Passing trains and flaming Canadians

"You should put this in your blog." My Hawaiian friend sat across our tiny table, perched atop what look like plastic children's stools which are more or less ubiquitous along any street occupied by common Chinese eateries. After getting your food, you pull the tiny stool up to a low table and plop down to eat. The height isn't as much a problem as I thought it would be. The plastic is. (I've cracked a few already.) But we weren't along the street. I and my two friends whom I work with at the school had gone to lunch, as normal, at our favorite eatery along the strip of restaurants, coffee shops, and various other businesses in front of the school. I'm not completely sure why it became our favorite, but it might have to do with the food served in a type of metal dish I've only ever seen used to deliver food to Indian workers. Or the fact that fully half of the options on display are non-spicy (a high percentage in Chenzhou). But probably, the best thing about the place is where we were sitting. This eatery (I have trouble calling these informal places restaurants) has a seating area in back. Most places don't have this, though some places do have a crowded upstairs area. The seating area out back is nice.

My friend was telling me to write about all of this, but mostly he was telling me to write about the passing train, which was only a few feet from our seating area and making it completely impossible to hear him, though I was able to read his lips. Don't get the wrong idea, we were nicely isolated from the train by a billowing blue tarp, which was also draped over the top of the area to block out the sun. But the noise from the train's passing dominated the conversation, along with the honking train horn, a minor inconvenience for the few minutes it took the train to pass. Both freight and passenger rail use the tracks that run nearby our school. But unlike the US, both freight and passenger rail move very quickly here. It only ever takes the train a few minutes to pass. Then we were back to our conversation and enjoying our meal, scooping rice, meat and vegetable in every spoonful. I've been complemented on my skill with chopsticks by several Chinese people, so I don't purposely avoid their use, but in this case everyone here uses spoons (often big, western style soup spoons) and shoveling the food into your mouth works better than delicately placing each clump of rice into your mouth individually.

It's important to get done with your meal quickly at lunch here because there's important work to be done during the lunch hour(s). Namely, a nap. This town, perhaps the whole province, observes a midday nap, especially in effect during the summer. I'd heard of this tradition in Granada, Spain and assumed that it was unique to that place, but there are a million things in China that remain hidden from the west simply because they're too numerous to name. Well, let me convey this amazing and quite sensible practice. Lunch here begins around noon, as it does in the US, then work resumes about 2:30~3 o'clock. During which time, people go for a quick bite to eat (food is never far away in a Chinese city), then back to the apartment for a quick nap of an hour or so (or whatever you can get away with), and then back to work refreshed and ready for the rest of the day, which may end at 5pm, or last until ten, according to your job and boss's mood. Either way, there's also great fun to be had after work.

If you're familiar with the napping practice in Spain, you may also be aware that it tends to create a nightlife, since people don't go to bed at a decent hour. (Speaking for myself, I could take the midday nap and still sleep an eight hour night.) Chenzhou is no different. People get off at work at ten o'clock here and go out to the bars and clubs. But the bars are only busy for a couple of hours, then people head back home and get ready to do the whole thing again tomorrow. Foreigners seem to have trouble with this concept, occupying bar stools long after the sensible local people have gone home. Bar owners don't seem to mind and continue serving the laoxi long after western bar owners would have thrown them out. Last Friday night I ran into some Brits at Mustache (local gay-ish bar) who said they were waiting on some people to take them to 'English Club'. I was unable to determine whether this was a club for English people, or a club where English was spoken before some Chinese friends showed up, joined us and told us they were here to meet some English people to show them where English club was. So started a delightful weekend of drunken hi-jinks.

We left Mustache and headed for Sean's Irish Pub, my favorite expat watering hole. Sean came out to greet all of us and chat while we socialized and spoke English with Chinese people interested in learning English and at various levels of skill. The mix was about fifty/fifty native speakers to learners. As the night wore on, the learners made their way home and the English speakers got ever drunker. At some point there were no learners left and we collectively decided to make our way to a club. In a more sober state, I probably wouldn't have opted to join them, but after a few (and really, just a few) beers, I was easily coaxed into walking to the other side of town to try this club.

Although I don't remember how exactly we got there, it was in an area of town where the sidewalk was a memory. Crushed, apparently, by large construction equipment which was no longer present or evident in any way, the large chunks of concrete which used to be the sidewalk would have made walking difficult for a sober person, but were more or less glided over by our drunken crew. Drunk people always seem to have that ability to glide over hazards that would stop a sensible person in their tracks. The area in front of the club, however, was free of all detritus. There were a few cars and a single food cart grilling various meats on a stick. The cart was very popular with people exiting the club and most notable were a group of women who were dressed to the nines in their best club clothes, designed especially for those who lack imagination. "Do you want to try some of this?" My Hawaiian friend asked, unable to tear his gaze from the ladies waiting for their meat sticks. I laughed and told him I just came to see the club. "Oh, yeah."

We made our way into the club and it was exactly what I expected. Loud and obnoxious music making it impossible to hear anyone, overpriced drinks (not that I bought any), and almost no one on the dance floor. We made our way to the table with our friends and partook in some drinks that a local had bought for them. Whether it's food or drink, the Chinese are ridiculously generous and expect you to partake, even if you've really had enough. I got to the dance floor and faux danced with the last of the day's energy, then came back to the table, had another drink someone insisted on, and told my friend as soon as I saw him that I was going to head out. He was ready to go too, and together we made our way to the street and a cab. After a dinner at one of Chenzhou's only all-night eateries (delightful dumplings after midnight), we made our way back to the school and to sleep.

That was Friday. Saturday was a day off, but Sunday I was back at Mustache and ran into the British expats again. We all ended up gathered around a table and they told me that they had gotten soo drunk Friday night, as often ends up being the case. Three of them said that they couldn't remember anything after we arrived at the club to the next morning when they all woke up in one of their apartments and wondered if someone had slipped something in their drinks at the club. Yes, I thought. Copious amounts of alcohol. They all said that woke up covered in scratches and one was even missing a shoe. It sounded like the end of a great night (at 22 years old, anyway), or the beginning of a great joke.

In any case, the Canadian at the table apparently wanted to start the process over again and ordered a round of shots for the whole table. When they arrived, he proceeded use his lighter to set each shot aflame, which caused me to again consider the best theme music for 'Bad Idea Theater'. When each shot was busy burning off the very thing he'd paid for, he began to distribute them to each person, except not everyone was easily reached. With one shot in each hand, trying to reach across the table, we could all see clearly that his thumb had caught fire. Pointing, but not panicking yet, we caused him to notice his thumb. Unfortunately, he looked at the wrong thumb. So he slightly turned the previously unignighted hand, dumping the flaming beverage all over his hand and onto the table. Now, with both hand and table aflame, he knew he had to get rid of the other shot glass, but when he looked over he noticed that (by now) it too was a raging inferno. He slammed that glass down and this time the lit beverage not only went all over the table, but onto the floor as well.

Somehow, we didn't burn the building down. The fire was stamped out and his hands were cooled in the bathroom sink. Shots were drank and another wild night had begun for this crowd. At their age, I would have greatly enjoyed their wild nights. As I recall, I had a few myself. But my night was over. I thanked them for the shot and made my way home. The fun for me in China will have little to do with wild nights at the club. I'm more interested in my favorite eatery and pub. I'm looking forward to walking the city more and discovering new streets, markets, and whatever else is out there. The exciting thing is being here, finding out what's extraordinary and what the Chinese consider ordinary.