This morning as I boarded the plane to Xi'an, I found myself miserably squeezed into a small window seat with my long green down jacket folded in my lap and my carryon laptop bag and purse beside my cramped legs. The man behind my seat kept coughing loudly hocking up phlegm into his mouth and then doing God knows what with it since there was no place to spit. This persisted for 3 hours (my flight was delayed in addition to this hell) and I dared not turn around. The man to the right of me kept open mouth coughing and would turn once in a while towards me to watch outside the window, our elbows fighting over a slim shared arm rest. A female flight attendant came to make sure everyone's seats were upright and when she came to me, she mumbled her English and I kept thinking she was saying seat belt. I pointed to my seat belt several times nodding to assure her it was fastened before she glared me down and finally reached over and pushed the button snapping my seat up back into place. After that, any time she came down the aisle giving instructions, she would repeat them in hostile English towards me. I eventually gave her such a stare that she desisted with her attitude.
I couldn't help but think of people back home in which this situation would likely break them. My mother in particular who has short patience for heat, big crowds, germs and hostile people.
I recalled one of the teachers named Delia who participated in my adult ESL class telling me something poignant about myself over a group discussion we had on QQ, a IM app popular here in China. While discussing with other teachers about blood types being linked to different types of personalities and disorders, I told them that mine was blood type O. They told me based on that I have a lot of patience and can endure a lot of discomfort.
"But this is bad because your type doesn't tell when you have a lot of discomfort or pain," Delia said, "Make sure you tell us!" I was touched by their caring but also amazed by their insight.Without knowing me personally, she was right. I hold things in. Bottle them. And I was slowly stewing in discomfort, frustration and anger today as I ventured out to a territory that was even less foreigner-populated than Wuxi.
It seems in the land where I am the foreigner I found myself being treated as most Westerners treat immigrants. I am met with exasperation or impatience, people ignoring my attempts to speak the language, fast food restaurant cashiers already whipping out their behind-the-counter picture menus before I even start to speak, people not listening or sometimes half-listening to when I request something in what I'm usually sure is something that is actually in perfect Mandarin and then when someone "translates" for them it turns out it's exactly as I said it. I get eye-rolls and overly exaggerated what I call "gestures-for-dummies" over simple universally understandable things and intimidating stare-downs from passer-bys.
The irony here is I actually love immigrants and foreigners back home. I am for more lax immigration laws and many of my friends are immigrants. Whenever I encounter anyone with a language barrier, I am patient to explain things and smile and sound friendly. The look of relief on their faces is extremely gratifying. It seems, however, in China that karma has not paid out any of this kindness on my behalf.
That aside, I finally arrived today in the city of Xi'an. The sunny afternoon clouds instantly turning into a dark, husky grey as we landed.
I hate flying. I hate heights but I insist on the window seat every time like a crazy person because once we level out and reach peak altitude, the surreal feeling of seeing clouds and not being able to actually see the ground beneath transcends the realization that I'm up in the air as the sun shimmers off the wings that cut through the clouds like a hot knife through butter. I unrealistically think this will one day break my fear. It doesn't. I sweat bullets every time...
As I exited the airport, I grabbed my bags at the baggage claim and headed towards the taxi area. My taxi driver was friendly but curt, speaking here and there trying to ask me a question or two about the trip and hotel. But he grew quiet eventually as all the drivers do with foreigners becoming more hesitant and unsure of how far my grasp of his native tongue went.
Me being an "Asianophile" and a history addict, I had immediately placed Xi'an as the first trip for my holiday while my program colleagues hit up Hong Kong, or Beijing, or the more exotic farther areas of Southeast Asia first. I read up on the popular Tang, Han and Qin dynasties on the plane and listened to more audio-lingual lessons to catch up on all I was about to see and do. I saw no foreigners at the airport nor on the streets. Xi'an's ancient history goes far and deep; a hidden historic gem placed near the center of China that many a tourist overlook often vying for the "bigger, more exciting" cities (and likely more foreigner friendly).
Xi'an is a very old but dirty city with half-constructed buildings, cracked streets and sidewalks, dusty shops with crooked signs and bad traffic. Smells from the street filled my nostrils as I exited the cab and passed the crowded streets bustling with street food vendors; some of the food smells pungent, some sweet, some spicy, mixing with the smells of garbage and people and pollution which was bad today. It is hard to believe a city so old and filled with rich history seemed so damaged and polluted and unappreciated but I had read China was quite bad at preserving historical areas, even big chunks of the Great Wall have been left to crumble.
I should add, I did not end up in a "bad area" by accident. I am in the square where most of the hotels are so this IS the tourist area. But I am tired and it has been a long day and broken communication, long rides, cold weather (it snowed here yesterday) and poor directions.
I will have more for you all tomorrow as I explore the city a bit on my own and go out on a tour on Tuesday and Wednesday.
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