It's been a while since my last post, mainly because things have been chugging along at a normal pace with no blog-worthy happenings. Until this morning.
Okay, here's the premise. We have finally settled (we think) on our plans for this summer -- we'll be tackling the GanSu province. We're going to hit Xi'An again (the place with the Terra Cotta Warriors and lots of other great history) since our camera was stolen when we stayed there before and we lost all our pictures. Then onto GanSu, where, among other things, we will be doing some Tibetan camping (yaks!) and overnighting in the Gobi Desert- complete with camel ride. I've always wanted to ride a camel in the desert but never thought I'd actually have the opportunity!
It's the Gobi experience that sent me shopping this morning. I needed to find some linen to sew up some desert clothes -- loose, breathable, and cool, but still long pants and long-sleeved shirts to keep the sunburn away. So, I got up early to exercise, fix breakfast for the family, throw shopping bags (you have to pay for plastic bags when shopping in China, so we carry cloth ones) in my shoulder bag, grab wallet, keys, phone, and Justin's old IPod (for music purposes), kiss my boys, and run out the door. The fabric place is a solid hour and a half away by bus, so I was hoping to save myself an hour and taxi it. I think my time is worth the extra $4 to take a taxi.
So I head out the door with IPod music in full swing and a bounce in my step. Shopping for fabric is one of my favorite activities, and I restrict myself to once a semester (generally) for Justin's sanity. I walk the ten minutes to the campus gate, hoping for a taxi. No taxi. So I hop onto the bus, the very last person. The doors squeeze shut right behind my butt. I see a taxi stop and pick up a student and sigh to myself for not waiting longer, but figure I'll grab a taxi across the river -- hopefully.
Now, here's something you should know about buses in China, in case you've forgotten. They pack people in like sardines. Worse than sardines. You can't breathe, much less speak, the smell is overpowering (Chinese don't use deodorant!) and there's no circulation whatsoever. This bus is, of course, packed to the hilt.
And then we stop. And more people crowd on. Now, instead of being squished next to the door, I'm perched on the hand rail, holding on for dear life and praying for no sudden stops.
We go to the next bus stop. I'm certain, after three years in China, that the driver cannot possibly expect to get more people on this bus.
He does.
Not only do people get on the bus, but two very large (fat, actually) Chinese men lumber on. Chinese men have this habit of rolling their tee shirts up to expose their stomachs for what we call "Chinese air-conditioning". So I'm staring at rolls of sweaty blubber. To top it off, the man closest to me raises his arms to hold on to the rail above my head, leaning close and giving me the joyous opportunity to drink in his overpowering scent.
This was not a pleasant bus trip for me, as you can imagine.
It gets better.
We motor over the bridge, me looking down and breathing through my mouth. The bridge has never seemed longer, but we make it, and I vault out the door.
At this point, I can get another bus (after that experience, not looking forward to it) or a taxi. Glory be, a taxi pulls up! It's tricky to get one sometimes, so this is a huge blessing. I jump in and tell him where I want to go. He grunts and starts the meter.
This is where panic sets in.
Did I bring my money? I know I have my wallet with a couple yuan in it, but my shopping/taxi money?
I frantically search my pockets and my bag, all too aware of the road rolling by under the tires. The soundtrack of Les Mis pounds in my ears. Luckily, there's lots of traffic, so we've only gone about 20 feet when I know for sure that I don't have the money to pay this guy. He stops behind a bus and, out of desperation, I throw a 对不起 (sorry!) over my shoulder and leap out of the cab. I don't look back to see how he takes this.
Thinking back now, I probably should have given him some kind of money, but trying to explain the situation is beyond my current vocabulary - especially in the frantic state I was in - and I needed the pitiful bills in my wallet to get a bus home.
I feel vaguely guilty for my desperate act, but oh so thankful that I didn't take a taxi from the school gate and get all the way to my destination without money to pay him, or get on the second bus and ride another hour to have no money to get home. God was watching out for me, I'm sure!
Anyway, here I am, stuck on the side of the road without money to do much of anything except maybe get home. That's when I realize that -- uh-oh -- the bus stop moved recently. They do this sporadically, I think just to keep us on our toes. I have no idea where to get on the bus that will take me back to our school. I could wander through the streets all morning and never stumble across the right place.
I stop in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and look up at the bridge. The pride and joy of our new mayor, who has a special place in his heart for bridges and promises to build something like four or five more, is a little over a mile long and has a fairly steep incline.
And I have to walk it. It's the only way home.
I crank up the music, adjust my shoulder bag, and stomp on. And I do mean stomp. I am out of sorts, frustrated that my whole day is shot. By the time I cross the bridge, walk to campus, and go all the way to the back corner of campus, where our apartment is, there's no way I'll have time to get the shopping done today, even if I want to -- and I increasingly think I just won't want to.
It's about halfway across the bridge, sweating under the glare of the bright sun, that my sense of humor kicks in. Personally, I think this is one of God's greatest blessings. If I didn't have the ability to laugh at myself, life would be miserable. This is a ridiculous situation I've placed myself in, and blamed if it isn't starting to earn a chuckle or two. Just being so all-fired mad is enough to make my mouth twitch into a smile, plus I'm getting stared at in my foul temper by passing cars and bicyclists, not to mention the pedestrians I'm booking it past. I hate getting stared at on my bad China days, and this was a bad China day indeed.
So I gave them something to stare at. I found my Hairspray soundtrack and belted out the lyrics at the top of my lungs, complete with expressive gestures and a few poorly executed dance moves. They still stared, but at least they had a legitimate reason now.
Down the bridge, across a construction site, and onto campus. 15 more minutes to my door, which I flung open with dramatic flair, strode across the room to the desk, and picked up the envelope of money. I held it above my head with exhausted triumph.
So. I have learned a few things.
1. Take a water bottle everywhere. You never know when you might be broke and walking a couple of miles.
2. Take an umbrella. It didn't rain, but it could have. That would have been many times worse.
3. Learn how to tell a taxi driver you left your money at home. I could have come up with something garbled, I'm sure, but I will learn and memorize the correct sentence so that it will be handy whenever I need it in the future.
4. Double, triple, and quadruple check to make sure that your money is on your person. 'Nuff said.
I'll try this trip again tomorrow. Cross your fingers for me -- and pray!
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