Rough Living

by Vago Damitio

  Slightly more than thirty minutes had gone by when I reached the second tower. An armed guard boredly looked at me as I huffed and puffed past. I chanced a look down and saw that the Europeans and most of the Chinese had stopped at the first tower. They were sitting, taking pictures, and admiring the only man made artifact that can be seen with the naked eye from outer space, but from the ground.

  A few figures trudged further up though; getting closer to me each moment I rested. I cut my break short and set off again.

  The distance was shorter to the third tower, but the steps were steeper. My lungs gasped for air as my hands on my legs attempted to ease the frightful burning that occurred each time I lifted them for another huge step. I took frequent breaks during this section and noticed that some of the Chinese were catching up to me and the Europeans had started to climb again.

  I pushed myself harder. For some reason I felt that I had to be the first to the top. It was as if I thought the wall would only allow the first person to climb it each day to achieve the hero status I so desired. I would be a hero. I would be the hero.

  At the third tower I checked the time. Fifty minutes had gone by. I had fifty-five minutes to climb back down and make it to the bus. My tired body told me it was a good point to turn around. The view was stunning. The Great Wall of China stretching serpentine along hilltops for scores of miles. I snapped a photo of himself with the wall in the background.

  I looked down the steps where two young Chinese men had nearly reached my resting point. They would keep going past me. They would pass me up. I had to keep going. The climb to the fourth tower seemed less steep than the last section had been but a little longer. The fourth tower was the highest I could see. If I reached that tower, I would be able to claim hero status. I had to go on. I looked down the steps again and saw the Frenchman nearing the third tower and his wife watching from the second.

  I didn’t understand this competition I had placed myself in with the Frenchman, but I had to win. The other guy didn’t even know he was competing. Well, maybe he did. It felt like he was trying to get as far as me. I didn’t mind that, I just needed to be first.

  So I set off again. My mind and body wanted to turn back each moment. I checked my watch over and over again realizing I had passed the one-hour mark and should turn back. It wasn’t much further though. An hour and five minutes. Almost there. An hour and ten minutes. Just a few more steps…and suddenly I was there.

  I was at the top of the Great Wall looking down at the massiveness that is China. Wondering which side of the wall was meant to keep the Mongol hordes out and how many men had stood in this spot before me. From here I could see the dozen buses that now filled the parking lot and the hundreds of tourists who trudged up the mighty steps like ants far below me.

  I was the first. I was the hero. And as such I felt magnanimous towards the Frenchman who had reached and passed the third tower and was midway to the fourth. I wanted to share this moment with someone who could understand. I wanted to keep it forever and I realized that by my being at the top when the Frenchman arrived, I would be keeping the feeling from the man who now carried his coat and had a scant thirty-five steps to go before reaching hero status. I decided to share and even though I would have liked to rest a moment more, I began to vault down the stairs two at a time so that the other man could enjoy the feeling I had just been reveling in.

  “How was eet?” the Frenchman asked in English.

  “C’est fantastique mon ami. C’est fantastique. Au revoir.” I leapt down the mountain hoping I would be in time to catch the bus. I passed the man’s wife who after a brief rest was continuing on. Not far behind her a Chinese man with a video camera nodded at me and said rather breathlessly “You very fast”

  “Thanks…” I continued on. It only took me twenty minutes to reach the bottom. Fifteen minutes after that, the Europeans came down and wandered up to where I was smoking a cigarette.

  They stood nearby drinking water and catching their breath as the man with the video camera reached the bottom of the steps. He came up to me and turned on the camera. “Why you climb so fast?” he asked in pretty good English.

  I grinned. “Laowai fast. Laowai first.”

  The man laughed and shut off the camera. “You know meaning of laowai? You speak Chinese?”

  I shook my head no. “Just a little…what’s it mean? Laowai?”

  “It mean like old white ghost. You say old white ghost first. Fast old ghost.” The man continued laughing as he walked to the placard describing how the Chinese government had invested such a large amount of money into rebuilding this section of the wall and filmed it so his friends could read it too.

  As the rest of the Chinese from the bus reached the bottom, they would speak to each other and point at me. The words they were saying sounded complimentary. They pointed to me, smiled, and said serious sounding words. The way they looked at me, I felt a little like a hero.

  The American

  (This story had to be told from Genghis Kane’s perspective, he related the bulk of it to me over the several days I stayed in Xi’an)

  Genghis Kane’s Café’ was small but clean. Kane himself was Mongolian and spoke English with a slight Chinese accent. He had put up pictures on the walls of all the places in the world he wanted to go. The walls were starting to run out of room. So many places, and Kane wanted to see them all.

  He carried a couple of Singhas across the room to where the group of six travelers had pushed two of his small tables together. He put one beer in front of a blond girl and the other in front of a slightly fat man with sandy brown hair.

  “Cheers,” the man said, giving himself away as an Englishman. “Cheers,” the girl was English too.

  “You are all from England?” He asked, hoping that this wasn’t so boring a group as that.

  “No,” this came from the short dark haired man at the end of the table. He was either American or Canadian.

  “But most of us are from England,” from the second girl with the large breasts and straight black hair.

  “So who is from where?” Kane asked with the engaging smile of the perfect host. He loved running a traveler café’. It was like going someplace new everyday, meeting the inhabitants of far off lands.

  Becoming a bigger person as the world became more understandable.

  “The four of us are from England,” the blond girl indicated herself, the girl with large breasts, the fat man, and a tall man who kept himself slightly separated from the rest of the group. “Chris is from America and Sasha is German.” Sasha had a slight frown on his effeminate face; he was distracted by his own thoughts and looked up at the mention of his name.

  “And all of you are traveling together?” Kane knew it wasn’t true. It was rare that a group of more than one nationality went anyplace. “No, Kay and I are together. Chris is in the same dorm as us."

  "Johnny,” she indicated the tall Englishman, “is traveling by himself and Keith and Sasha are also traveling together.”

  It was about like he expected except for the fat man and the German being traveling companions. Maybe they were a homosexual couple. Kane looked at them with more interest, noting with disappointment that their chairs were further apart than intimacy would indicate.

  “We met in Beijing and have been going the same direction. It’s convenient but I travel by myself,” Sasha explained.

  “How long have you been on holiday?” He asked. He could almost guess. No more than two weeks except for Sasha who had a sort vacant look about him that those who are far from home for extended periods tend to share.

  “Susan and I have been in China for a week and a half,” Kay said in a wonderfully deep voice.

  “Just about 2 weeks,” from Chris, the American.

  “The same,” from Johnny, the Englishman.

  “Two months,” from the fat man, Keith.

  “18 months,” Sasha said it in a burst, “18 fucking months. Hey can I get another beer?” He held up his
empty bottle. “Wo xiang yao yi ge pieju.”

  Kane was surprised. Sasha’s Mandarin was almost perfect. His accent betraying the fact that he had either spent a lot of time in the North or learned Chinese from a northerner.

  “Sure. Be right back.” Kane always spoke English in his café regardless of the nationality or language of his patrons. Even if they spoke perfect Mandarin. He stepped through the swinging kitchen door and noticed he was out of Singha. No problem. He walked outside and across the narrow alley to a tiny store where he bought a dozen beers with the money he’d just collected for two.

  A minute later when he brought Sasha’s beer from the kitchen, he was surprised to see another ten white people pulling tables together across the room from the first group. The new people were dressed very differently from the first. Their clothes were new, fashionable, and made with very bright colors whereas the first group wore sturdy, dull, utilitarian garments.

  “Hey, you got a menu? You speak English? You got some menu’s for us?” He wore a dark blue fleece jacket, expensive looking eyeglasses, and a sneering expression.

  “Sure, you want something to drink?” Kane hid his irritation.

  “What we want is to look at your menu,” the other people with him seemed uncomfortable with his rudeness.

  “Sure, I’ll be right back.” Kane wondered how the two groups would interact. He gathered up his menus and watched as everyone but the guy in the fleece sat down. The fleece man wanted to know the other people. “I’m American.” He said to them. “My name’s Carl. Where are you from?”

  “What do you know Chris? It’s one of your countrymen,” Sasha’s tone was mocking.

  “Hey you’re American?” Carl focused in on Chris who uncomfortably sipped his beer.

  “Yeah, I’m American, but I’m not a big fan, that’s why I left.” It was getting more and more interesting all the time. Kane handed the menus to the group at the second table. Nodding as a few of them asked for beers. “Not a big fan? What do you mean, you don’t like America?” Carl sounded offended and accusing.

  “What I mean is I don’t much care for American culture, government, or attitudes and before you tell me to leave it if I don’t like it, I want you to think about where we are,” Kane was as surprised as Carl looked.

  “Yeah, well I think it’s the greatest country in the world. I’m an MBA on spring break and me and my classmates here are visiting China for the next two weeks. It’s great to be an American in China. What about you, where are you from?” Carl asked Sasha.

  “I’m from Germany and the rest of these folks are from England.”

  Sasha didn’t bother looking at the MBA and moved straight to a different conversation without any sort of segue. “Keith, how did you like Egypt?”

  Carl either ignored or didn’t understand the snub. “Egypt. Wow. So how do you guys come here? Don’t you have jobs? Don’t you have responsibilities?” He looked at Chris and then quickly at the others.

  “Susan and I both quit our jobs.” Kay said.

  “I quit my job and sold my house,” from Keith.

  “I quit my job, too” from Johnny.

  “I was a homeless guy who hit the jackpot on a slot machine” from Chris.

  Kane looked at him again. There was a stark contrast between Chris’s worn wool coat and the bright blue fleece. The attitudes of the two men were even more different. Kane was used to seeing Americans like Carl, Chris seemed less puffed up, less full of himself or his country.

  “Come on…gimme a break,” Carl said. “You must have had a job. What did you do? How do you get the money to be here? What are you going to do when you get back?”

  Carl apparently felt like he had been accepted into the new group. He didn’t seem to notice the subtle turning and sliding of chairs as he tried to squeeze in. All six were subtly blocking him out of conversation. He chose a spot directly between Sasha and Chris, who seemed surprised that their thinly veiled insults went unnoticed.

  “So how much are you guys paying for a room? We’ve got these great 5-star rooms at the Hilton for only $45 a night. Can you believe that? I mean 5-star for $45! You can’t get that in New York.”

  “Ohhh.” Sasha said it in a slightly mocking tone, “You’re from New York. Where are you from in the states Chris?”

  “The Pacific Northwest,” Chris said, “It might as well be another country it’s so different from New York.”

  “Yeah, America is huge,” again Carl seemed oblivious to the snub."So you guys are staying here? How much is it?”

  “Well, Keith and I are staying in another place down by the train station. It’s 40 yuan a night. Chris and the girls are sharing the dorms here and that’s what 30 yuan?” Sasha looked at Chris who nodded.

  “And Johnny has a room here by himself for…how much Johnny?” “80 yuan a night.” Johnny said it slowly and carefully.

  “You three are sharing a room. Wow, kinky. Hey how much is that in dollars? I don’t know how much this monopoly money is worth.” Carl pulled a huge stack of Chinese currency out of the pocket of his fleece.

  “It’s about $5.” Chris said it coldly. ”Excuse me.” He got up and left the table. Kane figured he was going to the toilet outside.

  “Are the rooms nice? I mean you could get a room for just $45 at the Hilton. That’s where we’re staying…it’s so cheap.”

  “How long are you here for?” Sasha asked him. “Two weeks?” The sneer was obvious in his words. “We’re all staying a little longer so we’re sort of…being careful about how much we spend”

  “So here’s what I don’t understand…” Carl ignored his unanswered questions. “I mean, my visa is only good for a month. I don’t understand why the Chinese don’t let Americans and other westerners stay as long as they want. I mean it’s not like some Chinese peasant coming to America. I mean we’ve got money. The Chinese don’t have to figure out what to do with some stupid peasant. They should just let us stay as long as we want.”

  “Maybe they don’t want you here.” Sasha indicated the rest of the group sitting around the table but Carl again ignored or didn’t catch the insult.

  “Yeah, but why not? I mean, I’m spending a lot of money here. I’m making the economy better. I’ve spent about a thousand dollars and it’s only been a week. Everything is so cheap here. Not like New York where I have to pay $1800 a month for a studio apartment.”

  Chris came back in and sat down, pulling his chair a bit further from Carl’s. Kane brought drinks for the second table and took their food orders. “Do you want anything?” he asked Carl.

  “Yeah, do you have any Heineken?” Kane nodded yes and went back across the street to the tiny store.

  “80 yuan.” He said when he got back. Carl gave him 100. “Keep the change.” The guy was an idiot, the beer only cost 20 across the street and the Singha were only 10 yuan in the café.

  “Did you buy that North Face fleece here?” Kay asked him. “How much was it.”

  “Oh no, this is the real deal. I got this at the outlet store in Berkeley. It was $250 but it’s the real deal, not a rip off like you find here.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty hard to tell the difference with the pirate stuff here,”Sasha said, “Seeing how they’re made in the same factory by the same workers. Good move getting the real thing.”

  “Thanks, It’s worth it to pay more for the real deal. I took a special trip to Berkeley just to get this jacket. Why not? I’m going to be making $100,000 a year after I graduate. Hey what’s the story with all these books?” He got up, much to the obvious relief of Sasha and Chris. “Are they free?”

  “No,” Kay explained. “Travelers trade the books they finish for the books here. It’s a straight trade. A book for a book. It’s good because sometimes it’s hard to find a good book when you’re on the road.”

  “So all of these are available?” he was looking at a 2001 Let’s Go China guidebook.

  “Everything but the guidebooks,” Kane said, “Those are
for my uests to use while they’re here.”

  “Great. Hey, I’m going to join my friends now.” Carl moved away from the pleased looking travelers and towards the frowning group of BAs who were now eating the food Kane had just put on the table.

  No Cinese food. Hamburgers, french fries, burritos, and soup. Very different from the rice dishes the first group had eaten earlier. None of the MBA’s needed chopsticks for their food; they probably didn’t even know how to use them.

  Kane listened to bits and pieces of the conversations going around the two tables. Sasha was telling a story about teaching English in Northern China, Keith talked about fishing in Russia, Johnny and Chris were discussing the mountains they’d climbed the week before, and the two English women were discussing their proposed itinerary for their trip around the world.

  At the second table a girl was telling the others how much she missed her parents and her dog. A second was describing the horror of Kane’s bathrooms. “And it was just this horrible pit on the floor, there was no toilet paper, no way to flush it, I mean it was filled with poo. It was horrible. I turned right around and left. No way I‘m going to use a disgusting toilet like that.” Kane laughed.

  Most of his guests complimented him on the cleanliness of his toilets as compared with others they had seen in China.

  “Well, I’m not going to use a bathroom like that.” Carl said. “Why don’t we get a taxi back to the Hilton and have some more drinks there.”

  The group seemed to agree and while they finished their drinks Carl pulled a thin book from his pack and walked up to the bookshelves. Kane couldn’t see what book he took but noted that the book he left was a free guide to tourist attractions in Xi’an that was available at most of the upscale hotels.