To all the adventurers out there

Mind the mistakes. I didn't get down to edit this post.

After seven weeks of waiting my hometown of East London, I finally made it to China. I got a story to tell. And this is how it goes.
I have just spent my first two days in one of the oldest, most stringent civilisations countries on the planet. China. I left Johannesburg, on Krishna Jayanthi of all days, not knowing what I was doing to myself. I was flying to a country that didn't speak the same language as I did. So obviously I didn't understand this complex country either. I would be walking into a place not knowing its psyche. All I knew, of course was that it was safer than my home country. I think they just don't trust other countries as there were always kings, emperors and presidents who tried to violently take over this land.

At first we stopped off at Dubai International. It's one of those places you just know is one of the world's major cosmopolitan centres. It reminded me of one of those ports a gamer would find enthralling in Final Fantasy or one a reader would marvel at while reading a novel about 1800s New York. People of every colour, from each continent and different cultures can be found there. One thing I noticed is that there is a monoculture that underlies this cosmopolitan hub. Everyone is dressed in similar fashion, speaking on similar cell phones.
The on differences are the languages and the way we walk. I haven't come to a decision upon how us South Africans really walk, but I can assure you it's a lot less tight arsed than many out there. Especially if I compare us to this one French guy who, when I was talking to myself as per usual, gave me an ugly, puzzling look and said, "vhat?" I looked at him angrily and just said quite sternly "I'm talking to myself, bud." He just turned his head and faced his computer screen, egg-faced.

Then I flew to Shanghai, quite delighted to learn that the co-pilot and two stewards on board were South African.
I met a very polite Ghanaian named Isaac and an Indian dude with a pseudo-American accent named Shaheen. We got along well, and since both have stayed in Shanghai before, I learnt a lot from them. They warned me about how people walk in the streets. They bump you and walk pass. It's normal and should not feel offended, said Isaac. They also love clearing their throats loudly and spitting on the sidewalk. They also like staring, especially if you're black. The way they scrutinised Isaac at the passport and baggage checks bordered upon disgusting. And yet, Isaac was probably the one person I could trust on that plane.

Then I met the guy who was to pick me up. He called himself Yaobhe, or so I thought that was his name when he said it. So for the entire day I called him by that name, not until I learned that it's actually Robert about ten minutes ago. I needed someone to fix my toilet, so they said I must speak to Robert. When I asked them who Robert was, they pointed to his office, only to find "Yaobhe" there.
So anyway, he picked me up. He seemed a decent guy; tall, a little chubby, with that ill self confidence that many IT techs have. But he was confident enough to help me catch the taxi and book into the hotel. I would have been stumped for a little while had he not been there.
But as soon as I shook Robert's hand, introducing myself, I thought of what my neighbour in Jo'burg once told me. "You must make sure that these people are not duping you. I wouldn't want to arrive in China one day working as a sex slave." Firstly, why would my neighbour be wandering around the crummy parts of China, I would like to know.
So I was wary about Robert at first, not trusting him fully. He even said we were going to share a room, but I asked if we could have separate rooms instead.
When we arrived at the hotel, Starway, I met the cute receptionist. She seemed quite vivacious and whimsical, sprite with a tender smile and thin hair.
I later decided to take a walk through the street close to two in the morning. When I went up to her to ask if it was safe to do so, she looked at me quizzically and said, "of course.." We South Africans are so paranoid, I tell you.
There was not much to see. There are shops open at the time, and there are people braaing on the side, most chicken feet.

The next day I went to the nearest bank to change my dollars into Rin Min Bi. The people working in large institutions are so polite, even when they say the wrong things in English. When I walked into the bank, there was a lady at the door who smiled and said, "Excuse me". I didn't have the urge to laugh and just looked past her simple mistake.
I have encountered many awkward moments when I have tried to communicate with the locals. Though, each time I speak to them and they can't answer, they seem to be the ones who feel guilty. Then they just say they're sorry.
Robert and I took a train (a bullet train, I think) to Nanjing that afternoon. Robert is well educated in English and knows his history quite well. We were able to spend the entire day together, chatting and eating. When I pulled out the map of China, he told me all the places I should go visit. But through his speech I had learned just how their government controls its people.
In South Africa and other Western countries we were always taught how Mao Zedong was the Chinese despot who terrorized his people and bedded thousands of women. When I asked Robert if Mao was a ludicrous freak he pulled back and said, "Mao was a great man." When I told him about the women, he said "Mao only had one woman. One wife." Then I started thinking, was it our Western governments that forced this horseshit into our heads? The truth will never be entirely known. However, I do recall seeing a picture of the Chinese baldy man surrounded by some young, supple girls.
However, their propaganda is quite blatant. Everything on TV is bathed in red. The lady newscasters wear red dresses. All the sport highlights are about Chinese athletes. They even have adverts for Chinese tourist destinations. Their billboards have cheesy Chinese pop figures. But then when I see what those cheesy celebrities are posing for I realize there is another despot at the helm. Pepsi, Coca-Cola, Nike; all these American companies are making a huge impact on the younger generation of China from teens to twentysomethings.

So we headed to Nanjing, passing lush rice paddies and traditional houses, which lie alongside power stations and high rise buildings.
When we got out of the train station, Robert pulled me to the exterior where he wanted to show me Nanjing. When I got onto the tarmac square, I could see the Nanjing city centre from afar, it's skyline draping the ghastly polluted sky. Though the buildings were spectacular to look at, I couldn't help noticing the smog filled sky. It's coloured in a sick grey and for a moment made me yearn for the blue skies of South Africa.
"I've noticed something about China, Robert," I said.
"Yeah."
"You guys have no sun."
"There is sun."
"Where?"
He pointed to a red orb in the sky that found it hard to penetrate its rays through the smog.
"That's not a sun." I said. "I'm talking about a clear, blue sky."
He looked at me with an awkward smile and we carried on walking. I hauled my twenty kilogram bag about two blocks before we found a taxi, which took us to Delter College.
The place is exquisite, with trees dotting the area. It has a large football field which everyone can use. Best of all, the foreigners' apartments are big. As soon as I saw the place, I remembered what Isaac told me, "They take good care of the foreigners, better than their own people."
That is true. They really do accommodate the foreigners well, but treat their own people with less grace. Lesley Masi even said that China does not have the best human rights record in the world.
But, man, is it safe. I got to walk around the city at night, something I was unable to do back in Jo'burg or East London.
Robert shoved me onto a bus because I wanted to find a supermarket. But I didn't know he wasn't coming with me. So there I was alone. I looked at the signs that passed me but all I could see in their language were lines and squares. However, the passenger beside me was helpful and showed me the box in which I had to put my bus fare. It cost two yuan because it was an air conditioned bus, whereas one that hasn't got air con cost one yuan. Eventually I found a supermarket and was able to find my way home. Hell, I was even able to find toilet paper. I had to demonstrate to the supermarket assistant what I was looking for. At first, I acted as if I blew my nose. Then when she looked stumped, I wiped my face. Then I thought of the only alternative. Acting as if I was wiping my ass, which I came close to before, to the far left of me, I found some toilet paper on the shelf. I pointed to it and she yelled, "Ahh, tsara."
So now I know what toilet paper means in Chinese.
I walked down the main streets of Nanjing at night and came across kids playing on the sidewalk, middle aged men playing card games for money, families dining at tiny pavement restaurants and people sitting in their little shops. Some were barbers, convenient stores and cafes. Hell, I even found a porn shop.
At one point I walked down a side street and stumbled upon a large building that was lit with the words "Milano Hotel." But the posters that donned the walls didn't seem anything like a hotel to me. They were pictures of big-breasted women in scorching undies and couples snogging. Then a taxi driver, sitting next to his cab asked me if I needed a lift.
"No. But what is this place?" I asked.
He made a sign of a person drinking from a cup.
"Oh, a bar."
He nodded his head excitedly. That seemed to be the only English word he knew.
Then, from afar, I could see about a half a dozen provocatively dressed women strolling the patio area of the bar. The area was lit in pink. And that said it all to me.
Talking about women, I've never seen so many beautiful people in one place, ever! They're all fucking gorgeous, with slender legs and great bodies. Best of all their hair and faces are perfect.
In fact, all Chinese people are thin. I'm still waiting to see an overly obese person, the type we see at the chisa-nyamas and shebeens in South Africa. Fat, to the Chinese, are guys with what we know as beer boeps.
I will be spending two weeks in Nanjing before heading off to Suzhou to start teaching. And though I've only been here two days, the adventure seems to get more interesting by the minute. An adventure is not some huge, uncontrolled mistake the adventurer finds himself in. Instead it is something one chooses, not because it's romantic and can bring you riches, but because it's the quest for self awareness and only an adventure can take you closer to it. It will take you through countless painful trials, tears for what you've left behind and delightful moments. All of those trials and moments put together become a part of you. That's an adventure. And you cannot back out of it until the end.