A Tale of Two Countries

Beijing: Part Two

The first interaction I want to share was with a pair of Chinese teachers from Qingdao. As I was walking towards Tiananmen Square to watch the flag ceremony, I accidentally bumped into one of them as I was walking and doing something on my phone. I apologized, and they were quick to strike up a conversation in pretty decent English. Their names were Cindy and Amy (different from the Aussie mentioned in last week’s post), and they were a lot of fun. Cindy lived in Beijing, and Amy was her friend visiting from Qingdao. We watched the ceremony together, and told me a little about the ritual and the area itself. After the ceremony, they asked if I wanted to go get some tea. It was a frigid day, and I had been outside for hours, so I was happy to join them. We settled on a teahouse in the area, and they ordered us some tea. It was a cool little room, and the tea was fantastic. We had a great chat, shared some experiences of teaching, and they were quite curious about my life back home. After we sat there for about an hour, we decided to go get something to eat. The bill came, and my jaw hit the floor.

Going to Beijing, I knew that the prices would be higher than in Chongqing, and seeing that I had never been to a teahouse before, I had no idea what to expect. But the price that I saw before me stunned me. Cindy, the more talkative of the two, mentioned something about how men normally pay for the tea, and when I made it clear that wasn’t going to happen; we split the bill three ways. As we left and wandered toward the eating street, I could not stop thinking about how much I just spent on tea. The other two didn’t seem bothered by it, and just kept chatting away as jocularly as before. By the time we reached the eating street I became sufficiently distracted, and chalked up the seemingly outlandish bill to the cost of a cultural experience in a touristy area. My shock subsided and my hunger emerging, we decided to go to a nearby bar for some jiaozi (delicious, delicious dumplings). When we got the bar, we went to a private room. A feeling of unease came over me, and when I told them I didn’t want anything to drink, just a little food, I also had the sense to ask about what it would cost upfront this time (fool me once…). They said there was a room charge, I said goodbye.

I was frustrated that these two were taking advantage of me because I was a foreigner who they assumed had loads of money. Though I do have access to more money than most Chinese, I am currently getting paid by Chinese standards, and therefore am far from flush with cash. After I left them at the bar, I returned to the eating street to kill the remaining hours until my train ride. The longer I walked, the more the feeling that everything I had just experienced was wrong settled in. My mind returned to the money spent at the teahouse, and I knew that what I had paid exceeded ‘the cost of a cultural experience in a touristy area’. I took out my phone and googled something along the lines of, “how much does tea cost in beijing”. One of the first results was about the Beijing teahouse scam. Basically, Chinese befriend a tourist, invite them to tea, don’t show prices, and then hit them with an outrageous bill. As I read this, my blood began to boil.

Perhaps I’m a bit too trusting at times, but I’ve never considered myself a naïve person. I’ve travelled a little bit, and I typically don’t have time for people trying to get over on me. That’s what blew me away about these two. They were so genuine, so seemingly honest (impeccable stories), and they completely blindsided me. In hindsight, there were a few signs that I should have paid closer attention to. However, I had slept four hours the night before, I had just come off a great social experience with the Aussie and was feeling gregarious, and these two seemed to just want to hang out with a foreigner. Every five minutes around Tiananmen Square you are approached by someone trying to sell you something, offer you a service, or asking you to visit their ‘art show’, I did not expect the kind teachers that I ran into to be the biggest hustlers of the day. That being said, there was still the issue of my money.

Even though we had walked some distance away from teahouse, I fortunately have some Hansel and Gretel/bloodhound in me. I put my head down, clenched my jaw, and headed directly back to the offending locale. Though calm may not be the first adjective that people would use to describe me, angry probably isn’t either. I was fucking fuming. On my swift march back to the teahouse, I had visions of me battering whomever they sent at me when I came kicking the door in. Unfortunately (who am I kidding), fortunately, there was only the female staffer who had previously served us, and her female boss whom she called immediately after seeing me come striding in the door. I walked into the room where we had been served, sat down, and started shouting about getting my money back. The next fast and furious few minutes consisted of lots of shouting, pointing of fingers, picture taking (from both sides), and a call to the police (which was unceremoniously ended when it dawned on me that I had no way of describing the situation, location, or anything productive that would reunite me with my lost money). I did, however, know that it was best for them to just give me my money back, so I shouted until it was in my hand. Though a bit amusing in retrospect, the scene at the time was wholly unpleasant for all.

I was lucky to have found the teahouse so easily, and that it was still open. If I had not retrieved that money, I know that it is something that would have eaten away at me for a long time. Though the realization that I am not as impervious to hustlers as I had assumed I was is a big enough blow to my ego, the salt in the wound that could have been the lost money would have stayed with me for even longer. This story is not a blanket indictment of Chinese people, for there are con artists the world over, and plenty of them work on a far grander scale. It is merely a cautionary tale from someone who once thought he was more savvy than he proved to be that day, and is better for the lesson. It is incumbent upon the traveler to recognize and avoid these situations. I failed. Initially, at least. I like to think I somewhat redeemed myself with the charge back to the teahouse, the summoning of the righteous indignation (learned from my brother, thank ye, sir), and the retaking of the fraudulently attained funds.

The second story is briefer, and infinitely more pleasant.

As one could guess, after that debacle, I was left a bit exhausted, and more than a bit jaded. At that point I was quite fed up with the Chinese people for the day, and just wanted to sleep by the time I got on the train. As such, I was perhaps a bit curt with a guy who was seated in the same section of the train and had tried to strike up a conversation with me. However, the next day, after my rage from the previous night’s misadventure had subsided, I had a great chat with him. I’m glad I did. Not only was he very kind, but he was also incredibly interesting. His name is Zhou Shi Ming, and he is a singer from a small town in Chongqing. The vast majority of Chinese that I have met have never left their country. Shi Ming has travelled extensively throughout Asia, and has even been to the States a few times, thanks to his career in music. We chatted on and off throughout the day. He was a treasure-trove of interesting Chinese stories, both historical and mythological, which I found fascinating.

Near the end of the day (remember, this was a 32 hour train ride), I realized I had poorly prepared for a trip of this length. I had assumed there would be food options on the train (real options, not just a few snacks), and western-centric assumptions often make quick asses of those who carry them to China. I think Shi Ming noticed I had not adequately stocked up, and asked what I had brought to eat. I looked at my meager supplies and took out my PBR, a Snickers, and an orange. There was still about 16 hours on the train ride, and I was quite hungry. He immediately offered the last of his noodles, which I thanked him for, but declined. It became clear very quickly that he would not be accepting ‘no’ for an answer. He insisted that there had been times when he hadn’t brought enough food on the train, and others had helped him. He then asked if we were friends, I said that I felt we were now friends after talking all day, and he asked me to accept the noodles because we were now friends. You can’t argue with an offer like that. I ate the noodles, split the Snickers with him (he wouldn’t take the whole thing), and my previously shaken faith in the Chinese people was once again restored.

So there you have it. I know that experiences like these can be found the world over, but having them in such quick succession and on such extreme poles is something I have only experienced here in China.

I leave you with three pictures, and sometimes pictures really do capture the essence of people. I think they do quite well in these cases.


One of the offending parties. Let her shame be known to the world!


You can almost sense my adoration for this fine fellow in my picture.


And a New Year Happy! The next post will be after Christmas, so I hope you all have an enjoyable time. I gotta say, though I've been surprised by the amount of Christmas decorations and spirit around town (Dare I insert a comment on the secularization and commercialization of Christmas on a global scale? Nope, cynicism takes too much energy, and Christmas is awesome.), it still doesn't feel the same as home. Good luck!