Sitting at work on Friday afternoon, struggling over an article on carbon trading for the British Chamber magazine that just isn't going where I want it. Dan, the other office laowai (foriegner) poses the question--Hey Leigh, wanna go for a run on the Great Wall tomorrow?
The smog had been suffocating. My lungs were still aching from the basketball game the night before. Would be nice to get out of the city and get a run in some quality air.
Neither of us have a Chinese drivers license, nor could we get a hold of any of the gypsy cab drivers we knew to take us there. John, our boss, happened to be walking by our desks in the what next brainstorming session and offered to loan us his car and his driver, Master Wu.
Master Wu works around the clock-- taking John to work, chauferring the rest of us around to meetings all day, then taking John to the business dinners and drinks that last until late. On the weekends, he picks up John and Linghui's groceries and takes Linghui's kids to soccer. And now, because we feel like going for a run, he's going to get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday and take us to the Great Wall. I awkwardly stand there while John orders Master Wu to do this. But I don't stop him.
Saturday morning, 6am, he's picking us up in front of the CNOOC building. He comes with with two teenage kids-- his daughter and his nephew, who want to join in on the fun.
We have a great time on the way up. We hear all about the kids' dreams for the future. Both were born in the very poor Anhui province and came to Beijing as babies. This means that they have a rural hukou, or identity card, which makes education, housing, healthcare, everything exponentially more difficult for them than a "real" Beijinger. Nevertheless, they see the world at their fingertips. The girl wants to be a doctor or go into the foreign service. Being either one of those things is hard, she says, but I work hard. Master Wu beams while she practices her English with us. The boy tells us he wants to be a businessman. He wants to study process management in college and dreams of going to Italy.
At the wall, Dan and I pay for the kid's entry tickets. We run, the kids walk. 10km, up and down the mountain peaks. My first time to the Great Wall. The run is killer, but it's beautiful.
Afterwards, we're all starving, so Dan and I take everyone out to lunch. What dishes do you want? Order whatever you like. What do you want to drink? Whatever you want. Master Wu and the kids are very deferential to us. It's clumsy. Dan and I are foreign. We don't know what every dish on the menu means. We don't know if what sounds good to us sounds good to them. The qingke (treating someone to a meal) etiquette is something we aren't totally clear on. Usually, when we treat our Chinese friends, if we ask, they jump in and help us order the best stuff. They know we're still learning the thousands of of Chinese dishes and how to read them off menus. But Master Wu doesn't do this.
I suddenly feel very class aware and very awkward. We paid for their tickets and their lunch. We are foreign twenty somethings in their country and the 200 kuai (about $35) it cost for it all is nothing to us. Master Wu has at least twenty years on us and makes about 1000 kuai a month (if that). The 200 kuai is alot to him. Are we showing him our appreciation for coming out and taking us to the wall? Are we two snotty kids, taking away a piece of his dignity by not letting him pay? I don't know.
Dan and I rattle off some standard dishes-- stir fried egg and tomato, aromatic eggplant, kung pao chicken, dumplings. We're back to having a merry old time. We hear about everyone's favorite kind of food, meanest teacher and favorite movie. The four of us pass out on the car ride home.
Later that afternoon, I get a call from John, asking how it went. I tell him we had a fabulous time and thank him for letting us borrow the car and *wince* Master Wu.
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