In the Land of Confucian -- Foreigners in China

Man and the Great Wall Series by Scott Urban

Week 10 (October 31, 1997) -- Wing Tip--Part 5 of 5

"He who has not been to the Great Wall, is not a great man." -- Chinese Proverb

Introduction: Scott Urban went to China in 1994 to work at the China Daily newspaper in Beijing, where he stayed until 1997. While in China, Scott contracted a severe form of bicycling mania, which manifested itself in his 6,000-kilometer bicycle journey to Xinjiang in 1995 with friend Brice Minnigh.

In the Fall of 1996, Scott Urban and another friend William Lindesay spent every weekend possible cycling to the Great Wall of China to find lost sections of the Wall, with nothing more than curiosity, bicycles, and a map of the greater Beijing area. The trips involved comparatively big distances and tough conditions, but the payoffs were rich: in store could be anything from a swath of rubble to a grand section of Ming Dynasty ramparts with intact towers and inscribed tablets. This fall we invite you to join the ride and see the China that's not usually seen.

Scott currently resides in Denver, Colorado, USA, and is involved in a number of China-related projects. He can be reached at 110362.3041@compuserve.com .

We encountered the first tourists of the day around 9 o'clock, a couple of middle-aged men. They knew they were the first on the mountain that day, and they were very excited. I understood their sentiment. We got back to the place where we'd climbed onto the Wall the day before, and we got off of it.

Walking again at the foot of the Great Wall, tourists immediately took notice of us. A woman yelled out, "Hello! Don’t walk!" We ignored her and looked for the trail down the mountain. We found it and took it all the way to the bikes, where the boy was waiting for us.

"I didn't find your jacket," was the first thing he said.

What a let down. I felt bad for the kid, since he was excited to make two new friends, and all I could think about was a stupid garment.

"People are more important than things," I reminded myself. Nonetheless, I didn't want to hear about the really, really deep cave he could lead us to next time. I couldn't appreciate his several assurances that we could drop in on his home anytime we wanted in the future. I was trying to figure out where the jacket was, and how I could get it back.

"Young Cao," I said. "That jacket's somewhere in this village. Ask around for me and see if you can find it. If so, I'll try to get you that tape player for your English tapes."

"And if I don't find it?" he asked. He'd nailed the cynicism of the offer. Why should my offer of a tape player be connected to the jacket? Had the kid really found a friend, or just someone who used him for convenience? I shuddered at my own depravity.

We reached the bikes and stopped for more food. At that moment, a man walked up from the village, ready to harvest wood, which he'd load onto his back. The guy was much younger than his frailty led on. He seemed to be in a bad state of health. The boy asked him about the jacket, and he said he hadn't seen it.

The boy told him to have one of the eggs we were eating. In the Chinese manner, the two of them wrestled with politeness for several minutes before the boy prevailed and the guy took an egg. Let it be a lesson: if you ever want to give something to someone in China, don't give up after one or two refusals. Tradition demands that you go out of your way to force the thing on that person.

"His boss doesn't give him food to eat," Young Cao said. "Treats him terribly. The guy never has a full meal. He's like a servant."

Will suggested we accept the boy's offer to take us to his house for a pear. Although we were way behind schedule -- I had an appointment at 6 pm -- it might do good to see what his grandmother says. She may be able to track down the jacket.

I’ve seen a lot of rural households in China. But I was surprised at how modestly he and his grandmother lived. There was almost nothing in this house: just a big coal-heated platform for sleeping and a small table and some stools.

His grandmother kept apologizing for the sorry state of the place, explaining, "we have no money, we have no money." When it became time to go, Will and I bade the old woman farewell. Young Cao followed us down the trail into the village.

Twenty metres down the trail, a guy came out of his house with an anxious look on his face. It was the persimmon guy.

"Did you leave something here yesterday?" he asked quite anxiously.

"Yes!" I said. "A jacket."

"I've got it here," he told me, calling me over to his house. Hanging on the clothes line in the courtyard was my green cycling jacket. I'd left it there where we'd taken the picture of the persimmon tree.

"Check your pockets," he said. "Everything there?"

I told him I wouldn't need to check the pockets; doing so would be offensive, anyway. And if there were money missing? Nothing could be done about that. Anyway, it was the jacket I wanted. Once out of eyesight, I did check the pocket, and found that all of the money was there.

"You've got to learn your lesson, mate!" Will admonished me. It wasn't the first time I'd left something behind. Chinese have an expression for people like me: Diu san, la si. It means "lose three, leave behind four," playing on this language's proclivity for numbers.

We cycled back to Beijing without incident. It was a shame there wasn't time for the requisite stop at Dunkin Donuts, but I had somewhere to be.

We kept a strong pace all the way back, and I cycled hard to the end, anxious to make my appointment.

My apartment was very cold, but I didn't feel it since I'd been cycling all day. Amazing how exercising helps you withstand the cold.

In a big hurry, I brewed some coffee, took a shower and put warm clothes on. I rushed out of the building and caught a cab over to the home of an older couple, who would be my chaperones on a "date" that evening.

The older woman was surprised to see me at her door. "Didn't Xiao Ling tell you?" she asked. "Dinner's been cancelled."

The couple invited me to join them anyway. I told them the story about the jacket.

"Don't you understand politeness?" the woman asked. "You should have gotten that man's address so you can send him a thank-you note!"

Another lesson to add to the already crowded list I'd accumulated that weekend: celebrate your acheivements (Kashgar), don't judge people's intentions (the persimmon guy), don't squander an opportunity (as the Chinese photographer told me), don't treat people like objects or tools (Young Cao), and always show your gratitude.

The End

Back issues: archive.html

Last week: Wingtip, 4 of 5

Next week: Jing Hua