Two hours after settling in the apartment, the power went out. I was warned about this and given a pay-as-you-go electricity card that works rather like a debit card. I walked down the hall to the electrical room in order to purchase two months worth of electricity, only to discover the card read as an error. For an hour I was ushered back and forth from security guard to local resident, anyone who would help me figure out this blasted contraption.
Eventually I was told I had to go to the source, like Neo in the Matrix. A security guard gave me the address in Chinese and told me to take my card with me. Outside, a guy on a motorcycle offered to give me a ride. The electric company’s headquarters was less than five minutes away. So, I hopped on and he waited for me to buy electricity, then returned me safely home. This is way better than your average taxi.
Today was yet another adventure. I took a rickshaw to the bus stop where the “gypsy cabs” wait to take you to into Hangzhou. These are illegal mini vans who transport people back and forth from Xiaoshan and Hangzhou. When I got there, I was the only one, so I waited for other passengers to arrive. The cabs won’t drive unless they fill the van. The vehicles look like they’re on their last leg, but can seat seven sweaty passengers. While waiting, I sat down on the curb and watched several cab drivers eat their lunch, the food gloriously hanging out of their mouths.
I looked down at my legs and realized how pasty white they were. In China, this is considered the height of beauty. But to me, it looked sick. To get a little color, I picked a spot on the curb that was completely in the sun. I hiked up my pants above my knees and rolled the sleeves of my shirt above my shoulders so that I could get as much sun on my skin as possible. The cab drivers pointed to a spot next to them in the shade and asked me if I wanted to get out of the sun. I told them I was fine and didn’t want to move. I liked the sun. It didn’t matter how many times I told them, though, they kept asking me to move. They couldn’t comprehend why I wanted to let the sun beat down on me. One driver in particular got up from his spot, squatted beside me - mouth stuffed with food - and tried to persuade me to move. All I could do was stare at the food between his teeth and behind his cheeks. He smiled wide and some of the food fell onto the sidewalk.
When there were finally enough passengers, we left for Hangzhou and I got stuck with the folding seat in the middle row of the van. Every time we turned the corner I was tilted away from the window and practically dropped in the lap of a young Chinese girl sitting next to me. I apologized all the way to Hangzhou.
In Hangzhou, I got out of the cab a little before the bus station, where most of the cabs will drop you off. I decided to walk a little ways until I decided where I wanted to go. Three city blocks later I was overheated and needed a breeze for some relief. I flagged down another rickshaw and asked him to take me to the foreign bookstore. I knew it wasn’t too far, so I asked him how much he would charge. 20 yuan (about 3 US dollars). I thought this was a little expensive for what rickshaws normally charge for the distance I wanted to go; but I decided to bite the bullet.
After twenty minutes or so of weaving in and out of side streets and dilapidated alleys I realized that he was trying to take short cuts without really knowing what he was doing. I politely reminded him where I was going and he seemed to change direction. I love how no one here knows where they’re going. It makes for an interesting ride.
After all that, when I finally got the bookstore, I was bored by the selection and didn’t stay longer than ten minutes. Instead, I walked around West Lake for a little while until it got too hot again and I took refuge in my favorite American embassy: Starbucks.
Here, I wanted to order a plain iced tea. I asked for an iced English Breakfast tea. Not difficult, right? Wrong. They cannot make English Breakfast iced tea. I said to make the tea hot and then pour it over ice. This was too complicated a process for them, so it took a few minutes of persuasion and demonstration to tell them that it is possible to make iced tea from hot tea. So, now I sit with my iced tea melting in the heat while I write on the second story balcony and watch the sun set over West Lake.
The day isn’t over yet. I’m curious what the journey back the apartment will be like.
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