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Meeting people is insanely easy here.
If you’re a foreigner, people are drawn to you. They’re curious. Especially girls. I have gotten more stares and more questions from women than I have from anyone else.
Frequent waves, frequent hellos, and all around good hospitality, it’s a far cry from the reception many receive in the States. Rather than go through illustration after illustration, I’ll stop at the first one:
The well-known bars here in Wuhan play host to a lot of foreigners. Places like Blue Sky Café and The Vox have a large number of laowai, along with the native Chinese and are purported to play host to a number of Christians looking to set their ideas afloat in a sea where they usually sink.
KTV Bars differ. KTV Bars are Karoake Bars. Indeed, KTV = Karaoke Television. “Box Party”, a bar owned by a Chinese guy named nicknamed Bear, is one such place. One of the British teachers, Gerald, is friends with him, and as such, we get discounts on drinks and access to his many friends.
To meet local Chinese people, go to a KTV Bar and avoid the laowai hangouts. Avoid the laowai hangouts anyways. They’re far too western. You’re here to experience China, aren’t you?
I spent last Friday night at Box Party. Me, Rob, Gerald, and a Canadian named Paul. When we get there, Paul overhears that it’s 28 RMB all you can drink.
“Don’t tell me that,” he says, and proceeds to prove why. Bottle after bottle falls empty while I slowly sip on my first one and observe.
I observe some Chinese girls playing pool and some Asian guys sitting on the couches while a couple makes out near a drum stand missing its drummer and the local DJ plays a bewildering variety of music. I swear, we must’ve heard everything from boy bands to hardcore rap to a rousing techno piece whose chorus went “If you’re feeling [], put my dick in your head”.
A pretty deep commitment, if I do say so myself.
One of the Asian guys comes over and stares. Fine. As an awkward white guy in a land of Asians, I’m used to it. The long stares, the short stares, the smiles and random ‘hellos’, I have no issue with it.
So I sip on my drink until he greets me, a soft ‘hello’. I greet him back and he sways a bit. A little too much to drink? In English broken by bad teaching and filtered through an alcohol soaked net, he informs me that he’s Mongolian. I make a few comments, he nods and smiles, and I wander over to play darts.
He follows. We play darts for awhile and I return to the bar, where Rob and Gerald are talking to a artsy Chinese girl. Art student black overalls, white shirt, a beret, and huge earrings, I smile at her and turn and lift my bottle.
Through it, I see my Mongolian friend. He sways again and leans in to share a little secret.
“I have too much drunk.”
I nod and smile. Then he shares another secret.
“I hate Chinese.”
He gives the finger to a small statue.
“Fuck them.”
Flipping off a statue. Indeed, he has too much drunk.
Mongolian China-Hater wanders off and Gerald introduces me to the artsy girl. A little conversation and a lot of smiling ensues where she confirms my initial suspicions: she is an art teacher.
We talk some more, she asks for my number. I have no phone, so I offer my email instead, and I say something that she doesn’t quite understand. Is it time to break out that beginner’s Chinese?
No. She pulls out her phone and searches the word, gets the Chinese translation. A nod and another smile follow, the cute, interested smile. Pretty eyes, a cute sense of fashion, she spends the rest of the night beside me talking. The communication is sparse, but she asks me what my schedule is and we set up a lunch meeting for the beginning of the week.
I knew some Chinese girls liked to talk to Western guys, but I expected nothing like this. She was completely into me, and we barely talked. We barely could talk.
Tomorrow I’m meeting her at noon for lunch. I’ll let you know how it goes.
