Zhangpu, China: Zhangpuvians

All day I had looked at young people in Istanbul. They were all drinking what every other kid in the world drinks, and they were wearing clothes that look like they were bought at the Gap, and they are all using cell phones. They were like kids everywhere else. It hit me that, for young people, this whole world is the same now… We're just one world now.

~Steve Jobs, Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson

One of three Apple Stores on the same block.

Reminders of our material similarities are everywhere in Zhangpu and, in my opinion, overcome our cultural differences.

Our similarities run deeper than just materialism, though.  Many of our personal desires, aversions, and emotions are the same.

The more Zhangpuvians I encounter, the more these similarities appear.  It's encouraging.  We have deep connections despite being on opposite sides of the foreigner-proof glass.

Here are some of the connections we've made in Zhangpu so far:

Jun

Jun manages the 1986 Cafe Bar.  We go there on a semi-nightly basis to drink American and European beers when we feel homesick.

When we arrive, she always greets us with a big smile and "Hello!", shouting each of our names as she sees us.

At first, you might think she's maintaining a normal manager-customer relationship.   "Smile through your teeth and keep 'em coming through the door."

That illusion was destroyed early, though.

Our first weekend in Zhangpu, Brice, Olivier, and I had a couple beers at 1986.  Jun joined us for a few.  Brice speaks Mandarin very well, so he translated.

She told us that not many foreigners come to Zhangpu, and she wants us to like it (or at least feel comfortable).  It reminded me of my relationships with people visiting the Midwest from other countries.

After that round, she took us to another bar that she said was more our style than 1986.  She wouldn't let us pay for the taxi or rounds.  She wanted us to have a good time and enjoy being there together.

Since then, she's taken us to other bars around Zhangpu, even going as far as driving us in her own car.

What kind of manager encourages customers to find other and sometimes better bars?

Jun keeps us loyal to 1986.  She's not just a bar manager.  She's an ambassador and, I'd like to think, our friend.

Ming Tien Coffee Language

Chow Yun (a.k.a. Yun Yun) and Qiu Ying

Five women waitress during the afternoon at Ming Tien Coffee Language:  Chow Yun (a.k.a. Yun Yun), Li Na, Mei Fan, Qiu Ying, and Chun Yan.

Once or twice a week, I escape the hotel room for lunch at Ming Tien.  The coffee, fries, and bacon sandwich cure my homesickness.

Going there so often, it's easy to become a regular and know the waitresses.

My favorite is Yun Yun. She's assertive, unapologetic, and easy to laugh.  She was also the first person to wait on me at Ming Tien.

She makes no attempt to speak English nor does she slow down her Mandarin to help me understand.   When I try to respond in her language or say my usual "ting bu dong" (I don't understand), she laughs hysterically.

The cure for homesickness

Her alternative hairstyle and multiple ear-piercings remind me of my friends during high school and college.  She also isn't scared to mock me or call me stupid ("er bai wu") with a playful sneer.

Yun Yun dares to be different and loud in a culture that most westerners, including myself, incorrectly stereotype as homogeneous and insular.

Li Na is the opposite of Yun Yun.  She looks the youngest of the quintet, skinny and quiet, but smiley none the less.  She's the girl next-door.

The week I learned her name, I ran into her at a local grocery store.  Like every loud-mouthed American, I yelled her name in surprise when spotting her in an aisle.  She nearly died with embarrassment.

Mei Fan and Qiu Ying speak a little English and love to practice.   They know and understand enough to get the gist of a conversation.

Li Na and Qiu Ying yelling "Bye-bye!"

They also encourage me to speak Mandarin and aren't bashful to correct any mispronunciations or fill in my vocabulary.

The food and company are comforting.  When I leave and get to the street, they always surprise me.

"Tomu!  Tomu!  Bye-bye!"

They open the second-story windows and stick out their heads to wave goodbye.

The Noodle Family

Their restaurant is nestled in an alley across from Shing Hua Du (a.k.a. The Princess Castle).  The kitchen is in front of their shop and consists of three boiling pots of water.

We went there on an impulse to try something new and unique.

The mother approached us and asked what we wanted.  She said a nearby pot contained noodles and beef.  It smelled appetizing and the preparation was transparent, so I quickly ordered two bowls and we took a seat.

The father came from the back with a mound of dough and started pounding it on a table. He formed a loaf then walked over to the pot of boiling water.

He took out a razor blade, and with a few swift strokes, shaved the loaf into small strips right into the pot.  The noodles were homemade.

As the dishes cooked, we talked.  We talked about where we were from and what we were doing in Zhangpu.

Then the mother told us she had an older brother living in America.   He had been in New York a couple years.  In an instant, I recognized something in her.

She had a flash of memory or worry. It's heavy having family on the other side of an ocean.  How and what are they doing?  Are they happy?  What's changed?

I wanted to ask what he was doing there, if she talks to him regularly, and if she missed him.  I wanted to offer support, but the language barrier held me back.

The Noodle Family in the kitchen at the front of their shop

When the flash passed, she returned silently to her work.

We had one of the warmest and best dining experiences in Zhangpu.  They made us feel welcome and not out of place, and it's been the same each time we go.

Part of me wonders if they show us the kindness they hope for her brother in New York.   If he gets even half the friendly treatment, then he must feel at home.

Mow-Tow Che (Tuk-tuk) Drivers and Wang Shen

Everyone we encounter isn't fun, helpful, or a positive interaction.  There's one tuk-tuk driver here whose greed got my ire.

SB and I went to Shing Hua Du on a Sunday afternoon and got the greedy tuk-tuk driver.

I knew he was going to demand more than the usual driver.  The night before he charged Olivier 20¥ for a ride that usually costs less than 10¥.

En route, I settled on giving him 10¥ and walking away when we arrived.  That didn't happen.

As I walked away, he grabbed my arm and started screaming at me for more money.  He demanded 30¥ for the ride!

I told him no and explained that other taxis and tuk-tuks charge less for more people and at busier times.

He got more upset the more I resisted.

After about ten minutes, I was sick of arguing.  I pulled out an extra 10¥, but before he grabbed it, I pulled it away.

"Xie shi bu hao (This isn't good)," I said, "No more."

I drew my hand left to right across my throat in the universal sign for 'done.'  (The middle finger means the same in America and China, but I resisted.)

He snatched the bill, turned to a nearby driver and started bragging about how he screwed the lao wai.

Not the greedy tuk-tuk driver, but he drives a similar mow-tow che.
How to properly negotiate a fare.

I was drained and adamant that we take a taxi with fixed prices for the ride back to Wan Jia.  After shopping, we easily found one.

Once we got in the car, I recognized the driver.  He drove me earlier in the week.  He spoke English well and enjoyed the practice.

We chatted, in both our native languages, on the way to Wan Jia.  I asked his name, Wang Shen.

When we arrived at Wan Jia, he waved off the fare and told us the ride was on him, free.

Wang Shen, wo de peng you (my friend).

In a matter of two hours, my faith in people was shattered then reassembled and fortified.

Bar Flies and Drinking Buddies

They're the same everywhere, which is why they're a tired trope in travel writing.

One story, however, means a lot to me and exemplifies why bar flies and drinking buddies can define an experience.

It was May 18, 2013.  SB turned 25 at midnight, and we were out the MIDI Bar (a non-Jun-shown bar) drinking and playing dice with a half-dozen raucous people.

A fair depiction of SB's Birthday at the MIDI Bar

Despite the language barrier, we were able to communicate drinking games and general conversation with each other.

At midnight, I mentioned to one of the patrons that it was SB's birthday.

He requested the Birthday Song at the bar.  The whole establishment sang her Happy Birthday, first in French, second in English, and finally in Mandarin.

It was a fun, blurry night, but I won't forget watching her turn a quarter-century serenaded in three different languages by a group of strangers on the other side of the world.