. A life of hard manual labor, following the cycle of the seasons and containing few options and little variety, may not be an easy life, but it is certainly simple. With few choices or decisions to be made about the day’s work, detailed, advanced planning was not essential for most country people. Additionally, our new friends from the previous evening were obviously individuals who lived in the present and didn’t worry much about the future. With such a lifestyle, many events begin with only the most general outline of a plan. Once underway, changing moods, unexpected encounters, and shifting priorities determine each succeeding step. Not surprisingly, under such conditions, nothing ever seems to go as originally planned.

I visualized Henry David Thoreau, living his simple life alone in the small cabin he built near Walden Pond and scorning those who lived more complex social lives in the towns and cities. His life was intentionally reduced to the barest elements of planting, tending, and harvesting his rows of beans.

Thoreau had wanted simplicity also, paring away life’s activities until only the fundamentals remained. The downside of such a lifestyle is that a life limited to the basic necessities also means living without the creature comforts we come to expect. That seems to be the tradeoff. One can have simplicity or one can choose conveniences, efficiency, comforts, variety, and pleasures. The more we choose of the latter, the further we shift from pure simplicity. I recalled my house in America, completely filled with wonderful possessions, the same possessions which had come to possess me.

Putting aside my musings, I joined the others as we left the restaurant, got into the van and set off. Once rolling, however, our first change of plan immediately developed. I wondered if our trip jinx was reappearing. Before we could proceed to our own destination, father explained, we had to divert a short distance to pick up someone. Meeting the first person, however, was then followed by driving him to his destination and dropping him off. Once there, however, someone else needed a ride so that one joined us in the back of the van and we made yet another detour to take them on some unknown errand. At each of the several subsequent stops, we once again furnished transportation for friends and neighbors. I was unable to determine if this was a normal day for people in a rural area with few vehicles. Perhaps father’s van was virtually a community resource. Or perhaps everyone was simply making up excuses to ride with us so they could later tell of their adventure with the foreigner.

Thus, much of the morning was spent bouncing and jolting around the countryside, on secondary roads that were far inferior to the interstate-quality highways I had come to expect in and around Zhengzhou. I was in rural China now and this was how millions of Chinese still lived in the countryside. The noisy, bustling cities I had seen were in no way representative of how country people existed.

Finally, we had dropped off everyone. I have no idea what ever became of the astronomical observatory that was supposed to be our first stop but, around 11:00, we arrived at a very small, remote village at the base of another mountain. Here, we would see Nine Dragons Lake, father told us.

From inside the van, I could see a clear mountain stream flowing past us. I also saw where it became a milky green color as it swept through the village. The largest business of the small community was a concrete plant and that plant was discharging its wastes directly into the stream. Obviously, this concrete plant was the biggest employer in town. It provided jobs for the local people in this small village and, without it, the poor village might have been even more destitute. Under such circumstances, the polluting of the stream was understandably overlooked. Given a choice between employment and clear water, employment had won out. Above the confluence, I could see the village women squatting at the edge of the stream, washing clothes while children played and splashed around them. Below, mixed with the murky green waste, the stream water was ruined, unusable until the precipitates had time to dissipate downstream.

It seemed that the highway we had arrived on was also the main street of the small village so we simply parked on the side of the road, got out, and began walking. As a foreigner, I was attracting a great deal of attention. As always, the innate Henanese politeness kept people from crowding or intruding but word of the arrival of a foreigner swept through the tiny community. Within minutes, I felt as if I were leading a parade. But this was a parade without a route. Directed by our local guides whom father had selected upon arrival, we simply walked down unpaved alleys and weaved between houses, sheds, fenced chicken runs, and barnyards. Within minutes, we left the village behind and began climbing a path to see Nine Dragons Lake.

With some alarm, I realized that I had been maneuvered into climbing another mountain. It seemed that we had committed to climbing a mountain to see Nine Dragons Lake and there was no easy way for me to get out of it. Yet perhaps there was no intentional deception. None of the local people seemed to regard climbing a mountain as anything special. For them, this was a casual stroll. Everyone was smiling and chattering and pointing out items of interest or asking questions which Jimmy translated as we walked.

Shortly after leaving the village and crossing the stream via a low-water bridge, we had reached the lower slopes of the mountain. Here, the real ascent began. As we climbed the mountain, we were zigzagging sideways along the slopes rather than taking a direct, more vertical approach. This