TheBanyanTree: Transition 20

[Pat M]

            The night was still young and if I hadn't had a huge amount of
cash on me, I'd have gone out.  Instead, I donned my long johns in
preparation for bed. No sooner had I put them on than I peeled them off. The
hostel room was warm, so warm that wearing thermal underwear was unbearable.
I'd forgotten what it was like to have central heating, and experienced a
feeling akin to awe. My reaction surprised me; something I take for granted
in Canada—being comfortably warm—was a source of wonder here in central
China. If my apartment and the school had been as pleasant, I mused, I'd
probably have stayed in Lintong with my friends.

The next morning, I enjoyed a leisurely western breakfast in the hostel
restaurant, then sat down at one of the available computers to confirm my
flight. When I opened my email, I saw an urgent note from the travel agent
stating that my flight had been postponed by three hours. I wasn't
impressed. My flight was now at 8 pm and I had an entire day with nothing to
do.

I'd arranged to meet Real, an intelligent young woman Frank had introduced
me to some months ago. Her major is languages and she is allowed to take
time off university to accompany foreigners in order to practice her oral
English. We'd spent time together in Xian a few times previously, and I
enjoyed her company. She was only 20 but displayed a maturity far beyond her
years.

Real arrived and we set off to the bank.  I carried a plastic bag containing
my long johns with me and clutched my small backpack tightly against my
chest. I was carrying far too much cash to feel comfortable. We weaved our
way through the crowds in the pedestrian subway. When we ascended to the
street, I saw a feeble old man digging through a garbage receptacle.

          "Ask him if he'd like my long johns," I said.

"Okay," Real said, and took the bag from my hands. She spoke to the man and
offered the bag to him.

The man accepted with thanks.
Our next stop was the bank where I deposited my pay—now I could relax. After
that, we went shopping for a small black backpack for me. The genuine 'fake'
Prada I'd bought in Yangshuo last July needed replacing. For its cheap price
tag, it had been remarkably resilient and I was hoping to find a similar
one, but it wasn't possible in downtown Xian. The shopping centers there are
like the best modern malls in the west. They are multi-floored, brightly lit
and pricey; they don't stock inexpensive knockoffs. I ended up spending more
than I'd planned on another black bag—an original Chinese brand—not nearly
as nice as my fake Prada. After I paid for it, I transferred all of my
things into it. Out on the street, I set the Prada next to a garbage bin for
someone to claim. It still had a long life left in it if one didn't mind a
few worn spots.
I led Real to Watson's, a store I'd found with some western-brand toiletries
and makeup, and purchased a few small items that would fit in my purse. I
couldn't buy anything bigger as my suitcase was already bursting at the
seams. I treated Real to a late lunch at the hostel and then claimed
mysuitcase from the luggage room. It
weighed 20 kg and wasn't easy to manage. I was glad of Real's help.
Outside the youth hostel, we took the escalator down to the pedestrian
subway, and Real guided me to the exit that took me to a hotel with an
airport bus. When my luggage had been stowed, I boarded the bus. Real spoke
with another passenger, a young woman, who boarded the bus behind me.
"She'll tell you where to get off," she called.
"Bye. Thanks for everything!" I said with a wave.
I couldn't wait to get to sunny, sandy, tropical Sanya.





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