Tips and Tricks

I was fuming. Heart kicking in my chest, beating a racing pulse. Bastards. How could they?! I stormed on, totally oblivious to the ancient beauty that surrounded me. How could I have been so stupid, so naive. Cheeks flushed as red as the fortress walls around me and I barreled through the arches of the forbidden city, blowing off steam and trying to out run my thoughts, my shame.

I got shafted.

Several times now I'd been approached in the street. Friendly Beijingers, inquisitive as to where I was from, what I do and who I am. I found it charming, and a little flattering. Here was I, standing in the midst of thousands of years of history to find people who seemed more interested in what I had for breakfast (literally). Russia had served me well, the first few times I was on my guard. Broad smiles and "Hello! Where are you from?" started the engines of fight, flight response. People don't just ask this stuff. I prepare for the worst. Yet soon enough these sunny conversations had melted my Siberian guard. These people are just friendly, and interested. How fantastic that in a city this diverse people still care. Sure every now and again they tell me of a friend who's got a nice art gallery just across the road, I politely pause and then excuse myself. Even then they'd be friendly, give some useful advice.

And that's how it went this time too. We walked and talked on the way to the fortress. They were Ernest, they were art students. They showed me their gallery. They didn't mind i didn't buy anything. I thought I'd finally broken through the wall from tourist to traveller, I was blending in. Wasn't I? Inviting me for a cup of tea sealed the deal. We sat, we talked, we drank. All three we. It has turned out that this was a little more than a cup of tea. This was a traditional Chinese tea ceremony. But hey, the bill was going in thirds... right? It arrived, painfully more than expectation.

"So, how's best to divide this up." I asked
Blank faces and silence.

Had I used colloquial English? One of those many expressions I churn off so often, leaving foreign speakers so vague. I check myself. No... all good. So whats the hold up? The shop owner is insistent, I must pay now. But... but? Expectant eyes and awkward silence. I try again. Nothing. There's a flicker in the back of my mind. I'm not seeing something here. But still. Surely nothings too amiss. These people are decent. Right? In some hypnotised half though i shell out for the tea.

"Thank you!" They chant, breaking the stony silence.

It was about then I realised my mistake. This was not going three ways. We leave. They talk. I walk double speed my Brain runs over the last five minutes. They offer to take me to another "gallery", continue this tour, on my tab. I insist I need to go.

"Here's my number! Come to my house tomorrow we'll make dumplings!" I suddenly feel I've become a painted target. A western foreigner, Inherently rich by nature. A vein of cash to be mined by the cunning and crafty. At the city walls, we part ways.

I was fuming. Bastards. Traders try and sell off Olympic tat on my route. The usual comedy of their attempts, in persistently broken English, is lost on me. How could they? I shove past people. Barging tourist and locals out of the way in a stormy trance. So stupid. So naive. Then under an arch and into the light. The sun had broken out from the cloudy smog, bouncing warm light of the cities red walls.

The worst part about an experience like this is never what you physically lose. The materials worth fades with time anyway. That's merely the bite. The venom is how it changes you. Suddenly the vast crowds around that surround me are hording bandits, their sole purpose to cheat, steal and rob. I pour all my anger out against Beijing. What a vile, horrible city.... I... I hate... I... Damnit. Despite my best efforts. Despite the entirety of my strength poured into making the place my metropolitan scapegoat, I can't. I don't hate Beijing. No longer can I ignore the Majesty of the giant gate before me and in that moment I catch myself. If you don't let it go. You'll always lose more than just what was taken. The entire trip risked being painted with one ugly brush. At least this time, I can see it coming.

A deep breath. I got Shafted.

On the way to the gate a girl and an old man approach me.

"Hello!"

I felt like running. But couldn't. I answered politely, yet on my guard. They ask a few questions, comment on me traveling alone and how i should be careful. I wait for the strike. The one thing i just must visit with them. Suddenly the old man turns.

"Sorry! Our tour group is leaving. We've got to go! Very nice to meet you!"

And they were gone. I was left. Alone and un-shafted. Everyone is Not out to get you. Its the few not the many. I force myself to be watchful, now i know the signs, but no longer bitter. I find the phone number in my pocket. crunched in my hand I sink it with a satisfying ark into the nearest bin.

That night, I speak to a kindly Norwegian man, traveling away his retirement. He tells me of his day. How he met some locals. They talked and went to an art gallery, and had some tea... It was a shame about the bill though. Still they were nice... It was like looking in a mirror. I notice the same story on the notice board of the hostel. Yet another... and another.

We got shafted.

So here's one for other fellow travellers. Enjoy the city. Its worth the visit. But be on your toes and watch out for the tea, it can end up tasting bitter.
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Lunch: "Complimentary" Fruit and Nibbles... served with tea