Chinese Road Trip, Conclusion
Nine Dragons Lake. Photo by Randy Green
In previous generations, when horse racing was a popular public spectacle and many cities had a race track, the term “home stretch” referred to the last section of the race course before the finish line. The phrase became part of the public lexicon, meaning the final steps before the end of some activity. This segment is the home stretch of one of my first summer adventures as an expat. It is a tale about the two-day trip for mountain climbing that I took during my first summer holiday as a foreign teacher. I was profoundly affected by the experience. Indeed, this disruption of my foreign teacher’s settled life on the campus was hugely influential in my decision to remain and further explore the possibilities of the expat lifestyle.
It is only when we have acclimated to a second culture that we can begin to see the intricacies and worldview of our first country. I call this phenomenon “bicultural vision”. It is similar to learning a second language; in the process, you learn much about the structure and uniqueness of your native tongue.
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Chinese Road Trip, Conclusion
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After lunch, the remainder of the descent was uneventful. Perhaps our trip jinx had finally retired. Upon reaching the bottom and entering the village again, we were soon seated on wooden benches behind the house of one of our guides. Nearby, I saw a tree that was bearing what looked like hickory nuts. When I expressed curiosity about the nuts, our guide had immediately scrambled up the tree to shake down some of the nuts for me to examine. After climbing the mountain, he should have been worn out. Certainly I was. But they were always in good spirits and seemed inexhaustible. Remembering the workmen climbing Song Shan the previous evening, I thought to myself that the stamina of these Chinese mountain people was incredible.
Now, however, we had left Brigadoon. Back in the tiny village at the bottom of the mountain, time became a concern again and I began checking my digital watch more and more frequently. We still had a bus to catch at 5:00. The minutes raced by but father and our village hosts continued to relax and showed no inclination to get us to the bus. Through Jimmy, I began to remind father that it was necessary for us to get to the main highway and rendezvous with the bus. However, like last night, he seemed to be impervious to gentle hints as presented by Jimmy on my behalf. Obviously, he enjoyed being recognized as the important person responsible for bringing a foreigner to their village. From the reception we received, I suspected that I was probably the first foreigner ever to enter this remote hillside community.
While I was fully aware that we must hurry, no one else seemed concerned. Obviously, they were not overly familiar with the concept of a deadline; bus schedules were of little importance. By now, the group of spectators had swollen again as everyone wanted to see the foreigner. Finally however, my perseverance paid off. My body language and insistence – even in a language they couldn’t understand – became unmistakable and could not be ignored any longer. If we departed right now, I was telling them, we had just enough time to catch the bus back to Zhengzhou. Virtually leading the way to the van, smiling and nodding at everyone but not stopping or slowing, I made my way through the tiny village and back to the highway.
Unfortunately, while we were relaxing, our trip jinx had been busy again. When we reached the highway, we found our van had a flat tire. Here was another time-consuming delay when we were already short of time. However, no one but me seemed to regard this as more than the mildest of inconveniences. Moreover, before any actual repair work could commence, the situation had to be thoroughly discussed, along with all likely causes of the flat tire, the history and probable future of the deflated tire, tire changing procedures, and details recalled of how to reach and withdraw the van’s spare tire and tools. By the time everything was duly deliberated, alternatives presented and debated, and repair duties assigned, I was tight-lipped with frustration again. On my watch, the minutes were fast disappearing. I didn’t want to spend a second night away from the campus on what was originally intended to be a day trip.
Finally, our luck changed. The trip jinx had overlooked an easy bet because the van’s spare tire, although dusty, yellowed with age, and not very trust-inspiring, still held air and was apparently serviceable. Work commenced and, soon enough, the spare tire was in place.
By now, catching the five o’clock bus was obviously out of the question but father told us that there was also a later bus which, if we hurried, we might be able to intercept. This I pressed him to do and, finally, my sense of urgency seemed to be communicated to him. We quickly climbed in the van and, waving goodbye to our new friends in the village, were on our way. The next hour was a nightmare of bad roads, sweltering August heat, and billowing dust. By driving painfully fast over rough, rocky roads and disregarding the distinct possibility of the spare tire failing and leaving us stranded, we managed to get back to the outskirts of Dengfeng at 6:00, just as the last bus was pulling out. Father’s van roared into the terminal yard and literally swerved around and came to a halt directly in front of the bus to prevent it from leaving without us. Saying hasty goodbyes, we four scrambled aboard, paid the driver, and found unoccupied seats in the very back of the bus. Waving goodbyes out the windows, we settled back for the return to Zhengzhou and modern times.
Like the previous day’s bus trip, the ride back to Zhengzhou would include what felt like fifteen or twenty stops, both scheduled ones at bus stops and unplanned ones on the side of the road to pick up additional passengers. Sitting on the hot, jolting, fully loaded bus, once again the only foreigner, I attempted to sit back and relax. No one else seemed upset. Why should I be? Even the bus driver, whom we had abruptly blocked with our wild last-minute-arrival maneuvers, didn’t seem at all disturbed. Still, by the time we got onto the bus a little after 6:00 and started on the journey home to Zhengzhou, I was highly stressed. I was hot, dirty, sweaty, sunburned, and very, very tired from climbing two mountains in two days. At the moment, all I wanted was to be home again in Apartment 302 where I could relax and enjoy my quiet and cool - and clean - modern surroundings.
But the trip jinx had one last trick to play. Now, as the fully loaded bus bounced along the rough roads in the intense heat and billowing dust, I realized that I was feeling increasingly nauseous. My queasy stomach was soon sending me an unmistakable signal that there was something I absolutely had to do. Soon, I realized that there was no possibility of avoiding being sick and told Jimmy. When we arrived at the next bus station, following an endless bumpy, lurching stretch of road construction, I definitely had to empty my stomach, either on or off the bus. Jimmy explained my predicament to the driver and he agreed to wait for us. I hastily staggered off the bus and into the public restroom. Rushing inside, I retched and gagged and lost everything I had eaten for the past two days. A few minutes later, shaky and pale, we reboarded the bus. I mumbled my thanks to the driver and stumbled back to my seat. There wasn’t much said for the remainder of the journey. The trip jinx had played its final trump card.
Finally, we reached the outskirts of Zhengzhou and soon afterwards arrived at the bus station. I saw that it was just past 8:00 in the evening. Once off the bus, the cool evening air soon restored my composure. Parting at the bus station, Suzy left us while Jimmy, Jennifer, and I shared a taxi to the new campus. Soon enough, I was saying goodbye to them outside the door of the foreign teachers building. Still using my Song Shan walking stick, I slowly made my way upstairs – very slowly indeed after climbing two mountains - up the final flights of steps to the third floor and Apartment 302. Home sweet home, I thought.
The walking stick was deposited in a place of honor next to the front door. I stood it in the corner where I would see it every day. I wanted it to remind me of this experience. Within minutes, I had showered and collapsed onto my bed. Our adventure had taken just two days but I knew that the memories would last forever. The trip jinx had played a number of tricks on us but I wasn’t complaining. As I fell asleep, I was still recalling that hidden glade at the base of the waterfall. It isn’t often in life that we are privileged to find Brigadoon and hear the singing waters.
Those were my last thoughts as I slept for eight solid hours.
I hadn’t planned to be climbing Song Shan or any other mountains in China that summer. I hadn’t planned to be in China at all. The whole thing just happened.
How did I get myself into this?
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In addition to this two-day trip, there was a second, more ambitious trip that long-ago summer. In it, I was venturing even further from my familiar, comfortable life on a modern university campus. Beginning next week, a new adventure - the story of my visit to Hainan Island, China’s Hawaii!
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