TheBanyanTree: Leaving Canada

[Pat M]

I am trying to fine tune my writing for my book. If anyone has the time or
inclination, could you offer some comments or suggestions on how to improve
this first chapter? Thanks in advance and all the best of the holiday
season to you!


*Leaving Canada *

*July 2007*

* *

As I peered through the jet’s window at the desolate ocher terrain and
meandering yellow river below, fear gripped me. I willed myself to take
some deep breaths. Breathe in calm; exhale stress.


I was seated in an Air China jet in first class having been upgraded from
economy and was nearing my first stop—Beijing. In my wildest dreams I had
never imagined traveling to China; it was too far from home and too foreign
to my experience. Yet, here I was traveling solo, a novice English as a
Second Language teacher in my fifties with no Chinese language skills. In a
sudden moment of clarity, it all seemed too much.


We had taken off from Vancouver some ten hours earlier and I was the sole
woman and only Caucasian among numerous Chinese businessmen. I had sipped
champagne, enjoyed a gourmet steak and seafood dinner and stuffed myself on
to-die-for cheesecake while lounging in a plush chair big enough for a sumo
wrestler. Why I had been seated in first class was anyone’s guess, but I
sure wasn’t complaining.


After dinner the lights had dimmed and the passengers around me had nodded
off but sleep eluded me. In spite of marshmallow comfort, a sleep mask, and
ear plugs I had spent a restless night amidst the sighs and snores of the
sleeping men around me.

As I neared Beijing, I mentally reviewed what I had to do. I would be
changing planes and needed to find the Left Luggage department to hand over
one of my suitcases before my connecting flight to Taiyuan where my Chinese
friends, Joyce and Mao, were to meet me at the airport. I knew they were
trustworthy, but what if something went wrong? What if they got stuck in
traffic or their car broke down? What would I do if they weren’t there and
no one around me spoke English?  Worry gnawed at my stomach.

When we landed, I tailed the men from my cabin through the myriad corridors
to the baggage carousel. After claiming my gigantic bags I exited into the
main terminal and the comings and goings of mobs of Asians. I stood still
for a moment to get my bearings while all around me the place hummed with
activity. There were so many people and yet I felt alone. Like a puzzle
piece in the wrong box, I didn’t fit.

Before leaving Canada, I had reviewed a diagram of the Beijing Capital
Airport which is one of the busiest airports in the world and it paid off.
In spite of the absence of English signage, I was able to find my way to
the Left Luggage department without too much trouble.  The facility
ranlike a well-oiled machine with three clerks working non-stop taking
suitcases and payments, and returning luggage.


Culture shock was already setting in. For no good reason, I found myself
mistrustful when I handed over my suitcase. I wondered if someone was going
to rifle through it for valuables, or if it would still be there when I
returned for it in two weeks. I could only hope for the best.  The cashiers
didn’t speak English so wrote down the cost for me, 270 yuan or
approximately $40 which I paid without protest although I figured I had
been overcharged by 70 yuan (about $10). No matter, I wouldn’t have to lug
23 kg of teaching materials around with me while I traveled with my
friends. Besides, how could I argue if I couldn’t speak Chinese?


My flight to Taiyuan City was delayed on the runway for an hour. The jet’s
air-conditioning failed and high humidity and sweltering temperatures made
for an uncomfortable wait. I was the only Caucasian on the plane, and like
the Chinese passengers around me, I dripped sweat and fanned myself.


Finally, we took to the skies.  The flight was only an hour and before long
we set down.  Again, I found my way to the luggage area by following the
other passengers. There wasn’t a word of English posted anywhere.


This was it!  Would my friends be waiting? I said a silent prayer as my
gaze searched the waiting crowd in the Arrivals hall. Relief washed over me
when I spotted a small entourage of people waving at me. Joyce with a new
hair color and style was nearly unrecognizable; she looked great!  Mao held
her young son in her arms.  She had updated her hairstyle as well. Annie,
another of my classmates and her husband were there too.  We greeted each
other with huge smiles and hugs.


Almost a year earlier, I had befriended these young women when I returned
to college to become an ESL teacher.  Mao, Joyce and Annie were in their
twenties and worked for *English Weekly*, a newspaper learning resource for
teens in Taiyuan, the capital of Shanxi province in northern China. By
competing with hundreds of others and then signing a 5-year employment
contract, they had won a trip to study in Canada.


On weekends, I had taken my new friends hiking and we had become close.
Before they returned to China at the end of the course, they had invited me
to visit them.  None of us thought it would actually happen.


Outside, Joyce's brother waited in a luxury sport utility vehicle and we
piled in.  He is in the pharmaceutical business and obviously doing well at
it.


While I chatted happily with my friends, my eyes took in everything around
me. Taiyuan is a heavy industrial center and accounts for more than half of
the national coal mining output. A thick yellow haze coated the sky, and
the buildings were dull.  Partially built structures, looming cranes and
gaping excavations marred the horizon in all directions, and there were
many detours. Crowds of people on bicycles, some pulling carts of goods,
pedaled next to the curb.  Motorcycles wove in and out of the traffic and
horns blared constantly. Street vendors lined the sidewalks hollering to
advertise their wares. It was a whole new world.


Most of the conversation in the car was in Chinese but I didn’t mind; I was
too tired to socialize.


“My husband arranged a hotel for you,” Mao said. “It is used by the
military. You will be safe there.”


“Great, thank you.”


As my friends conversed, I recalled the difficulties I had had in making
plans with them.  Our first obstacle was that they didn’t know when they
would get time off work. In China, employers decide when their employees
can go on vacation, and workers are given very little lead time. My friends
had to guess, based on rumors, when they might get holidays, and I had to
arrange my visa and flights around their best guess.  Usually I book
international trips months in advance but this time I reserved only weeks
before departure.


In our email correspondence, Mao had offered that I could stay in her home
but I had suggested I stay in a hotel the first night as I might want to
sleep in. In fact, I didn’t know her living conditions and didn’t want to
put her in an awkward position if she didn’t have room for guests.


It took nearly an hour to reach the hotel and as the minutes ticked by, my
energy faded. Having had only a couple of hours of sleep in the past two
days, I felt sick with fatigue.


 My friends checked me in and led the way to my room. It was plain with
threadbare carpets but reasonably clean. There was an air conditioner, a
western-style toilet and a hot shower. What more did I need?


“We are going to take you out for supper now.”


I was coasting on adrenaline and had no appetite but I knew I couldn’t
refuse them.


“Sounds good,” I said.

It was late for dinner and we were the only patrons in the restaurant.  The
first difference I noticed was that all the chairs had removable fabric
covers that slipped over the back of the chair and covered the seat and
legs of the chair to the floor. The menu, of course, was in Chinese and
none of the workers spoke English so I left the ordering up to my
friends.  Numerous
platters heaped with unfamiliar food arrived. The dishes were placed in the
center of the table and everyone used their chopsticks to eat directly from
them.  This sharing from the same plate was a new concept for me and would
take some getting used to.

“May I have a knife and fork?”


Joyce called over the server.



“Sorry. They don’t have knives and forks here,” she told me.


I fumbled with my chopsticks and managed to eat a few mouthfuls to please
my friends, but I felt squeamish, not only from the unusual flavors but
from watching the communal food sharing.


The waitresses watched me curiously and the owner of the hotel came over to
shake my hand. Everyone treated me like a celebrity. They were kind and
helpful, and wanted nothing more than to please me, but all I could think
about was crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head.  I don’t
travel well; I never have.


After dinner, my friends came to my room and we discussed our plans. A
thermos of boiling water and some plastic cups sat on the bureau. Joyce
poured everyone a cup.


“We want to take you to Wutai Shan,” Mao said. “There are many Buddhist
temples there.” My husband has taken time off work to come with us.”


“That sounds great!”


Mao and Joyce reverted to Chinese for a few moments.


“Maybe you need to rest for a day?”


Truth was, I would have loved to have had a day of rest, but Mao’s husband
had taken holidays.


“I’m game to go tomorrow.”
xxx