I Grew My Boobs in China (9 page)

“Books are great because you can just take them out and read them any time. Your school work is too bulky, plus you’ll need an Internet connection that won’t often be available. Trust me, you should just leave it behind and catch up later. Your brain will be engaged in lots of other ways.”

Bree came crashing in at that point, nearly slamming into the door when it hit the end of the bed and stopped abruptly in mid-swing.

I was sure she would share my outrage, and burst out, “These criminals put BOOKS in my bag!!”

“Have you seen the bathroom?” she asked, completely ignoring my protest. Her famous selective hearing had kicked in again.

“Oh no! It’s a squatty, isn’t it!?” I bolted upright in a panic. The state of the toilets we would be using was a far more pressing issue.

“No, you’re lucky this time,” Ammon said, coming in behind her.

“Phew,” I exhaled, leaning back.
I’m safe for one more day, at least.

“You gotta see it, though,” she said urgently, as if I was somehow going to miss it during our four-day stay. “Like, the shower and sink and toilet are all together in a tiny room, with nothing separating them. So weird!”

“Why don’t I find that hard to believe?” I asked, glancing around me.

“The toilet is in the middle of the shower. You can just sit there and do your thing and get clean at the same time!” she laughed.

“Oh hey, you’ve got
The Count of Monte Cristo
?” Ammon commented when he saw the small pile of unwanted books scattered on the bed. “Can I borrow that one?”

“Be my guest,” I said, standing up to go check out Bree’s bathroom.

“Trust me, you’ll want them,” Ammon noted starkly, expecting everyone to be as nerdy as he.

“No, no. Trust me, I won’t,” I said, walking away and waving my hand above my head, “Take them all. Go nuts!”

Chapter 9

The Conqueror

Sandra was one of Ammon’s closest friends, though he often refused to admit he had any. They had worked in the same lab at Simon Fraser University for almost a year before we finally met her for the first time in Hong Kong. She was referred to as The Chocolate Chick because she brought a candy bar to work every day in an attempt to fatten him up. This act of generosity was strongly influenced by his study of the health benefits of chocolate, but also because of the way his ribcage protruded from his slender frame.

We learned quickly how friendly and positive Sandra was – the kind of person who celebrates her birthday by buying you lunch. She happened to be visiting her hometown when we arrived May 5
^th
, 2005, and she was gracious enough to show us around for a few days. Sandra fit right in with what I perceived to be the millions of little clones marching the streets with their black hair and round cheeks, and we eagerly followed our bubbly new friend around the city as the days raced by, on foot and riding the occasional water ferry and double-decker city buses. We were introduced to a wide range of traditional songs and food as well as to Mr. Buddha in my very first incense-permeated monastery. We did everything from tracing the Avenue of Stars, to hiking, to exploring little caves in Macau, the former Portuguese colony across the bay.

Sandra, my new four-day-old best friend, was like an angel from heaven, a piece of home.
Couldn’t we just call it a deal already and let her take me home with her? Haven’t I put in enough travel time?
When we had completed her four-day, introductory crash course to the marvels of her birth city, the five of us said goodbye at the front entrance of the subway station. I gave her one last hug and then faced the dark escalator which would lower me down to my very first underground metro. I only turned around once and, as the rest of the early morning rush hour swallowed her up, I saw a tiny hand waving. Oh, how I longed to stay by her side, but Ammon was pressing forward so confidently and it never once occurred to me that he, too, might feel a tinge of apprehension.

From a distance, the city looked a lot like Vancouver, with its high-rises, busy streets and waterfront activities. Its “Hongcouver” moniker and its incredible diversity partially explained why I felt as comfortable as I did there. The daily markets crammed between tiny alleys bursting with goods of all kinds amazed me, but we were being set free now, underway with all sails set, strong winds blowing, and a whole world of possibilities opening up to us.

I felt I was teetering on the edge of my last chance to escape. I knew that the farther we travelled inland, the farther we’d get from an airport and civilization. All along, I had been expecting some kind of Big Bang type of reaction. I resented the trip so deeply and yet, despite the months of foreboding, it had not yet “hit” me. I was still waiting for some sort of physical manifestation of my ambivalence about this trip, like a quake in my knees that would send me toppling to the ground, or something – anything!
I wanted to be shocked! To be surprised! Where were my fireworks?!
I almost began to feel ripped off about the lack of a significant personal breakdown of any kind, though we did, by sheer happenstance, see the nightly firework and laser lightshow from Hong Kong’s seawall on our last night in the city.

The subway was nearly empty when we got on, but it got busier and busier as we passed more stops.
What else did I expect in the most populous country in the world – 1.3 billion people had to get where they were going somehow, obviously!?
A man sat and shoved me and my pack over because we were taking up part of his seat.
How rude!
I thought, glaring cynically in his direction while trying to balance a single, numb, butt-cheek on the hard plastic. To avoid having to stand, I leaned forward awkwardly, only just managing to squeeze half of my pack onto the seat. I struggled to make enough room for both of us on the seat, the straps of my pack coming up over my ears like a kid swimming with an oversized lifejacket. I had to sacrifice most of my bum space for the darn thing.
This isn’t my bloody child
, I thought, refusing to be abused.
It’s just
a
dumb bag.
I’d sit it on my lap if my daypack wasn’t already occupying that space. Nope, that isn’t going to work, either.
I was getting more and more annoyed.
Is it getting hotter in here?
I wondered as still more people poured in, but it was likely my face flushing from rage and embarrassment.
Can’t you see this is awkward for me?
Returning the stare an older couple was giving me, I wanted to shout at them instead.
It’s not my fault. Can’t you see how much I don’t WANT to be here!!?

After crossing the border into Shenzhen on mainland China, we were drenched by a tropical storm as we transferred from the subway to a bus. I squinted through the droplets to study my new surroundings. Rain flooded the streets and the open shopping mall we passed. It felt warm, like a fresh breath on an early summer day, and the palm trees were shining and blowing in the wind. Shenzhen was another city seemingly made up of lots of people in heels and business suits walking briskly, but typically, they still seemed to find time to gawp at the spectacle our foreign parade evidently presented.

W
hy does everyone have to stare at me?
This being only the second time I’d ever carried my pack, I felt self-conscious and paranoid that people were staring and snickering behind my back. It was like a high-school drama where everyone hides behind lockers and spreads the newest rumours – I had always hated that kind of thing.

“
This is the biggest city you’ve been to,” Ammon told us. “More than ten million people live here. Do you realize that’s almost a third the population of all of Canada just in this one city?!” And it felt like every one of those ten million citizens were staring right at me. As if to confirm my insecurity, a random woman approached us speaking in Mandarin, and her friends started laughing. I understood nothing, and again felt like the new kid at school – like a stupid outcast who was oblivious to the latest fashions and the “hottest” new quotes and phrases. I continued to revel in my humiliation.
I’m so glad no one from home sees me looking like the laughing stock of the entire world!
After my long walk of shame, Ammon lead us through the markets towards the bus station area. Women merchants loudly accosted us, attempting to make a sale as we neared their stalls.

We passed a humming refrigerator, and Mom started dragging her feet and drooling, “Oooh, Peeeppssii.” I pushed her along as she began to crumble from the inside out.

“C’mon Mom, you’re not allowed,” I reminded her. We had made Mom agree to quit drinking pop on the basis that we were all starting a new life, healthy and fresh. We knew the trip would consist of a lot more exercise and organic food than we had ever before experienced, not to mention that we would be on the skinniest shoestring budget anyone had ever heard of; Travel Rule # something-or-other was that Coca-Cola and Pepsi are unnecessary delights. That was only one of many scary laws in Ammon’s self-made, budget rulebook. But of course, no such book ever existed in written form, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to invent and change the rules whenever the occasion called for it.

“No, I didn’t say I was going to stop drinking pop. I said I wouldn’t drink Dr. Pepper. I didn’t say anything about Pepsi,” she said in a valiant attempt to convince herself.

“Oh Mom---” I started just before I was distracted by the sight of what could only be considered a godsend – a magnetic force calling my name. He was tall with golden twine upon his crown, and he displayed the most prominent nose I’d ever seen, at least in the last week. He spoke Chinese but was definitely not from around here. He had a backpack, too. I felt like shouting, “Yeah! We’re saved!” and rushing over to him to have him sort out our next meal, hotel, and bus. Checking side-to-side to scout his territory, Ammon finally came to a halt, pulled one strap over his shoulder, and said, “Okay, just drop your bags here.” He calmly jaunted over to the foreign man in his “I am an experienced traveller” mode. This was the preferable course of action, of course, ’cause if I had just run up and clung to his leg like a blood-thirsty savage like I wanted to, we’d have lost him for sure. I would’ve scared just about anybody away in my current unstable state.

Ammon stood next to the man and nonchalantly asked, “Where are you headed?”

“Yangshuo,” came the equally cool reply. He was tall and lanky, like Ammon
. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that he looks so much like Ammon. Maybe after a while all backpackers start to develop that same appearance.
I began to wonder how I would look as a six-foot-two chick with a bristly jaw.
At least I could keep my ponytail,
I thought, putting a positive spin on it.

“Same as us, then. Do you happen to know which bus it is?” Ammon asked to save himself the trouble of consulting his complicated guidebooks yet again.

“Sure, it’s that one over there, the one that says Yangshuo,” he said, pointing down the station at one of the dozens of buses with a big white sign in the front window. Easing in behind Ammon, I looked at the bus, then at Mom.

“THAT says Yangshuo?!” I whispered incredulously.

“How the heck would I know?!” Mom whispered back, peering down the rows and feeling just as clueless regarding which bus they meant.

“Unbelievable. That’s what he just said. I don’t think I could ever read Chinese. How can they tell one letter from the next?!!” I asked under my breath, completely baffled and unable to discern any differences in the writing.

“Okay, great. Thanks a lot. We’ll see you there, I guess,” Ammon said, before giving us the only bit of information he remembered. “The bus leaves in about forty-five minutes. You’ll need a bathroom before you go. You never know when these guys will stop for a break. It could be all night, or it could be every twenty minutes, so you have to be prepared for anything. There’s a good place in that hotel just through the shops. You’ll see a big golden sign with lions in front of it,” he instructed. Mom began practically pulling my arm off in the direction he pointed.

“Do you have to go that badly?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Okay, okay. Bree, Mom and I will be back in a minute,” I told her. “Ammon’s obviously still busy, so you stay here and guard our bags while we scout it out.” I turned to tell Ammon the same, but he had resumed his conversation with the tall, golden-haired backpacker.

“Are you guys new at this?” the man was asking, looking down at our scuff-free boots.

“Actually, it’s our first overnighter bus,” was all I heard before the other noises of the station drowned out their voices.

I paced along behind Mom, re-entering the shopping strip and looking everywhere for the golden signs. In my concentrated attempt to skirt the dozens of Chinese men and women peddling or shopping in the station, I took my eyes off Mom for a split second. When I didn’t see her little red shirt five steps ahead of me, I almost had a heart attack.
Where the heck did she go?
I began to panic, my head twisting frantically like a lost chicken. I finally spotted her inside a shop.
What on earth is she doing?
I thought angrily to cover my relief. Approaching her from behind, I quickly saw her strategy.

“What on earth?”

“Well, we’re going to need snacks for the trip,” she rushed to explain. By hanging over the counter and pointing and waving her arms, she had managed to collect an assortment of cookies, chips, and water for the twelve hours we’d be on the bus, but one thing in particular had drawn her into this store, the one item that shouldn’t have been in her pile.

Shaking the antique glass Coca-Cola bottle, I asked her, “And what’s this?”

“Oh, but I’m so thirsty, Savannah.” I glared at her as she continued, “and I haven’t had one in days! Couldn’t we just share it?” she proposed with a co-conspirators’ smile.