My Time as a Human

Without Andy Crouch of Austin, Texas who teaches at the Hideout Theater and Cafe it could never have happened. Of course, without an unwitting foil it might not have happened either. The foil was one of those people who you have over to a dinner party, like this one in China, who remains silent until, with a wild verbal leap, they inject what they hope will be the hilarious moment that kills but instead becomes an act of suicide.

We were talking about tea. My tea master friend Hyun Ji Kim was excitedly telling us all about the major types of tea by color. There was green tea, black tea, white tea, and blue tea. The formerly silent foil saw his moment. “What about Purple tea,” he quickly interrupted. The room went dead. The attention of the room, formerly focused on her, turned to him, waiting for an explanation. “Um, you know, Purple tea,” he said, as though we’d understand the beauty of the joke if we just thought about it another moment. “What would purple tea be,” asked one of the guests.

This was his chance. He had just been handed a lifeline, a way to pull himself up off the ground as all of us watched. We waited. “Um. I don’t know,” he said. The room remained dead. I let it sit that way. I paused for one… two… three…

I leaned back in my chair slowly, and put one hand behind my head. “In ancient China, long before any of you were born, there was a tiny village on the side of a tree covered mountain,” I began. There was a visible release of tension, a great relief swept the room as attention turned to me. The moment of awkward paralysis was over. Thank Kataka someone was steering the ship again. That someone was me. That someone, unbeknownst to them, had not the slightest clue, not an inkling, of where the ship was going.

Back in Austin I studied a bit of improv theater. Through months of practice and training, Andy managed to trick our little crew into a complete fearlessness of the untold tale, and in fact had tricked our very bodies into leaning forward into the unknown. I began to crave opportunities to put my brain in situations where instant by instant not a single thing was known about the next, each time taking another little step forward, trusting more words, ideas and actions to appear by magic. “Yes and then what,” was no longer a terrifying demand, it was a question with an exciting answer that we couldn’t wait to hear ourselves, and that we ourselves would deliver.

“In that village was an old man who owned a tea shop. It was the second most popular tea shop in the village, a village that only had two tea shops.”

Each word that entered my head came out through my mouth. I was just a culvert through which the water flowed. I could shape it by raising and lowering my voice, shifting the speed of it to pause at certain moments, but the most important job was to stay out of the way and, unquestioningly, let it flow.

It turns out that the tea shop owner had a naughty niece who used to throw the fruit she ate all over the house and all over the yard, making a terrible mess. Eventually, the seeds would sprout and weeds would grow up everywhere and they would have to pull them down. I’m sure you can see where this is going by now. At the time I started to see it, but was careful to let it emerge. I continued letting everything flow without too much thought, just tapping it lightly around the edges, but I could also feel the thrill of knowing it was going to turn out. Incredibly, by throwing the sails up and rushing wildly to sea I had once again managed to spot land.

By the end the old man, exhausted and frustrated by the failure of his tea shop, drops down beside one of the trees that had grown and with a huge sigh, closes his eyes (I closed my eyes) and lets his head fall back against the tree. (I made a “thunk” of his head hitting the tree.) At this point, of course, a bit of fruit is shaken from the tree and falls down into his cup, but he doesn’t know this. It is only after he complains some more about his troubled tea shop that he eventually takes another sip… and is stunned to discover a completely new taste.

I managed to wrap it all up happily with the niece and the old man and the shop and there were grins all around the table. “Where did you first hear that story,” someone asked. “Just now,” I said. “I mean, where did it come from originally?” Everyone was absolutely convinced that I had just retold a classic tale from ancient China and, who knows, perhaps I had. Thanks Andy.

Click on photos to visit photographer’s sites

“Get off at the Shipai stop and follow the old people,” my host told me with a grin. I quickly noted this in my calendar reminder, the one about my hospital visit for my knees, and promptly forgot where I’d placed this sage advice. That was a week ago. Today I spent an hour working out all of the details with my host when, just as we’d finished, my phone reminded me of how simple it could be.

The promised stream of octogenarians lead me directly from the MRT to the bus stop and the hospital. I trundled along with the heard, my precious MRI printouts rolled up in my tiny backpack. Those giant printouts had traveled all over Taiwan with me, over seas, through endless rain, to monasteries and back waiting for this day. At last I would have an answer for all of the people who had been asking constantly about the problem over the last few months. Surgery? Amputation? A hot bath? I had no idea, but the thought of not having to answer these questions or tell the story again was so uplifting I felt almost cured.

Going to a hospital in Taiwan isn’t like going to a hospital in the US. I kept waiting for the part where I was going to have to fight bored, angry or vicious people who were trying to screw me or, exhausted, just get me out of the way. I waited for a form to be wrong. I waited to find out I was in the wrong place on the opposite side of the hospital. I waited for someone to tell me what was full/closed/broken/on vacation so that I would have to come back another day in a month. And I kept waiting.

What I didn’t do was, in fact, wait. At no point did I sit still for more than five minutes. I quickly moved through the process and there were incredibly friendly, relaxed people helping me out at every turn. People laughed and worked out my paperwork despite the wrong language and the fact that I didn’t have a country insurance card. They worked with me to solve little problems. We moved quickly to reasonable solutions. Stamps thumped and papers folded. Someone had already arrived to personally escort me to the room in the next building.

I was certain that I must have been mistaken for a visiting German relative of the hospital overlord or, at the very least, I was getting the nose discount. I asked several people I met outside the hospital later and all of them told me the same story: nope. That’s how it works here. And I saw this happen with some of the old people I’d followed to the hospital. They were treated with respect and smiles and, while I still don’t have enough of the language down to be sure, I didn’t see any lengthy painful discussions about insurance or the like. Mostly people flashed cards, exchanged smiles and were shown where to go.

The other thing that happened over and over was the response to my doctor’s name. I got it when calling other doctors from China. I got it on the phone to the hospital. Once I reached the hospital itself in the midst of some confusion I waved a notebook with the Chinese characters for his name and people’s faces changed into an, “ah yes of course” look and they would tell me, “很有名”. He is very famous.

As always the moment itself, after all these months, went very quickly. I had prepared a list of questions and hopped in with my moleskin crushed in my fist, ready for action. First a doctor in training looked over my MRI, checked my knee, and asked me a few questions I’d gone through many times over the past few months. A few minutes later the actual Orthopedics doc arrived and tested him. I started telling my story and already he said, “ah” and looked to his apprentice to see if he’d gotten it yet. He looked over the MRI. He then twisted, yanked, and poked my knee in all directions, finally poking me in a way no one else yet had to hit the sweet spot. “Ow!” Zap! That was it.

I’m happy with the result, despite the downside. I’ll continue to be in pain for quite a while, but there is no need for surgery. Just resting and healing. Yet another lesson in patience, as I’ve already tried that for nearly four months, but he told me it could easily be six. In the end, I think the peace of mind and all of the additional advice about various forms of exercise and care, all from the famous english-speaking hospital director of orthopedics, were well worth the $13 it cost me.

Bonus Round

I was prescribed a much simpler knee brace and as I wandered the streets checking the traditional characters written on a scrap of paper against one sign after another, a random kid in a bright red baseball hat grabbed me and lead me to the place. Inside two women worked through my Chinese to find just what I needed. Thanks Taiwan. Don’t worry mom, they’ve got me covered.

No Way

Ha ha ha! In the “no way” department I found this great write up of a similar amazing medical experience by an American in Taiwan. Check out her last line.

In the early days I avoided the escapist expat scene by not going to bars, but after a month or two I realized that it was time for some classmate bonding time and I was down to get my groove on. It was a little tricky because of my knee injury. I knew the lure of bootie shaking was going to be really, really hard to avoid but that my knees were in no condition for the kinds of moves that inevitably break out. I thought to myself that I could pull it off if I kept seated and kept to my decision not to drink anything while in Fuzhou. All of these things are easy to say when I’m alone in my room pulling on my best shirt.

I should say a little something about the drinking. In China, and many asian countries, there is a drinking culture that involves using complete obliteration as a means of bonding with friends and business partners. I was warned beforehand that it was a terribly insulting thing to refuse a drink. I was told that toasts were important gestures of friendship. I was also told that these toasts would keep coming until I didn’t know what toasts were.

I didn’t actually drink very much in the states, and so I saw a way out. I was told that the only way that I could avoid this practice was if I didn’t ever drink at all. Ever. Like shooting the moon, if I went this route and anyone ever saw me drink once… I would have terribly insulted and cheated them. Relationship consequences would be dire. I decided to go for it. How hard could it be? In the states I only drank occasional outrageously expensive single malt scotches and beers. There would be nothing to tempt me and it would be great for my Kung Fu training.

I arrived late hoping to find at least two groups of friends somewhere in the place. I could feel the familiar thumping from the street as I paid the cab driver but I wasn’t prepared for what was inside. I walked through the door and immediately found myself stumbling and wading through a thick crowd of people and smoke, the air broken by lasers whipping back and forth as dancers in spandex sci-fi outfits pointed futuristic weapons over the crowd from a stage.

I managed to spot one of my crews up on a deck surrounded by plush couches and served by a stream of people carrying bottles of booze and outrageous towering fruit sculptures. I fought my way towards them and a Chinese guy in tight pants leapt up onto the bar in the center of the room and started belting out a wailing Chinese pop song into a wireless mic. His voice was fantastic, even professionally trained.

As I worked my way forward everyone I passed turned to check me out. The rarity of white foreigners made me an instant rock star. Before I could reach the couches I ran into another group of friends standing at a small table in the midst of the fray. There was a cold bottle in my hand and toasts in my direction before I had even figured out who they were. I quickly realized that I had to make an adjustment to the plan.

There was no way to explain anything given the thumperous noise. Gestures of refusal were incomprehensible. I had to fall back on a classic: the clueless foreigner. I learned this trick in Germany years ago. When in doubt, feign complete ignorance of the language and grin a lot.

From that moment on I was offered an endless stream of booze. Immediately a girl came walking shyly towards me wielding what I knew to be a shot for me. I deftly swung my beer bottle in a sweeping martial arts block I dubbed, “monkey hails pal” and made it appear as though I thought she was toasting me. Our glass vessels collided, spilling bits of golden booze over our hands and I quickly raised the bottle to my mouth to pretend a big swig. I grinned away her confused attempts to use words and quickly turned, only to face another trio of glass swinging fans.

For the rest of the night I gripped that bottle and used it time after time to avert liquor attacks. But all of this was only the beginning. At this point I knew little more than “thank you” and, “left hook kick” but despite the language barrier an endless stream of toasting Chinese patrons tried to get my phone number. I shouted random gibberish that was lost in the deafening music and waved my hands wildly in complete misunderstanding. I threw my arms around people and grinned, saying thank you and moving on.

But it wasn’t long before the stage beckoned. Oh bootie, so quickly you betrayed me. I was trying so hard to just follow the rhythm with my upper body, but I am one whole. Soon someone started pulling me up onto the stage and it was all over. I leaped onto the second tier and started twisting and moving as an enthusiastic girl joined me.

By the time I got myself down off the stage I was attacked by a unrealistically stunning and unbelievably drunk woman who tried to drag me home. It was a stretch not to understand, “let’s go” in English, but I managed a complete incomprehension mixed with friendly hugging and quick extraction. I managed to get back to the safety of my little crew.

I continued to duck and bob and weave my way through more booze and phones. At one point a manager pulled me aside and gave me his business card. It was really, really hard not to understand his repeated insistence that I give him my phone number so I had to go with a sudden need to respond to a friend’s urgent text message. I waved his business card in the air, my grin shouting, “no problem, I’ll keep in touch!” I realized later that it wasn’t altogether unlikely that I could have picked up a job being the crazy foreigner.

When at last the moon herself had gone to bed those still standing fought their way out to one more bar. It was a quieter place with a little more dance space and I ended up on the tiny stage with my friends. Once he saw me moving Hensa, an Indonesian kid, rocked some amazing b-boy dance moves. He stepped back to give me my turn and at last my sanity kicked in. I gave him a sad smile and held off for the sake of my poor knees, feeling terrible when I saw his disappointment.

At this point, a large guy who looked like an ultrahip Mexican American guy from back home stepped up to the bar. He stopped directly in front of me and stood motionless, looking straight into my eyes. I held his gaze. Then he slapped me. I broke out in a huge laugh and he grinned and gave me a giant bro hug, the test passed. It turns out he was Pakistani and he dragged me back to his table of expats to force me to drink. My still full bottle of safety was sitting abandoned on a table at the last club, far from my reach and the refusals were a real struggle. This late in the evening he and his little crew were well fueled and reason was no longer an option.

Fortunately for me the lack of reason came with an easy distractibility and I was able to slip away to the other side of the table. I made the rounds and discovered an Indian medical student. (Really? In Fuzhou? He was serious and nerdy enough to believe, but that didn’t make it make any sense.) There was also a large lesbian woman (Really? In Fuzhou? Not exactly a hot alternative scene…) Standing along with them and a handful of other expats were two very attractive, very bored Chinese women locked deep in focus on their cell phones. Given the dulled senses and slowed pace of late night drinkers, there wasn’t much to keep them around and they both left. Granted, it was the end of the night but their presence gave the scene a sort of sad tone, as though they were just part of a nightly routine that had played itself out so often for so long that there was nothing left at its core. The beautiful women, once playing pivotal roles in validating the excellence of the experience, once lured by the thrill of time spent with foreign strangers, were now just forgotten trappings of a hollow ritual that no longer held enough sparkle to keep them.

Suddenly someone remembered the drinks and as they were hoisted back into the air I used the raised arms like the cover of a forest canopy to slide off into the dark bar to my friends’ table. Things were winding down there as well. There were a few yawns and the ever more visible sticky wood floor of the bar was evidence of a vanishing crowd. My friend Anderson Mills and I learned years ago that when we really wanted to dance all night alcohol, a depressant, was the wrong fuel. Water and the power of rhythm and movement were the secret and again I found myself ready to move long after the pack herded me towards the street.

Fortunately, this kept me from doing further damage to my poor knees, but it was too late and the next day they had regressed back into deep pain. Another lesson learned in my lack of self control and a sociological experiment worth sampling. I certainly confirmed my decision to stay in school and focus on my studies, the move of a true nerd on a mission and a big part of why I came to China in the first place. Beautiful women and drinking buddies would always be there if I needed them… but there’s nothing like a quest.

Apparently this is what happens when you leave your house in Fuzhou. Apparently, by simply walking the streets in quest of Go or whatever it may be, inevitably you will find yourself consuming more tea than you ever believed was in China.

Of course you’ll also have a delightful time meeting fun new people who drag you into the inner sanctums of their tea companies and serve up incredible teas from all over the country. They’ll teach you how not to act the fool when being served proper, well made tea with ceremony.

1. Don’t blow on it. Don’t. I know, it’s hard. Don’t.
2. Tap on the table three times near your cup, using two fingers, at the same time tea is being poured for you. Each tap is for one word of 谢谢你 (xia xia ni – thank you).
3. Each little cup must be completed with three distinct drinks.
4. Each of the three sips should be noisy.
5. Every cup you finish will be immediately refilled. Forever.
6. If you drink too much tea too fast, you will get drunk on caffeine. Dizzy. Really.
7. If you drink the first few cups and then pretend to be so caught up in conversation you forget your cup until the next steeping, you may be able to not offend anyone, slow your consumption slightly, and manage not to become so bloated and intoxicated that you do something even more off base than you already have.

A great way to fill in the space used to slow tea consumption is to get really excited about telling a story, start rambling away, almost immediately get stuck as you can’t find the Chinese words you need, and begin making faces and waving your hands and fists in the air. When they reply, squint at them, slow your breathing, and desperately try to make out any sounds they make that might be words. Repeat the sounds they make until suddenly you realize you are, in fact, speaking words you know. Shout with delight and repeat.

They will find this delightful. They will laugh and try to insert words for you, words that are just as unfamiliar as the last. Grab these new words and sling them like you mean it. Have them invite you to lunch/dinner/etc and have a wonderful time throughout as your day goes tearing along. You will have days where you have lunch, are taken to tea at a tea company, are invited to another tea company, are invited to dinner with tea… At each location you will have no less than two teas with something like five steepings each. At one tea company you will try at least six different teas with endless pourings of each.

When you at last realize that it has been dark for a long time and you are unable to think, make your way to a cab, mumble the name of your school a few times, and pass out. Rinse and repeat.

Or at least, that seems to be what happens. According to my studies.