Year of the Dragon

While trying to calm myself down, I made the firm decision to tell no one about this. I rationalized it as a way of protecting those who care about me, of not giving them reasons to worry. Lies to myself, of course, I was just trying to spare me the humiliation. But I guess if I’m going to do this blog thing, I might as well do it honestly, I might as well tell the unflattering stuff too, if I don’t want to end up writing a fifth grade report about my summer vacation.

I headed towards Tian’anmen, and on my way out of the subway station, a young girl and a guy saw me and excitedly asked me where I was from.  I keep reading that Chinese tourists from other provinces often come to Beijing and are fascinated when they see are foreigner for the first time. It’s supposedly quite common to be asked to be on a picture with them, like another landmark they need to brag about when they get back home. I figured this is what was going on so I ignored my instinct to keep going and decided to be nice.

The girl spoke pretty decent English and was genuinely excited to practice.  I thought this was cute, and didn’t mind when they walked out with me towards the entrance to the Forbidden City. It was closed already, since it was past 5pm, but I took a picture while my new friend “Anna” walked along with me. She pointed to the enormous picture of Mao and explained that he was the leader of her country but was now dead. She was very surprised when I told her that people knew Mao all over the world. She couldn’t believe that my hair wasn’t dyed, that in fact, it was naturally black “just like Chinese girl!”

I hesitated for a moment when they told me they were on their way to get a drink and would love for me to join them. But she had just told me that her brother, who was with her and was also an accounting student in college, had cost her parents a lot of money. A one-child policy fine! “Look at me,” I thought, “just on day four and so immersed with locals already!” I remembered the advice from the other Rockefeller fellows to say yes to things you normally wouldn’t consider, and decided to go for it. With so many priceless comments already this HAD to make for a good story!

A red flag that size of Mao’s portrait went off in my head, but I utterly ignored it, over and over. After all, these kids weren’t trying to sell me anything, and from my experience with other Chinese people my age, it seemed plausible that they would be that excited to get to hang out with a sort-of-American.

We walked on a street along the edge of the Forbidden City and they led me into a little hole-in-the-wall. We sat in a private room, a table with all sorts of jars with teas in them, and they brought us some tiny mandarin oranges, some sort of Chex Mix-like snack and two kinds of tea. It was precious. I took pictures and I was beginning to draft an imaginary blog post about it in my head, I was so excited about the whole experience. When they told me to put my bag on a chair in the side of the room, I retained the last shred of good judgment and kept it on my lap.

I said it was my treat, since I hear it’s rude in China to go Dutch.  But of course, the fun ended when the bill came. 1040 Yuan. To put that in perspective, I saw a room in an apartment today where the rent was 2000 Yuan a month. “This is a mistake” I said. Anna helpfully broke down the bill for me. “This is how much tea rooms cost in China. It’s because you can stay all day.” I felt my face flush with anger, I could feel my own heart beating faster. I wouldn’t pay that much if I were buying the damn place. But, in this vital “fight or flight” moment,  I neither fought nor fled.  Instead, I proceeded to act like a complete and total idiot.

“I’m not stupid” I said to them, but I was.  “I know this can’t cost this much, I don’t even have that much money”. Oh. It’s totally okay. Unlike pretty much any other friggin’ establishment in China, this helpful little tea room had access to a card reader. And because I have the mental speed of a dead slug, I didn’t even lie about having a card. I got flustered. Vague ideas about what to do fluttered through my head. The language barrier felt insurmountable. These people were two adorable little Chinese girls that looked at me with wide eyes like I was just confused and a post-pubescent boy that didn’t speak a lick of English, but they already were conspiring against me, and how could I know who else or how scary was hiding in the back of that stupid tea room? How would they react if I tried to walk out without paying? I got scared. I could make a scene, threaten to call the police, but the prices, and they pointed out after the fact, were helpfully set on the table in an easily ignored corner, in English. I guess it’s not a crime to charge too much if you say you’re going to?

I thought of calling Paul, of asking him for help. But interrupting him at work, or worse, at the beginning of his Valentine’s day date for such an embarrassing situation made me cringe. A million better alternatives are going through my head now, but, stupidly, inexplicably, the best I could come up with at the time was to say that we should split the bill then. I divided the damage in half, and yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is how I came to spend EIGHTY SIX American dollars on two cups of bitter tea.

I was so angry at China, at not being able to do anything about it or ask for help, at having been so naïve and trusting and nice at first, but most of all, at having been completely, absolutely incapable of dealing with the situation. On day four, I felt like I was already done with China. I was done with locals, and “authentic” experiences, and trying to do stuff for the good stories. I felt betrayed by the whole country, and my adventurous traveler identity was crushed. I couldn’t wait to get back to the sweet embrace of cushy expat life.

These things will pass, of course, and I feel a little better already. But it doesn’t help that was I nearly trampled to death on the subway at rush hour (more updates on that later). China was rough on me today. When I saw the one white guy all day, all hipster and bearded in the middle of the 6:30pm human traffic jam, I felt like I could hug him just for standing there, like he were almost family by virtue of being fellow outsiders in this sea of Chinese people.

And to think, after all that, that I freaking hate tea. That’s what I get for being such a poser.