Wandering thoughts and lost promises...

The city of Shaoyang, just an hour east of Mao Zedong's hometown and on the border of the Hunan countryside, was no provincial metropolis. The air smelled of burning trash and fermented eggs, children squatted bare-assed on the sidewalks to defecate, and chickens scratched and pecked at the litter that spilled over pathways and lined the gutters.

Along the alleyways and sidewalks, meat markets sold cuts of pork and dog right off the bone, while farmers laid out vegetables and fruits on small blankets off the side of the road. Horns beeped and blared as motorcycles and taxis jockeyed through gridlocked streets, dodging pedestrians and swerving through oncoming traffic. And if you ordered chicken at a local restaurant, chances were, it was the same one you saw pecking and scratching around outside.

Shaoyang would become my home for the next two years. It was far from the glamour of Shanghai or even Changsha and when I had first arrived, I felt what most people felt when coming to Shaoyang for the first time: regret. Some regretted not studying harder and getting into a better university. Some regretted not having more money to fund a better life. Others regretted quitting a well-paying job, selling everything they owned, and moving halfway across the world for... this?

Nothing was overtly charming about Shaoyang and I could have ended my contract after a year and moved on to a greater city - even a better university - but I didn't. There was something about this rural and remote Chinese countryside that comforted me. It was the way my students giggled when I spoke Chinese or how the man down the street knew just how I liked my dumplings.

It was how the street vendors, who fed me late night barbecue and bottles of beer, never said more to me than, "Hello hello hello hello", but were always eager to share a cigarette and trade smiles. With few options for western food, I gnawed on chicken foot, chewed on pig hooves, swallowed stomach, tasted tongue, chowed down on dog, and I'm not sure but I suspect a T-Bone I devoured medium rare didn't come from a cow.

Shaoyang was dirty and poor and real and while it was a place I wouldn't want to visit, I sure did enjoy living there. Sometimes, my students would ask me, "Brandon, why you choose Shaoyang?" "I don't know," I would say, "Maybe Shaoyang chose me". That would make them giggle.