Jan 1, 2013

你好, 老外!

“They’re saying ‘Hello, foreigners!’”

A walk home with new friends
Pull up a chair, have a drink

From time to time, at 串串 in the city, people take notice of us. They’ll practice their English within earshot, or dare someone to come 干杯 with us. Recently, a little girl, seeing that we had no meat on our table, brought me over some beef sticks. They were really, really delicious, and I’ve since added them to the rotation. But for the most part, we’re left alone. In the city, people are cool. “Yeah, we’ve got Americans. No big deal.”

Not so in the countryside. We attract tons of attention at BBQ Sticks, our favorite countryside haunt. And that’s part of the fun.

The restaurant belongs to the small, built-up oasis that sits in the middle of kilometers and kilometers of farmland. If you live out our ways, and you don’t live at the school, you probably live here. And if you live here, you probably socialize out on the street — that’s where everyone is. Including us.

Young children are generally equal parts terrified and fascinated by us. They try to catch glances without getting caught, or sometimes we’ll here a small voice yell out, “Hello, 老外[foreigner]!” from behind the restaurant’s tarp. If they’re with parents, the adults will encourage them to talk to us. They resist, despite our most enthusiastic 你好s.

Teenagers and adults are a little more brave. Teens, because they have to study English, are often a little more confident in approaching us, though often they’ll check with the restaurant owners first if it’s OK to ask to take a photo. I think the owners are amused by their roles as our agents.

Some of our best nights happen when someone is brave enough to sit down with us. Often the first foray is a tentative beer toast. He’ll drink with us (it’s pretty much always a man), and then return to his table. And then the others come, one by one. Sometimes they offer cigarettes to Peter, which is a little awkward to refuse; it’s a gesture of good will and male bonding, and saying no is tantamount to saying, “We’re not friends.” But neither of us wants Peter to start smoking again just for social niceties.

If the mood is right, our tables merge. We’ll run through the few Chinese phrases I know — “We’re Americans. We’re teachers at Tianfu Middle School. Are those your kids? Very beautiful. We love China. Let’s be friends!” It’s one of the greatest tests and exercise of my language skills, and very good fun. It feels like such a win every time I can understand a new phrase or make something understood.

Some brave students

Occasionally, our new friends will go behind our back to pay the bill. It’s incredibly generous of them, a real example of Chinese hospitality. Other times, we’ll have companions for our walk home — it was in this way that we met some young students who are bound for Tianfu next year. And every once in a while, our fellow teachers will spot us waiting for the bus and give us a ride back home. It’s funny for them, I think, to see the Americans out in the wild. But they, too, have felt the call of the barbeque, and they understand.

We definitely still have curiosity status in the neighborhood, but our experiences at BBQ Sticks are starting to make us feel part of something. Part of it is the fact that I’m getting more language — even a bit of the local dialect — but I think it’s the food that brings us together. Peter and I are total weirdos here, but we can share some hot peppers and laugh over a beer. And it’s nice to have friends.