A Change of Scene

On my last night in Yantai Master Zheng took me out for dinner. We were pleasantly joined by a fellow named Tom (Tom Hanks is his favorite actor), a soon-to-be student in America, and some relation of Master Zheng’s, who spoke English quite well enough to translate— though for some time following our arrival there was less conversation and more eating. The occasion cheered me up heartily, as I’d been largely cooped up, alone but for the guard, in the camp nursing diverse anxieties.

I’d not eaten a meal like it before: we shared a yin-yang basin of boiling broth with different spices on either side and heated underneath with propane, into which we added thin-sliced meats, vegetables, and fungus which, when suitably boiled, we strained out and dipped in sauce and condiments. I was saying, as I have in many establishments I’ve visited in China, that were the place located in Juneau they’d enjoy complete financial security.

As we talked I had only to mention that, although I knew the Qingdao bus could be caught every half hour, I had no clue how to find the thing, and would appreciate any directions, before the Master volunteered to escort me hence— an indispensible help as it proved. We talked of other things too, but I’ve already managed to type and delete several paragraphs on the topic, all the while failing to render it interesting, so I’ll just say nothing, leave the entry here, and write on the beginning of my trip tomorrow.

--------- The Next Day ---------

I woke and set about packing, though I note currently it was an odd sort of packing, for the clean things are at the bottom and the dirty ones at the top, before having some breakfast and reading. I had no shortage of food at breakfast, indeed probably a surplus, since the guard takes it upon himself to make everybody eat more than they had first intended. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, but this is one of the distinctive differences between China and home: they push food, no matter any protest. It’s considered polite.

I caught a taxi to Master Zheng’s part of town where I met him, along with another heavy set Chinese man whose use on the occasion I still don’t understand. There I deposited my Nat. Geo suitcase, with my winter things inside, and continued on to the bus station, where I quickly began to appreciate the Master’s help. The place was crowded and the lines chaotic to the point of older Chinese people shoving their way backwards, up stream, rather than exit by the indicated path. But, with guidance a ticket was purchase and myself hurried onto a double-decker bus. We departed not more than a minute after boarding, and off I went to Qingdao.



Sadly, it was not a comfortable ride. Like it’s foreign relatives, Chinese mass transport allows little room for comfort. I was considerably larger than the intended passenger. It was only three hours though, and they passed as quickly as could be expected.

As we drove through Qingdao I recalled that I didn’t have the address of the hotel written down, at least not in Chinese, anywhere. But it was No. 1 Wengzhou Road, that I was sure of, and I hoped it would be enough. Immediately after exiting the station map-hawkers set upon me, but I was actually glad of it since I had real need of a map. There was a taxi man also. I spoke Chinese to him, endeavoring to explain my destination, but it was useless. I forgot that in Chinese “zh” is sometimes pronounced as “j,” and was pronouncing the name of the place completely wrong. However, the map came in handy at this point and I asked to be taken to Wengzhou, indicated by pointing, from where I didn’t think I could fail at finding the hotel. Things went just so and I checked in without issue (finding with relief that my train ticket preceded me).

And that brings us almost to the present. My room in Qingdao, though small, makes me feel a king after the accommodation in the camp. I confess I’ve spent the day lounging (indulging myself as only junk food, artificial darkness, and electronics can enable), writing, and reading with hardly any excursion out of doors. I’m sure it pains my mother to hear as much, but I still have tomorrow, and the next day besides, to explore the city as I will. Honestly I’m bound to at least to take a walk before dinner.

A deceptively packaged snack: from the outside it looks like any normal cracker . . . but no.



In anticipation of a lengthy train ride, during which I expect no conversation, nor Internet, I’ve downloaded several books. So far I have Sense and Sensibility, A Room With a View, One of Ours, and Sons and Lovers. These books are so old that their distribution limitations are all expired. They call all be obtained, along with many others, online, for free, in seconds. Sense and Sensibility is first on my list, and I have to say it’s quite good. Austen must be an excellent author, because otherwise there’s no way I’d get caught up in the marital woes of historical English women. I’d better note, though, that the most interesting aspect of the work is social documentary.