China's magic lingers even 25 years on
0 
This is about living in China after the novelty wears thin. Foreigners coming here for a year or two or a decade all go through this phase.
The formerly magical sights become routine. The man peddling his tricycle loaded with a five-meter-tall stack of styrofoam, the dubious but delicious street foods, the way the country moves in unison at holidays, the paradoxes and odd juxtapositions - these can all sooner or later seem humdrum.
When the weird and wonderful become mundane, beware of the angry laowai (old outsider). They can turn ugly, walk around with puffed up chests, spewing sour vitriol. They become close minded know-it-alls.
In thinking about this column, I've consciously opened my eyes anew. I've tried to peel away the mask of my routine, everyday life to examine what it is about living here that still has a grip on me.
I found out last weekend by letting one of Beijing's sparkling autumn days simply wash over me.
Early in the morning I set out for my round of golf, determined to tune into the rhythm of whatever came at me.
There was an early morning breakfast stand shrouded in coal smoke and steam from the soup pots. I stopped to pick up a half dozen cha dan or tea boiled eggs; they'd give us a boast when we made the turn on the ninth hole. I passed on the you tiao, long thin braids of deep fried dough.
I'd left early enough so the unexpected clog of traffic isn't a cause for consternation. I saw the reason for the holdup. A man was furiously peddling toward me on his overloaded three-wheeler. He was at the head of a parade and next in line was a giant cement truck breathing down his neck. Fifty cars kept funeral-march pace, also unable to pass on the narrow section of road.
Go to Forum >>0 Comments