I was incredibly excited at the prospect of only paying the equivalent of three dollars for transportation, attraction entrance, and lunch in this charming canal town. My handy China guidebook highlights Nanxun's "arched bridges, canals, narrow lanes, and old houses," along with its "intriguing mix of Chinese and European architecture, introduced by affluent silk merchants who once made their homes here."** I'm always fascinated to visit a place with substantial history, and apparently Nanxun has at least 1400 years of it. I was ready to fall for some historic enchantment and be swept away into a bygone era.
Our teachers commanded us to report to the buses at 7am so we could leave promptly at 7:30am. Since Brian and I are in different sections of Level Two language study, we were supposed to ride on different buses with our respective classes. Feeling like middle schoolers, we nonetheless attempted to save face by asking our teachers' permission to ride together on the same bus. The response? "You cannot! It is not possible!" What did we do? "Thank you, teachers!," and promptly boarded my section's bus together. I could write an entire blog post on how incredibly patronizing the culture can be here, but I have at least come to expect that I'll be treated like a child at all times--I will be told what to do, I'll be talked down to, and I will be told how to do procedures (such as studying) that I figured out years ago. I realized our teachers' reaction didn't surprise me, and smugly pondered the concept that perhaps I have actually "figured out" China.
That all changed when the bus parked in Nanxun. A tour guide (who looked more like she was dressed for a high school basketball game than for recalling nerdy tidbits of information) boarded our bus, shouted a few incomprehensible orders in Chinese, then started walking away from the bus. Not knowing what else to do, we exited, as well.
Within a few moments, somewhere between a few hundred and ten thousand Chinese tourists started cramming around us on the sidewalk. Our guide haphazardly waved a flag in the air whenever she felt the whim. We did our best to stay close to her as we passed what looked like a visitors' center, some shops, and finally an entrance for the "historic town."
We quickly learned it was impossible to stick with our guide. She walked wherever she pleased (often in incredibly tight, cramped quarters), and we had no choice but to let the rushing tide of gabbing tourists push us hither and thither. To make matters worse in the Sea of Body Odor and Stares at Foreigners, the guides also had an ear-popping portable microphone system attached to their waists, and would (at completely unpredictable intervals) feel compelled to bark into it. Nanxun swept me away alright, but it wasn't into a bygone era.
A few teachers attempted to translate the guides' speech for us (especially since I haven't learned the Chinese words for "silk merchant," "lonely widow's mansion," or "wisteria" yet), but it was a lost cause. We eventually had to do like all the other groups and wander aimlessly, clueless to the charming-yet-unknown scenery that surrounded us. As much as we could, we spent two hours dodging loogies, guides with mikes, and brazen attempts to gawk at and take pictures of us exotic "foreign devils." I learned two important lessons from my Nanxun journey: Chinese tourists really do love to wear matching hats, and they all feel compelled to sight see between 9:30 and 11:30 in the morning. By the time we left, the site was empty.
The bus drove us to a nearby hotel for a decent yet nondescript lunch. By 1pm, we boarded the bus to return home. Why couldn't we have staggered our journey, you ask? Perhaps grab an early lunch, then see the sites in the afternoon when no one else would be there? Good question. My classmates and I asked it many times ourselves on the bus ride back, frustrated and confused as to the purpose of the day trip. Perhaps the guides aren't available in the afternoon because they have to get ready for the basketball game.
Now that a few days have passed since our journey, my frustration has been replaced with a bit of humility and ironic acknowledgement. I have certainly learned another lesson--I will never fully understand this country! China makes me scream, makes me laugh, makes me scratch my head--but it never makes me bored.
*To read more about Brian's rather humorous experiences that day, see his November post "No Speeling!"
**Lonely Planet China 2011 Edition, page 247 (contact me if you want the full bibliography, though that should suffice for an Amazon search if you're that interested :).