Wednesday, August 16, 2006

The Longest First Night in China: Part 2. Then There Were Two

What could I do? Where could I change money? Where could I make a call? Where could I go?

Overwhelmed by the torrent of questions rushing through my head and clouding my senses, I must have already seen her. But I hadn’t noticed her. By the time I was aware that she was staring at me, she was only a few steps in front of me: a young Chinese girl wearing a white shirt, cut-off jeans, and a small, sporty backpack.

She leaned forward to speak.

“I’m hun-ga-lee,” she said.

“What?” I asked, taken off guard by her sudden appearance directly in my path.

“I’m hun-ga-lee,” she repeated, leaning forward and speaking quietly, too quietly to hear. I was surprised and relieved to hear that she was speaking English, or at least something that faintly resembled English.

She had big, earnest eyes, which struck me immediately as very friendly and open. I was happy that she was talking to me, though I had no idea who she was or why she had approached me. Amid the flurry of thoughts competing for attention in my head, I decided for the briefest of moments that she must be someone from the school, come to pick me up and relieve my suffering. But I dismissed this idea immediately, as no one could possibly have known where I was. More likely she had simply noticed I was lost and was offering to help me.

“You’re who?” I asked in Chinese, smiling sheepishly at my inability to understand her and letting an awkward laugh escape my throat.

In the same hushed voice and locking my eyes with the same earnest gaze, she responded in Chinese, “I’m hungry…KFC!”

She was hungry. Now I got the message. I looked at my feet, supremely embarrassed that she had been forced to repeat her predicament three times while I had stared at her stupidly. As I focused on the ground between us and shifted my weight between my feet, she repeated herself a fourth time, now adding, “No mon-ay!”

I didn’t get it. She was well dressed, and we were standing inside a brand new, brightly-lit international airport in the middle of a thriving metropolis. This wasn’t a fitting setting for a beggar, and she didn’t look the part. I had already engaged her in a halting conversation of sorts and couldn’t just walk off at this point. Where would I go, anyway? I was still lost and had no idea where to begin looking for help. Maybe the young girl was trying to swindle some money out of me, but I couldn’t walk away.

The very first thing I had done upon arriving in China was to get lost. Now I feared that the second thing I would do would be to throw away my money to a con artist. Unfortunately for her, however, I still didn’t have any Chinese currency to throw away. Just her luck, I mused. She picked the only foreigner stuck in a worse position than she is. I explained to her, “I want to help you, but I only have American money.”

Undismayed, she tugged on my shirt sleeve and bade me to follow her toward a flight of stairs leading up to the next level of the airport. I meant both parts of what I had said to her. She seemed nice, with inescapable, friendly eyes, and I genuinely wanted to help her. She couldn’t be a career beggar. Surely she was just down on her luck and had run out of cash. It was obviously very embarrassing for her to tell me that she was hungry and needed money. “She’s too innocent,” I repeated to myself. “There’s no way she does this often.”

I also meant the second part of what I told her: I only had U.S. currency. With unflinching opportunism, I hoped that if I helped this girl, then perhaps she could help me. “If she wants my money, she’ll have to help me exchange it first.” After all, as a native she would know better than I where to change money and perhaps how to get in touch with someone from the school. Right?

The Longest First Night in China: Part 1. Rough Landing

The plane touched down, and I leapt up, the first to grab my bags and dart for the exit. After waiting an eternity for the plane doors to open, I stepped out into the airport, which at 7:00pm was thronging with travelers. Finally, Hong Kong!

In all of my previous 22 years, I had spent a grand total of only four weeks beyond the borders of my native USA, and four years outside my native state of Florida. As a young man with no obligations to chain me down and no burning desire to begin the slow plodding up a corporate ladder, I had been eager to strike out on my own, seeking new friends and new foods in foreign lands. So I studied Chinese during my senior year of college and found a job teaching English in the Baoan district of Shenzhen, the fastest growing city in the fastest growing country in the world. Exactly twenty-four hours ago, I had boarded a flight in Florida on the first of three flights that now landed me in Hong Kong.

I had split those last twenty-four hours alternately sitting in an airport waiting for the next flight and sitting on a flight waiting for the next airport. On the final leg of my trip, from California to Hong Kong, I stayed awake for all sixteen hours of the flight to fully indulge in the airline’s endless supply of snacks, meals, desserts, drinks, and personal television sets with forty channels of constantly recycling movies. By the time I reached Hong Kong, my back was sore and my legs stiff, but I felt alive as never before and ready for whatever this new country could throw at me. Or so I thought.

The first thing I did after landing in Hong Kong was the same thing I’ve done countless times since then: I got lost. My contact at the school where I would be teaching had instructed me to take the ferry from Hong Kong to Shenzhen. Easy enough, right? Of course, there are two ferries to Shenzhen: one to Shekou, the other to Fuyong. I had been proud of myself for remembering to take the ferry. I hadn’t bothered remembering the name of the destination. I didn’t have a working cell phone or any Chinese currency, and there didn’t seem to be a public phone anyway. With no way of contacting my employer, I gambled and took the ferry to Fuyong.

Two seconds.

That’s how long it took after disembarking at Fuyong to realize I had gambled wrong. Two seconds was all the time necessary to scan the reception area: a poorly-lit parking lot with only a few taxis and a handful of waiting people to lend it life. The school had assured me that someone would be waiting to pick me up with a sign bearing my name. There was no sign with my name on it. There was no sign with any name on it. No sign at all.

Everyone who had been waiting for someone quickly found them and zipped away. Fortunately, the one vehicle left in the dust stirred up by the other fleeing cars was a free shuttle to the Shenzhen International Airport. There, I hoped, I would be able to exchange money and use a public phone to contact someone from the school.

At the Shenzhen Airport however, my prospects for making contact with someone from the school looked only slightly less bleak. The cavernous airport seemed nearly deserted. Summoning my courage, I approached an attendant at an information booth and tried out my rudimentary Chinese.

“I need to exchange currency,” I told her in Chinese.

“Of course,” she responded with a broad smile. Success! She had understood me! All those long hours of painstaking study were finally paying off in a situation when I needed it most. My teachers would be so proud! I couldn’t wait to tell my parents.

“But all the banks are closed now,” she continued. “You will have to do it tomorrow.” Her smile never lost an ounce of warmth.

I thanked her and walked away. “Well, it could be worse,” I tried to console myself. “At least I can understand that I’m in trouble.”


No Chinese currency, no way to call my contact, no idea where my school was located, and no idea what to do next. I had taken on a new country and been soundly defeated in record time. I paced back and forth inside the airport (as much as anyone can really pace while lugging a 120-lb suitcase behind him), marveling at my ability to get completely lost within twenty minutes of landing in China.