Impenetrable China

“Beijing is China’s wife, and Shanghai its mistress” a Chinese girl once told me matter of factly. In that case, Shenzhen must be its charming, delightful, and very lucrative prostitute. Upon arrival the language might be incomprehensible to you. But I have seen the universal language of money spoken more fluently here, than in any other affluent city in the world.
Despite 15 million Chinese people and a mere half a million foreigners who live in Shenzhen, the city is described as multi-cultural. Chinese come from as far as Inner Mongolia to scratch the belly of this golden city, nestled between Hong Kong and Guangzhou.
When I got off the train the humidity hit me in the face like a wave, and it felt as though I was breathing water. It was 10 October, and supposedly autumn. Small Chinese men were running towards me with big smiles, bad teeth and outstretched hands, yelling something like “taxi!” Walking down a busy street I had a similar experience. Taxis would squeeze into impossibly small spaces in front of me, blocking my way, certain that this “weiguo” wouldn’t want to walk in the heat. It would have been helpful, had I known where I was going. Or could they speak anything other than their beloved Putonghua. Since neither was the case, I trudged on. Meanwhile, a few people would stop dead and stare at me in wonderment. Poking each other in the ribs and pointing at me like I was a zoo animal, or the first Westerner they had ever seen.
I walked into a quaint little place with wooden booths and floors that creak when you step on them. Men were happily rubbing their bellies while walking to the exit, and I was greeted with the familiar off-key jangle of a cash register. I am not a particularly tall person, but in the hazy light I seemed to have grown at least five inches. Tiny Chinese girls were rushing around me and hastily bundled me into a seat. Iwas presented with a menu written entirely in Chinese.
Then they stared. Their slanted eyes made round by expectation. Hilarity ensued. I knew two words in Chinese, “this” and “that” pronounced jigga and nigga, and the latter I was hesitant to use, in fear of offending someone. After pointing, nodding, giggling helplessly and shaking my head vehemently a few times, I was fed with a big bowl of rice, some spicy beans and a few cups of weak, hot tea.
The shade of the more quiet streets was refreshing. The older men and women were stretched out on low concrete benches, knees practically reaching the height of their shoulders. Impressive crow’s feet wrinkles decorated their faces while they concentrated on a game of majiang. A bottle of Tsingtao beer and a few small cups stood perched between them. A few coins hit the ground, and the bet was placed. I have reached China. Vast, alluring, impenetrable China.