Why I love China

If you've never been to China, you should. by the end of this story, I'll have hopefully encouraged you to follow in our footsteps and create one of your own.

This story takes place a few years ago while I was spending time in the center of the empire as a student teacher with a local non-profit. To add some context, I'm a 5 foot 10, short fraternity class shorts wearing, curly headed, less than athletic American college student with no discernible language skills. Not only am I culturally the night from China's day, I also have a knack for drawing attention to myself.

The story begins, as many of our weekends did on a train to the capital city of Changsha in the Hunan Province. We (the student teachers) would leave our rural home stays, and responsible teaching positions for the big city once every few weekends to honor our American college tendencies. Arriving in Changsha felt a lot like like your first night in college, if when your parents leave and you find out that your pot-luck roommate was actually a stacked co-ed hardbody with an affinity for cheap alcohol.

If you can imagine leaving a rural village populated by cows, monks and backgammon boards to find that less than 2 hours away there was a world with unlimited booze, American food, and 24 hour clubs, its kind of like that.

This particular trip was during our second pilgrimage to Changsha. We had reserved a stay at the local hourly rate hotel, complete with an in house brothel on the fourth floor. A fine establishment that I'd reccomend to any traveler. We had traveled with a handful of student teachers, and were there for one obvious reason-to get irrationally drunk in a city where no one knew us. Upon our arrival to the hotel, we decided it would be best to cut to the chase and get hammered. The actual story begins later in the night at a local club, graciously suggested to us by our hotel staff. The only way i can describe this place is by noting its splendid features

- swinging lights made to look like futuristic gears
- karaoke singing Chinese with cowboy hats
- walls with tiny white lights shining through to create a fear and loathing like hallucination




The fun ensues once we entered the club together and Oscar, Mike and I get pulled in opposite directions to different tables by the locals. Each table consisted of about 8 changshanese, and a bottle of the "Changsha Special," a local favorite involving a fifth of Chivas Regal and a bottle of Apple Juice. What needs to be understood is that these people cannot, and do not drink like we drink. Someone told me it had to do with the lack of an alcohol digestive enzyme. I'm not a scientist, but I've seen it in action, trust me, they don't drink like we drink. Before I continue, I don't want this to seem like I'm boasting any sort of heavyweight drinking abilities, but what I am saying is that I was at a significant advantage to my club counterparts at nearly 50 lbs heavier, and 4 inches taller than the largest of clubbers in the building. Steamed rice and fish oil just can't cut it against a bottle of jack daniels--its science.

Once at the table we started to play some sort of a game. I'm not sure of the rules, but to the best of my knowledge it seemed to be a version rock paper scissors in which you drank whether you won or whether you lost--either way it was childish way to catapult my drunkeness into oblivion. We sat around a table collectively taking shots from the communal apple scotch mix. As I continued to play their game, I noticed the scenery around me: 100-200 Chinese rave dancing to techno, playing children's games, and whats that? One of the American girls yakking in the corner of the bar? Yes it was. It was like at that moment bald eagle herself had descended into the club to spread the gospel of American college life.

Despite my best efforts, the game continued to go on. I wasn't really paying too much attention, however I did begin to notice that my drinks ceased to taste like apple juice, and began to taste more like whiskey. In fact, it was whiskey. Upon the sighting of my fallen comrade, my new friends around the table thought it would be a good idea to see how much a real American could drink. With a fresh bottle of jack daniels, I of course, honored by their courtesy continued to play their intriguing game. Some time later, shot after shot, I began to hear cheering. It went something like this

Changshanese - "You are such a man!"

Me - "I know"

Changshanese - "You are so strong"

Me - "That's what I keep telling everyone"

Changshanese - "Your hair is so curly"

Of course I had to drink. In Changsha, I was king. How could I let my fans down?


At this point I'd forgotten about Mike and Oscar. My new friends had bought me drinks, cheered me on, and adopted me as their heroes. Meanwhile, the story was different for my friend Oscar. Somewhere down the line, his own minions had pulled the same trick on him. However instead of cheering, from Oscar's direction I heard screaming. Instead of fist pounding, I heard the sound of a hundred Changshanese diving through tables to escape the projectile vomit erupting from Oscars mouth. Hands perched near his shoulders like that of a lost dinosaur surrounded by screaming Asians. Oscar must have gotten lost in the sea of lights trying to find the bathroom and decided it was time to file a complaint to management.

I've seen some terrible things in my life, but watching Oscar spew orange "Changsha Special" on the back of a screaming Chinaman will alwyas be a gem ingrained in my memory for the rest of my life.