How Sweet the Bitter Soup Read online

  We wandered around the lobby, which seemed to go on endlessly. There were lounges, a big open courtyard area, exotic plants on display, beautiful wooden staircases, and countless elevators. I noted the businesspeople having what looked to be hurried and intense breakfast meetings, and the tourists gearing up for a day of sightseeing. I was fascinated by the variety of people in this hotel lobby. As I looked closer, I noticed quiet workers here and there, polishing this, dusting that.

  We eventually found our way to the bathroom, which, like the rest of the hotel, was elegant and beautiful. As I approached the sink, I was greeted by a woman who turned on the faucet for me and handed me a paper towel when I was finished. When I let out a laugh at this, she laughed too, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth. She quickly covered her mouth, but her expressive eyes could not be hidden. She was even shorter than me, standing an even five feet. She was extremely skinny but looked strong at the same time under the dark brown pants and light brown jacket that comprised her work uniform. The color of her skin was somewhere in between the two shades of her clothes, and the lines in her face were deep.

  I finally took the towel, though I felt strange doing so. Was this really her job, to turn on the sink for me? I watched as other women came in and out and she did the same for them. It seemed to be just part of the routine for them, nothing special. An attractive Chinese woman in a tailored suit walked up to the sink and waited for a split second, obviously anticipating that the worker would turn on the sink, which she promptly did. The woman then extended her hand for the towel, not taking her eyes off her reflection in the mirror.

  Everything was so far away from my previous expectations that I couldn’t speak. I saw people drinking Diet Coke. Everywhere I looked I saw signs in English. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  We climbed back into the van and kept driving. I was glad the other teachers were talking to each other, because I had no words and, at that moment, no desire to make conversation.

  I had always heard that there were bicycles everywhere in China. As we drove along, I felt that I might never look at a bicycle the same way again. Apparently, bicycles in China are not just for riding; they are also for carrying. Looking out my window,

  I saw an old man with bulging calf muscles. He could not have weighed more than eighty-five pounds, yet he was carrying two huge, probably queen-size, mattresses on the back of his bicycle. Sweat was dripping from his face as he pedaled along, but he was weaving in and out of traffic with those gigantic mattresses as calmly as I’d seen mail carriers back in Chicago lug around their cargo. Just doing his job.

  Of course, he had modified his bicycle a bit by adding a small shelf behind his seat and plenty of cables and ropes to hold the mattresses in place. I would later notice that the majority of bicycles these workers used looked like something from a museum of ancient artifacts—but in China, people make use of things that many Westerners would discard as useless junk. Over time, I saw more than mattresses on bicycles, and the sight eventually ceased to shock me. It was nothing to see pigs, chickens, sheets of glass, groups of four or five people—it didn’t matter what it was; it could all fit on a bike.

  As we drove along, I saw modern buildings that would have fit in the heart of Chicago. Other places reminded me that I was in a third-world country. I had done some reading on China in the months leading up to coming, and after learning of the events of the last fifty years, I’d known I was headed for a place of contrast. I’d read about the Japanese invasions, the Guomin-dang armies, and the Cultural Revolution. It all seemed surreal, and I knew the China I was going to would be very different from the China that existed in the history books. I had read a couple of travel memoirs by other foreigners who had spent time in China, and that had given me a little more realistic picture of what it was like. Still, I knew I was going to a unique place. None of what I had read or heard about China matched the pages of the school brochure Kassie had sent me last spring.

  Kassie had told me that the school I’d be teaching in did not represent the rest of China and that I would see a stark contrast between our gated community and some of the surrounding areas. I was anxious to see what she meant; so far I had seen only a thriving metropolis, much like my hometown of Chicago. Within minutes, however, we entered a section of town that looked quite different. It seemed older and almost forgot-ten—strikingly different from the downtown area we had just driven through. The buildings were gray. It seemed everything was grey. There were no trees, no grass. I saw nothing of color anywhere, and everything was run-down.

  People seemed to live right on top of one another in this area. That was true in the other parts of the city I’d seen as well, but here it was different. The homes themselves hardly looked like homes. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed that they had no real foundation—they were just misshapen pieces of rusted sheet metal arranged to look like a house. Some didn’t even seem to have doors, although most had a sheet or blanket hanging in front. People were sitting outside making food over open fires. There was garbage everywhere, and children were playing in it. When I saw the kids urinating in the street as well, I was sure my assumption about no indoor plumbing was a correct one.

  “Do people actually live there?” I asked, turning to Cindy. I wondered how they lived, if they worked, and where.

  She told me she didn’t know—that she had never noticed those particular dwellings before. I thought that was a little strange, since she’d told me she had lived here for a couple of years. But then again, who was I to judge? Who really wants to notice poverty? Looking at these houses and the people living there made my stomach hurt. After all, we had just been to the Garden Hotel not fifteen minutes before. To see people living like this right down the street was a lot to take in.

  “I know where Pizza Hut is,” Cindy said, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “And where you can buy Maybelline.” She went on to talk about all the Western products that could be bought in town.

  I smiled and thanked her and then silently looked out the window. I still couldn’t make sense of all I’d seen since landing, and I was exhausted. Suddenly, all I wanted was to sleep.

  chapter 3

  Panyu was the name of the city where our school and housing development (Clifford Estates, named after the owner) were located. It was about thirty minutes from downtown Guangzhou. On our way to the Estates, which is what the teachers called our gated community, the contrasts I’d noticed downtown continued. I saw more of the metal houses, but I also saw rice farms and beautiful gardens. These people’s existence looked simple but also prosperous in some sense. Their houses were also quite small, having only one room, but they were made of brick and didn’t seem depressing at all. The landscape had changed and it wasn’t so grey. In fact, everything was green.

  As I looked to my left, I suddenly felt I had once again entered a different world. I stared at the neon billboards alongside majestic, white buildings labeled CLUBHOUSE and FITNESS CENTER. We passed a sign in both Chinese and English indicating that we had entered the Estates. Uniformed guards directed traffic, which included sparkling little buses that carried people from the supermarket to the food court. There was a food court here?

  All around me, things were elegant. That’s the only way I can describe it. Colorful billboards advertised the lake in the center of the Estates, as well as all the activities, such as boating and fishing, that could be done there. I saw people talking on their mobile phones. There were cars of every kind, including Mercedes and BMWs; homes that could easily be described as mansions; and everything else that would belong to the lifestyles of very wealthy people.

  I’d been told that I would be living and teaching in a planned, gated community, and that this housing development catered to China’s richest families, but until this moment, I’d had no clue what that really meant. Kassie told me that this kind of affluence was a rarity in China. Many of these families were from Hong Kong, but they came from all over mainland C
hina as well.

  From what I’d read about Hong Kong, I understood it to be part of China in a technical sense but with a different governmental system. Hong Kong people were free to go back and forth between Hong Kong and the mainland, but the reverse was not always true. I learned that Hong Kong was only a ninety-minute ferry ride from the Estates, so many of the people here actually worked in Hong Kong. They bought homes in this subdivision, where there were plenty of stores, restaurants, recreation, schools, security guards, and a bus system, all this luxury contained within their gates—and were still able to earn their Hong Kong incomes, which went much further here on the mainland. At the Estates, they could enjoy an upscale lifestyle at a fraction of what they would pay for it in Hong Kong.

  I’d had no idea just how posh my living conditions were going to be. I had just seen kids urinating in the street and living below sheet metal, and now I was stepping into this exclusive community. I had to wonder if every foreign teacher who came here would feel as impressed with the surroundings, though. While these new surroundings were, objectively, rather luxurious, my economic situation growing up had been relatively poor. I hadn’t come to China from a middle-class home in the suburbs. I wasn’t used to a life where parents could pay all the expenses for their kids. I’d grown up in an apartment, and was used to a financial situation where my mom, dad, sisters, and I pooled our money and made do the best we could. Looking around, I realized that my surroundings were absolutely beautiful and highly developed by anyone’s standards, but for China—this was one of a kind.

  From the main entrance, it was less than a five-minute drive to the teachers’ apartments. The clubhouse, food court, supermarket, and bus terminal were within the Estates but open to the public; you didn’t have to pass through security to enter those places. However, as we entered into the inner part of the Estates, we came upon a huge security gate the width of the entire street. Liu gave the guard what looked to be his identification card, and then we passed through. I immediately saw another elegant building labeled CLUBHOUSE, in front of which was a gigantic fountain. We turned left, up the tree-lined street, and I saw countless rows of identical white townhouses and apartment buildings. I saw larger houses in the distance, and commented at their size.

  “Oh, that’s nothing!” said Cindy. “You should see the villas near the lake.”

  “Villas? You’re kidding!” I laughed. “This is unbelievable.” “It really is,” Kassie said. “Just wait until you get the chance to look around.”

  I couldn’t wait.

  The teacher apartments were six-story buildings located right at the edge of the Estates, up a small hill and off to the left. I was on the fifth floor of my building; Sherry and Terry would be in the building behind me, which housed the bigger, three-bedroom apartments.

  I could already tell I would love the view from my place. It would be fun to be up so high, especially since the building already sat on a hill.

  Liu helped me carry my luggage up the stairs and Kassie came along to see if I had any questions. The stairwell itself was plain but clean. Kassie handed me the key to my apartment, and the first thing I noticed was the strange shape: it wasn’t flat, like I was used to; instead, it looked like a small Phillips screwdriver, with an end that came to a point.

  In some ways, I wanted Liu and Kassie to leave right then, because this was kind of a major moment to me and I wanted to really take it in. I hadn’t anticipated the moment before, of opening the door to my new home, my new home in China—but suddenly it seemed almost sacred. What would I find on the other side of this door? Would I really be able to make this my home for the next year? I had brought two suitcases filled with clothes, a few books, and a new journal from my sister Barb. She knew I loved my journals—always had. I was twenty-eight and Barb was forty-one, but it didn’t feel like we were that far apart in age. We’d grown closer in recent months—right as I was leaving, ironically.

  My sisters, both Chrissy and Barb, had been supportive of my decision to come to China, but I knew it was hard on Chrissy. She was four years younger than me, and she was now there with our aging parents, trying to get through school and make a little money at the same time. We’d always been there for each other, and it would be strange for her now. I felt a twinge of guilt thinking about it, and a longing to be with my family, but I held on to knowing that I was where I needed to be. With the help of my new salary, Mom would be able to afford some in-home care for Dad, and maybe even quit her job.

  My new apartment had tile floors and white walls, and was fairly spacious. After entering, I immediately walked toward the glass sliding door. I didn’t go out just yet; I decided to wait until I was alone. It was something I was looking forward to enjoying for myself.

  “You’ve got a little kitchen here—that’s what we all have— but it does the job,” Kassie said.

  The kitchen was small, but that didn’t bother me. I wasn’t much of a cook anyway, and at least there was a fridge and microwave. The hallway led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

  Kassie turned on the bathroom light for me. “This also is small, but you’ve got a washer and dryer behind the door, which is nice.”

  There was a twin bed in the small room and a double bed in the larger room.

  “You’ll want to get a mosquito net,” Kassie said, “because even with the doors shut they manage to get through and they’ll drive you nuts at night.”

  There were ample furnishings throughout and even an air-conditioner in the bedroom and living room. There was a nice TV and VCR. The walls were too plain, of course, and as I looked around I was already thinking of ways to make it more my home.

  When the tour was over, I realized Liu had already left, before I could thank him for his help. I turned to Kassie; she looked exhausted.

  “I guess this has been a long day for you, making all the arrangements to pick up new teachers,” I said. “You must be really tired.”

  “I am,” she said, “but how about you? How are you feeling?”

  “Right now I feel great, but I’m looking forward to throwing some sheets on that bed and going to sleep.” I smiled. “What’s the plan for tomorrow? I know there is some kind of orientation in the afternoon.”

  Kassie confirmed the time and place of the orientation and explained to me how to get to the school. We said goodnight and she headed downstairs to her first-floor apartment.

  After she left, I turned around and looked at my place. I sat on the floor. There was a couch as well as four kitchen chairs but for some reason, I chose to sit on the floor. I sat in the middle of the room and smiled. I’m in China, I thought to myself. In my apartment, in China. I walked out on the balcony and took in the view. In front of me were trees and perfectly square, beautifully green patches of lawn. Beyond that, and as far as I could see, there were rows upon rows of white houses with red roofs. To my right, though, I saw something much different. My building was right at the edge of the Estates, and the contrast between the Estates and the outer community was clear. There was a line of trees and lawn and then a fence; then a field; and beyond that, I saw run-down factories and housing that looked similar to those I had seen in Guangzhou. They were structures of the makeshift variety. They looked temporary.

  Wow, I thought, all the things I’ve read about China being a land of contrasts is now evident from my balcony window.

  I looked around at the other balconies and wondered if the other new teachers had arrived. Who would my new neighbors be?

  That thought on my mind, I came back inside and explored my house a little more. Before leaving, I had prepared myself for my first night in China. I had imagined I would be emotional and homesick; I had expected to cry tears of sadness and longing for my family. I told myself that was okay, that this was to be expected—we were, after all, incredibly close, Mom, Dad, Chrissy, and I, living together in a two-bedroom apartment, pooling our money to make the bills, getting through life.

  And that’s what it’d felt like for a l
ong time—just getting through. Even with Barb helping too, taking Dad to doctor’s appointments and having him hang out at her house some days, things were hard.

  It wasn’t until this spark of my going to China came into our lives that I saw Mom begin to light up again. Her worries about Dad and the bills and the future didn’t go away, but my plans gave her a much-needed distraction. She was genuinely thrilled for me. She started reading up on China, telling me to see if I could find some of those rooftop gardens she’d read about, and find out what the deal was with the one-child policy, and a host of other questions. She’d taken to telling people at church that I was the “China girl.” She was proud.

  So yes, tears and homesickness would have been normal enough in this moment, but I felt nothing of the sort. I felt fine. Maybe it just hadn’t hit me yet. I had told Mom I would call the following day and not to worry if she didn’t hear from me. Maybe once I talked to her it would be harder. Maybe the jet lag had had a stronger effect on me than I thought and I was simply too tired to feel my real emotions. Eventually, I thought, the reality of what I’ve done will set in and it will hurt.

  But that night, as I lay in my new bed, I felt better than I had felt in a long time. It hit me as I drifted off that I was still in my clothes and I hadn’t unpacked a thing. I had mini-dreams of getting up, taking a shower, and unpacking, but none of it materialized, and soon I drifted into a deep sleep.

  chapter 4

  The next morning I awoke early. I looked at my watch; it was only five o’clock, but I was wide awake and could not get back to sleep.

  Walking slowly to my balcony, I noticed again that I hadn’t even changed out of my traveling clothes yet. Suddenly, I was screaming for a shower. I managed to find the towel I had packed, as well as the bar of soap Mom had added to my suitcase. I’d laughed so hard when she’d done that. “Mom, I think they’ll have soap in China,” I said, snickering.