This is the second part in my series on hitchiking in China. Start from the beginning here.
If you ask me, the phrase “go with the flow” is misleading and should not be one’s personal motto because it implies that if you wait around long enough, good things will happen. I think a more apt expression to capture the real wisdom of the phase is:
“Leap into the river; it’ll be cold as hell and you might be swept away, but keep your head up, and you can reach somewhere amazing”.
Case in point: How I ended up off the grid in the remote town of Xing’an while hitchhiking. If I had simply gone with the flow, I would have taken a train back to Shanghai and spent my remaining days there in comfort before coming home. Yet, taking this leap into the raw, unfiltered world left me at the mercy of the rapids of fate. It’s at this point where you should ride the waves, saying “yes” when life poses the question “do you want to go to a car dealership with a Chinese family?”
As I detailed in part 1 of my hitchhiking (mis)adventures around China, the Wangs had graciously taken me in as an honorary family member for the day on their way back from a weekend trip to Guilin.
Arriving in Xing’an, my host family naturally asked me where I would be staying. I had no idea, and so proceeded to frantically search on Baidu for hostels near me. Unsurprisingly, there were no hostels in this town. Not wanting to keep my family waiting patiently any longer, I said the name of a hotel I found, and we drove up.
Father Wang got out as well to speak to the front desk with me. This was obviously intended as a nice gesture, but it did give me cause for concern. I was worried that this hotel would be too expensive for my penny-pinching tastes, and I didn’t want to have to commit to this place when I could find a cheaper alternative nearby. At the same time, if he saw me rejecting this hotel, I’m sure he would have felt obligated to drive around until I was satisfied. In all honesty, while I was pleased to meet this family, a part of me hoped this would be the cordial end to our newfound friendship; a natural conclusion since we reached our destination.
Ultimately, my fears proved true as I ended up spending four times as much as what I had been paying for a single bunk bed in Guilin ($20 instead of $5). Shrugging my shoulders, I took my bags into the room upstairs and carefully placed them on a shelf high up to avoid any of my belongings touching the bed. My nightmarish experiences in Latvia with bed bugs made me weary of any accommodation that I hadn’t thoroughly vetted online before to make sure of no infestation. The room smelled of stale cigarettes, but I was used to this in China.
Downstairs, Mr. Wang was eagerly waiting. Before I even saw him, I already had the feeling this wasn’t the end to our story together. He waved me towards him and motioned to get going. I got back in the car, and his wife gave me a wincing smile and nod. Perhaps she wasn’t as excited as her husband to continue our adventure all together.
A few minutes later (as Xing’an is quite a small town), we stopped in a busy alleyway. There was a bustle and energy on the streets characteristic of real China; an infectious electricity that I’ve always loved. In Chinese, there is a term called Rènào (热闹) which describes this city feeling. Merchants selling fried snacks from little carts (小摊), groups of old gamblers crowding around to play mahjong, noisy chickens bouncing around in their cages, metal collectors ringing their bells to announce themselves. Normally, I would have stopped to take this all in, smiling in quiet awe at this pace of life. In this case, I was too preoccupied with Wang and his family to appreciate my surroundings as much.
His wife and daughter got out of the car and pulled up a grating to a small grey house, waving what appeared to be a goodbye. He explained that this was their home, and that it was time for his wife to prepare dinner. Given all the stories of generosity my friends told me about their time on the road, I had a hunch that this dinner would include me, but I dared not ask.
In the meantime, we drove off again – Mr. Wang, his son and I. He took us through the entrance of a park, approaching a small ticket office where a couple of old men in red and black watchmen uniforms languidly chatted away. When we got close, he told me to duck my head, explaining that while the locals never had to pay to enter the park, tourists (rare they may be) would surely be forced to. I guess you could call me a tourist, although I wasn’t even sure where I was. Little did I know, I was now entering the fierce pride of Xing’an. Here lay the Ling Canal (灵渠); the world’s oldest contour canal.
While walking through the park, Mr. Wang excitedly described to me the importance of our location. He kept referring to an ancient construction known as the Língqú (灵渠). Finally, we reached a lake in the middle of the park. He waved his hand across an area of the water in a majestic display and asked me, “Isn’t it glorious?”
I feigned a smile and nod of recognition, not entirely sure what I was looking at. Obviously underwhelmed by my reaction, he told me that this was the world’s oldest canal – a hallmark of human history and achievement as impressive as the Great Wall of China. “In the north, they have the Great Wall, but in the South we have the Ling Canal!” (北方有长城，南方有灵渠). Upon further research, I found out this quote is attributed to famous modern archeologist Guo Mo Ruo, but of course at the time I was not aware of any of this. With this new lens of significance to view my surroundings, I could start to appreciate where I was.
The Ling Canal was built in 214 BC in the Qin dynasty, making it indeed roughly the same age as the Great Wall of China. It was the first canal in history to connect to two river valleys and enabled boats to travel 2,000 kilometres (1,200 mi) from Beijing all the way to Hong Kong. It is also considered one of the oldest water conservancy projects in the world, preventing flooding along the lands by the river.
As a quick aside, I wrote above that this is “the world’s old contour canal”, which refers to a specific type of construction. In reality, the world’s oldest canal is actually the Grand Canal in Beijing. So, the north of China greedily holds both. Still, this should diminish nothing from the Ling Canal; the oft overlooked standard-bearer of its community.
Who would have known that a random trip with a family to a car dealership would have me ending up here? Leap into the river, my friends!
After some time exploring the park, which is also home to several temples and statues of ancient heroes, we made our way back, walking along the canal. According to Mr. Wang, in the summer the town holds night festivals and markets along the river, with lantern adorned riverboats floating to the tune of traditional song and dance. This must surely be a lovely occasion to witness or take part in.
When we got back to the vehicle, Mr. Wang’s expression and body language expressed inner turmoil. He fidgeted with his car keys for a moment, then turned to me and said, “Wensen [my Chinese name], it has been great getting to know you, but unfortunately, we will have to go back now. Normally, I would have liked to treat you to dinner with my family, but I cannot right now. My wife would not allow it because money is too tight. I am so very sorry about this. When I am a richer man, I will invite you back, and we will all go out and order lots and lots”.
Overwhelmed by this startling confession, I tried to explain to him that this was not a problem at all. Over and over again, he promised me that when I return, he will properly treat me. Hoping to console him and erase the look of shame and anguish written all over his face, I agreed that I would return someday.
On the ride back, I told him he could drop me off by my hotel or anywhere else that was convenient to him. At this point in my travels, I was so accustomed to getting around on my own that I felt confident I could navigate back from anywhere. I could walk, take a bus, hail a ride or do a combination of those.
Of course, it wasn’t going to be as simple as that. Instead, he sneakily took me to a small restaurant and said he would just pay for my meal while he would eat at home. I told him that there was no chance I would allow him to do so. He had already been so kind to me, sacrificing his whole Sunday to take me to the Ling Canal. I would treat him instead, I said, although I knew he would never accept. After a stand off, where we stood in the middle of the street with his son looking back and forth at us, eventually I gave in. I was planning to launch a sneak attack though and tell the counter to give me the bill before he could pay it. Just in case, I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu possible, fried rice, if he managed to get the check before I could.
The Chinese cultural concept of vying for the bill (Qiang maidan – 抢买单) is a very real and admirable phenomenon, but it sometimes goes too far in my opinion. People will try so many ways to end up paying for the bill themselves, even when they can’t afford it. Here’s a hilarious video that depicts this aspect of Chinese culture.
Although this comedy video is in Mandarin, the basic premise is that they both vie for the check to the extreme.
When I considered my motivations for hitchhiking, saving money was very low on the list. I just sought to push myself out of my comfort zone and meet new people from all walks of life. I wanted to rely on the help of strangers in exchange for conversation and friendship, confirming my long-held belief that there are more good people out there than bad. There was no need for Mr. Wang to treat me, and I explained this him, but in the end, he somehow managed to pay anyways. I sighed in resignation and did the only thing I could, which was to thank him profusely and remember his kindness.
Through this baffling, yet not all too surprising turn of events, I had a moment of reflection back in my hotel room. Was I taking advantage of this family? I never explicitly stated I needed their help financially. I just preferred not to take the train and see what happens. But when cultural norms dogmatically dictate that you must treat foreign strangers, even when it presents an undue burden upon you, is the foreigner responsible as well? Tough to say, although I will always lean on the side of believing individuals have enough agency to make their own decisions outside of their cultural paradigm. This individual choice then becomes all the more meaningful to me because it is out of the kindness of their heart as opposed to their societal obligations (which feels detached from the actual act itself).
All in all, I will be more weary and ready to ward off any check vying in the future. I also feel a strong conviction to memorialize their kindness in my tales, which I see as tributes to these acts of goodness. In the countless situations I have encountered like these, I think it is fair to extrapolate that the majority of people are in fact good in this world.
So leap into the river, find those beautiful canals and ruins, and marvel at the real treasure that is the humanity around us. Join me next time for the final part of my series on hitchhiking in China: a look at what went wrong.
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