George had been good enough to invite him to eat dinner with them. They were a group of three. Perfect for dim sum. Roberto was the 2nd and he was the third. This was Guanzhou, the heart of old Canton. They left the youth hostel and began walking to the restaurant. This was not like Hong Kong. The streets were closing down at 9pm, there were dogs asleep on the sidewalk and not a westerner to be seen except for Roberto and him.
George was half Cantonese and half Australian. All he seemed to think about was food. This was evident after an hour. He began to wonder if he had been invited only to round out the third person for the meal. Either way, a local guide to interpret dinner was welcome. It had been a hard day of missed trains and unhelpful agents. The hotel had been difficult to find. He had finally gotten on the metro and guessed at the stop. He had emerged from the station in a polluted maze of construction, freeway and elevated walkways. At this moment he hated China. He hated the Chinese and he hated travelling. Finally arriving at the hotel, he found that the price had tripled, just for one night. Just for the night that he would be staying.
Finding George and Roberto as roommates for the evening helped. Roberto, from Brazil, spoke no Chinese and was dealing with larger problems. A stolen wallet and credit card had nearly ruined him. But he was savvy and managed well enough. George spoke good Cantonese and worked in Guangzhou just so he could stay and eat. So after showering the hard day away, they decided to go eat.
The dim sum menu was the best he had ever seen. Each little pot held a different treasure to eat. But the Chinese were raucous and the gaudy restaurant was half price that evening. A packed house of chain smoking, food smacking China-men was enough for the day. All he wanted was a bed or, better yet, an opiate. He recalled the story of the Lotus-eaters. And here, under the lid of another dim sum pot, was lotus plant. Cooked until soft and spongy and covered with a sweet syrup, he speared it mercilously with a chopstick.
George began to speak as he heaped cold chicken feet onto his plate, "America has best chicken feet, ha ha," as he slapped his back, "so thick and juicy, import six million dollars per year to Guangzhou... ...so thick and juicy!!" Unnerved, he piled more lotus onto his plate.
