I had one of the hardest, most-crippling laughs I have had in a long time tonight. The situation and characters are so ridiculous, it borders on surreal. In a way, I owe it all the to the bus tour for bringing us all together.
First an introduction to some of my tourmates. There’s the Taiwanese woman in her 60s, who has spent the last 30 living in Germany. She is on this tour with her son and his girlfriend. They all talk to each other in German. I can talk to the lady and her son in Cantonese, to her son and his girlfriend in English, but there is no language I can talk to all of them in at once. She says things like “Those noodles were so delicious, I ate two bowls,” and then punctuates them with a hearty trail of laughs. Every time we get to a new site, she looks for a place to sit down and wait while the guide lectures the group. Whenever we go to the bathroom she will complain about the toilets without fail.
Then there’s Daniel. He’s a Mexican-American from Los Angeles, who came to Hong Kong to play golf. He says he’s one year away from turning pro but in the meantime he’s tiling floors and renovating bathrooms. In Asia he’s a giant standing at about 6’5, in his white t-shirt and florescent shorts. When he’s not talking about his girlfriend, ex-wife, ex-girlfriend or daughters back home, he’s constantly bargaining with street vendors for counterfeit purses. He says things like “When I get home to America, I’m going to sell these for $400. They look so real,” in a slow and deceivingly slow-witted way. Really, he knows how to play up oafish, foreign and dumb for laughs (and deals) among our tour group and the locals. He’s the kind of Dad you’re mortified at but everyone else thinks is hilarious.
So Daniel, the Taiwanese lady, my parents and I are in Hangzhou waiting for the rest of our group in front of a McDonald’s to take the bus back to our hotel. Daniel has been teasing the counterfeit purse vendors earlier and promised to come back. He starts to bargain with one with my Dad translating for him into Mandarin. The vendor, like most other ones, are loaded up with merchandise over their bodies with a bike with additional merchandise in tow. Daniel says that he wants the bigger size Louis Vuitton purses. The vendor says he doesn’t have them on him but he can get them. It’s a problem since we’re leaving for our hotel, which is a half-hour drive from the city centre, in 20 minutes.
The discussion goes on and we start to attract a crowd. More vendors flock towards us, pushing their wares at us. It’s a flurry of Mandarin and fake Coach purses surrounding us. As a joke, I get Daniel to take a picture of me with the street vendor’s bike and his purses amidst the clamor. Completely ignoring the ruckus, he steps back and takes a few pictures and laughing hysterically, completely oblivious that he is blocking the door for several people trying to enter the McDonald’s. The Taiwanese woman also finds the idea of riding the bicycle hilarious and decides to try herself.
It’s at this moment I realize how ridiculous this situation really is. I’m standing on a street in mainland China with a old Taiwanese lady who is sitting on a bootlegger’s bicycle and yelling “My le! My le! My le!,” Cantonese for “Buy it!”; a Mexican-American, who is telling a street vendor he’ll send all his foreign friends to buy from him, all the while a cigarette dangles out of his mouth; my Dad, who is translating every word of Daniel’s ridiculousness; my Mom, who is joining in the madness by trying on counterfeit designer belts and later screams “Oh my god, our passports are gone” only to find her money belt, wedged lower than usual in her pants; and the street vendor, who tells the Taiwanese lady to stop drawing attention before police arrest him and then poses for pictures with Daniel. Meanwhile, I am doubling over with laughter with the street cleaner next to me.
Our bus arrives and by the time we board, Daniel has one LV purse, about three belts and four wallets. As we sit inside the bus, things do not calm down outside. The vendors have now rushed the side of the bus and holding their wares up outside the window for Daniel’s consideration. Locals stand around gawking and laughing at the spectacle. Sitting inside in this bus and looking out at this circus feels like being a pop group on tour. Daniel eggs them on by sliding open the window to take new and reduced offers for more stuff. He opens it to deny offers and say goodbye, only to close a deal for half-price a few slides later. In the end he walked away with two purses full of accessories for 360 yuan, a deal the rest of our tour group admire and congratulate him for.
Daniel and I took away very valuable things from Hangzhou. He earned some street cred and scored some gifts for the many women in his life. I got a story and a valuable reminder (cheesy but necessary) that, wherever you are in the world, having a good time depends solely on human interaction. If I ever forget, I need look no further than tonight to remember. Even in the most difficult circumstances designed to prevent any fun from happening (read: Asian bus tours), in the most unlikely mix of people, it’s possible.
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