Bell Tower Adventure

Xi'an, 2011

With the promise to stop and explore anything interesting, my friend and I decided to walk the 6+ miles to the Bell and Drum Towers the Xi’an city center. And thus the adventure began.

A street vendor selling multi-colored popcorn led to an early stop down a side street. It turns out that the popcorn was all fruit flavored. There was strawberry, grape, and even honeydew. With such a promising start we couldn’t help but explore the rest of the street. It didn’t disappoint. 

We walked past rows of stalls selling fruits and bright red and yellow signs for the physical stores. Then we came across an alley of pool tables. Yes, pool tables. This was the real China, groups of local Chinese gathering together to play pool in a back alley. 

From there we continued on. We braved the dangers of crossing huge Chinese streets and learned, rather quickly, that if Chinese are running you should run too (or get squished by a car). We stopped in an international candy shop that also carried tiny bottles of liquor, expensive coca-cola, and very odd toys. There was also a tea and nut shop full of boxes depicting the Terracotta Warriors. Anything Terracotta Warriors is a clear sign of tourists (Chinese or foreign). We were close.

Soon we made it to the city center. It turned out that the Bell and Drum Towers, although the supposed purpose of our trip, held little actual interest (They also weren’t the first things we saw). We weren’t going to pay to go inside so pictures from the ground level and a quick laugh at the expense of the less frugal tourists who had paid to see a drum we could see perfectly from ground level and we were done. It was the rest of the city center that held the real interest.

We saw countless stalls of Chinese souvenirs, instruments, artwork and clothing for sale. As soon we spoke a word of Chinese these vendors were excited to talk, sometimes trying to make a sale, sometimes just expressing their curiosity. 

We saw two young Chinese women modeling wedding dresses in front of a Dairy Queen (the bridal shop was above it). As soon as we asked if we could take a photo they began to pose. 

When we decided to sit and rest on some steps with a good view of the Drum Tower we became the site for others to see. We started chatting with a couple Chinese tourists (in Mandarin). Before they left they asked if they could take a photo with us. Then, all of a sudden, a line formed. Groups of Chinese tourists were lined up to take photos with us or to have their children take photos of us. It was unbelievable! I’d had Chinese tourists take photos of me before, but form a line? It was hilarious. We probably could have charged money. 

  

Then we did some more shopping, this time on Huimin Jie (Muslim Street). While my friend was haggling a different vendor walked over to me. She said hello and asked if I remembered her. Sure enough, it was a vendor I had met the first time I was in Xi’an, back in 2009. I couldn’t believe that not only did she remember me but that she was the one to approach me. After all, the hours long mixed English-Chinese conversation my friends and I had with her and her and a couple other women had been one of the highlights of my last trip. Also, I had a photographic reminder of what she looked like. She, on the other hand, saw an endless stream of foreign tourists and had countless conversation. My mom told me it the woman remembered my smile. But, I’m fairly certain my red hair had something to do with it. 

It was finally time to go home. But there were didn’t want to walk back in the dark and there were no taxis available. So, we decided to brave the fear evoking, motorized rickshaw. They are fast, have no seat belts and are open on the sides. On top of that, the driver seemed to believe that its small size gave it permission to squeeze between cars, cross over medians, and drive on sidewalks. My friend’s reference to the Night Bus in Harry Potter was an apt comparison, but, as I pointed out, at least the Night Bus was magic. It may have been scary, but this adventure of a day really couldn’t have had any other fitting ending.

No English Allowed

Xi'an, 2011

My second trip to Xi’an, China was vastly different than the first. I wasn’t going as a tourist. I wouldn’t be staying in a hotel in the middle of the city. And, I wouldn’t be speaking English. I was back for intensive Mandarin language study complete with classes every day, Chinese roommate and peer tutor, and the infamous language pledge.

The language pledge made China a very different place. It wasn’t just this foreign land I was visiting. It wasn’t simply a fun trip or travel story. I was much more integrated than I had been as a study abroad student in Shanghai or an expat interning in Beijing. Mandarin seeped into every aspect of my life—the walk to class, chit chat with my roommate, asking the time, saying numbers out loud, meal time conversations, etc. The only break was contact home. And even that was mostly by email so my speaking and listening was almost exclusively Mandarin.

It may seem silly that a pledge would make so much of a difference. I mean, isn’t the point of going to another country to learn a language actually speaking it? Surprisingly, that is not often the case. When you get a bunch of English speakers together, no matter the country, they tend to revert to English. It’s about comfort and ease. It’s also about embarrassment in speaking the native country’s language. Why go through that when English is such a nice alternative?

The Chinese also are very nice and accommodating people. They see it as a sign of respect to use English, especially if you’re struggling. Also, many Chinese are learning English and see foreigners as an excellent chance to practice. Without the pledge limiting you and even your Chinese peers (roommate and tutor) to Mandarin it is surprisingly difficult to have fully Mandarin conversations inside your peer circles. Basically, if your friends, Chinese or foreign, know English, it will get spoken. (Especially since their English is usually much better than your Chinese)

An unexpected side effect of the pledge is that it forced you to get creative. If you didn’t know a word or how to say a word you couldn’t just revert to English. You had to talk your way out of your problem—in Mandarin. With some words that was near impossible. Pantomimes and long narrations for simple anecdotes became commonplace. When you were telling a story it wasn’t a huge deal if you fudged the details, said the wrong punch-line, or messed up a little. You were among friends and the stakes were low. In the classroom, however, when accuracy was more important, we often had hilarious sessions of Charades or Pictionary (with Mandarin words allowed) to get our questions or points across.

We also got over feelings of awkwardness pretty quickly. I mean, a bunch of Americans chatting and joking with each other in Mandarin (without a Chinese participant in sight) looks pretty weird. This led to many silly encounters. There were the conversations with other American students not in our program and thus not on the language pledge; they spoke English we responded in Mandarin. The was the encounter with a English traveler on one of our excursions; when one classmate started speaking Mandarin the traveler assumed he was Chinese, that is until the rest of us joined in. There were also our excursions and tours; small crowds of Chinese tourists would gather around at the oddity of a tour group full of Americans listening raptly to a Mandarin-speaking tour guide.

No English allowed means no fear allowed, no embarrassment allowed, no hesitation allowed. But it also means, new adventures allowed, fun stories allowed, and a great experience mandatory.

Going Local

Xi'an, 2009

It was our first night in Xi’an and we were already on our own. We didn’t want our time here to be a waste. It would be a shame to eat at some random chain or western-style restaurant and miss out on what this city had to offer. My plan was to ask the concierge for a restaurant suggestion.

The only problem was that we didn’t know what kind of restaurant we wanted and the concierge wouldn’t speak English. I, having taken Mandarin the longest, was our group’s designated speaker. We headed to the lobby hoping this plan would work.

I was still not very confident going up to random people and speaking Mandarin. I hated making a fool of myself and not being able to get my ideas clearly across. But, this was my idea so I had to follow through. Besides, I wanted to make the most of my China experience and without asking for ideas we had no clue where to go.

I went up the concierge and asked, “Ni zhidao yi ge hao fandian ma?”

All I got in response was a smile and a confused look. My grammar was probably off, but I was pretty sure that I had asked if he knew of a good restaurant. A huge knot formed in my stomach, this is what I hated about speaking a foreign language.

I decided it would probably be best to keep things simple, “fandian?”

Still, he had no clue what I was talking about. Were my tones right? That was definitely the word for restaurant. Now my heart was really pounding but I continued on. I tried other words for restaurant, cafeteria, and the like. Finally, the concierge caught on.

Of course, then he began asking questions. I tried to understand and at least pretended that I did. I also said “yes” a couple times to I’m not sure what question. I was almost positive that he was asking me if we wanted Xi’an style food and that I responded that we did.

Ultimately, we ended up with two restaurant names written on hotel business cards. One was for a Xi’an cuisine restaurant and one was a place to get Xi’an dumplings. We were directed to the restaurant, which was supposedly in the Drum and Bell Tower Square. The Drum Tower and Bell Tower were impossible to miss so we were fairly confident that we would have no trouble finding the restaurant. Honestly, I was just happy to have succeeded in getting the name for something written down.

We headed out, glad to have a destination and enjoying the sights of this amazing city. It wasn’t until we reached the first tower, however, that we realized just how far apart the two towers were. Which collection of buildings made up the Square? With just a handwritten name to go off of, how would we ever find the restaurant?

After a half-hour of wandering, my two companions wanted to call it quits and find somewhere else to eat. It was understandable. After all, we were all extremely hungry. Even though I had my heart set on some authentic Xi’an cuisine, I consented. Our quest seemed hopeless. We then turned down a little ally of store fronts and stopped to examine the first restaurant we saw. And, sure enough, the sign above it matched the name on the card. We had found it!

We naively thought that this was the end of our adventure, but then we stepped inside. All the occupants looked up at us as if they had never seen a Westerner before. This was kind of odd, considering we were in a more touristy part of the city. But, by now, we were used to drawing attention from locals, so we hardly noticed.

In Mandarin we told a woman working there that there was three of us. Instead of seating us, she looked at us strangely and then showed us to a counter. It seemed as if we were supposed to order at the counter, but none of us were quite sure what we were supposed to say.

The racing heart and knot in my stomach returned, this time accompanied by rosy cheeks. I had no clue how this restaurant worked. There didn’t appear to be a clear menu anywhere. I looked to the woman who had brought us to the counter and simply told her the truth, that I didn’t know.

She gave a slight smile and asked if we wanted a certain food item. I didn’t recognize the word, but one of the people I was with said he thought that was the typical Xi’an cuisine. So, we smiled back and said that yes, that’s what we wanted.

We followed her to a row of glass counters at the back of the restaurant, behind which were several cooks and a huge variety of food. The woman asked countless questions: Do you want this? Do these look good? What kind of meat do you want?

Some of it I understood and diligently translated for my companions and then gave our collective response. A lot of it, I just inferred from a combination of hand gestures, visuals, and the occasional recognized word. By the end, it seemed as if we had told her quite a long list of food we wanted. She then took us back to the counter and ordered for us. Considering everything we ordered, the price was really low. I guess that’s the benefit of eating at local restaurants not frequented by foreigners.

She then showed us to a table. It was clear that most people operated here with little assistance, but this woman was being kind enough to take a special interest in us, making sure we understood what we were supposed to do. Two of the dishes we had ordered arrived and they were incredibly delicious. But we also received bowls, each with a large circle of bread inside. I didn’t remember ordering any sort of soup item, and I had no idea what to do with the bread. This must have been the first thing the woman had asked if we wanted, the typical Xi’an dish.

The woman again smiled, and indicated that we were supposed to break the bread into small pieces. We diligently did as we were told, laughing and enjoying ourselves all the while. Looking around at the large groups doing the same, it was clear that the Xi’an dish was about more than just the food. It epitomized the ideal of “breaking bread together.”

When we were done the woman returned. We had bowls and receipts that we were surely supposed to do something with but, again, we were clueless. She took the bowls and told us a number. It was the number on the bottom of the bowl, so that when our soup was ready we’d be sure to get the one with our own bread pieces inside.

As we were finally eating our well-deserved Xi’an soup, a middle-aged Western couple walked in. They tried to sit down and were, like we had been, greeted by laughs and smiles. The same woman who had helped us went up to them and gestured over to us. The couple clearly spoke no Mandarin but the nice Chinese woman wanted to show them that it was possible for Westerners to eat here. I was sure the couple would approach us and ask us what they were supposed to do and, while I still didn’t know exactly how ordering worked, I would have happily helped. Before I even I had a chance to realize what they were doing, however, the couple was gone. They missed out; the food was delicious.