Round the World with Smith Eating the world, one bite at a time!

“I was born in Hunan province. Just like General Mao. Do you know our Mao?” Chunky Mr. Wang hunched over the table, all shoulders and head leaning toward me. All eyes were now off the banquet spread, and instead on me for a response.

“Er, yes,” I replied. I’m thinking: What can I add to this that sounds remotely smart? I was admittedly no Mao afficionado.

Just thirty minutes earlier, I’d been heavied in the restaurant washroom by Cathy, my apparent new mentor. She’d cornered me while I was putting my hands over the fabulously oversized sink wondering which of the dozen hand towels I should select. Several washroom attendants who looked like they attended high school by day watched curiously as a fake blonde Canadian Chinese woman was talking forcefully to this lanky white Brit.

I always find myself in odd situations. This particular situation occured during the 2003 SARS epidemic. I had been invited by Cathy to help open an architectural office in Shenzhen, just over the Hong Kong border. I had only just met her a week before at an art exhibition.

We'd crossed the border in our face masks one evening. The crossing was unusually quiet because of the fear of the SARS virus. The whole air seemed to spell virus. I was certainly nervous, just as much of the virus, as well as this potentially big chance to be part of a big business opening - these were still the fledgling days of China's big financial boom.

We were due to meet some construction heavyweights at a five-star restaurant. These guys were going to be important customers to our business. I was reminded of the importance of these people by Cathy's chilling words uttered in the washroom, "You're gonna eat dog, and you're gonna enjoy it."

Dog was served. I tried not to think too much about it for fear of Cathy's wrath, and focused more on whether there could be a molecule of SARS virus on the chopsticks or anything I touched. I helped myself to the bak choi, the shark's fin, the abalone, then a bit of dog. It was all in a soup so I couldn't really taste it. I felt so out of place.

Hestitating for a moment, I swallowed what I was chewing and looked at Mr. Wang before I opened my mouth again.

"But I am not a Communist," I started to say.

My audience laughed aloud and clapped. They didn't seem to expect me to say any more. Had I said the right thing? I sensed that Cathy wasn't happy, though, and in about an hour, we decided that I wasn't going to be a good enough player in her new business.