In Beihai to meet her

The sun is still hours away from lighting up the dark skies of the southeastern city of Beihai when I step off the coach. The eight hour overnight voyage from Guangzhou is over and now I’m surrounded by taxi and motorized rickshaw drivers, better known as tuk tuk drivers, offering to take me to my accommodations. Despite not having showered in almost 48 hours and being sleep deprived, I’m surprisingly cheerful, settling on a tuk tuk driver that appears equally excited about life.

Within five minutes we arrive at a mid-size hotel. When the driver inquires about vacant rooms, the woman at the front desk and the security guard claim that the hotel can’t accept “wai guo ren”, foreigners. Appalled and slightly angry, I shout “fangpi”, which literally means to fart but used in this context translates as rubbish or nonsense, then tell them that during my seven years in China I have never been denied a hotel room. Less than ten minutes later, I’m turned away from another hotel. Furious, I begin ranting about leaving Beihai immediately.

On our way to a third hotel, the tuk tuk driver tries to calm me down by repeating what he said after I was rejected from the first hotel; “There are some places that the government doesn’t deem safe for foreigners,” he says, with a heavy southern accent that makes his Mandarin hard for me to comprehend,  “and therefore those places would be punished if they allowed foreigners to stay there”.

The woman behind the front desk of the third establishment tells us that there are no rooms available because  two tour groups are arriving later this morning. Naturally, I don’t believe her and accuse her of refusing to accept my business because I’m a “wai guo ren”. Climbing back into the tuk tuk, I tell the driver “Beihai feichang bu hao” (Beihai is very bad). Understanding my frustration, he assures me that we’ll find a room.

With the early morning winds blowing in my face as the driver speeds around the wide deserted streets looking for a hotel, images of my trip to the Egyptian city of Siwa emerge in my head.

I entered Siwa on an overnight bus from Alexandria about a half an hour before the break of dawn and similar to Beihai I was unable to find a hotel or hostel room. Much to my discomfort, I ended up camping out in front of a mosque for what felt like an eternity (it was cold and I was under-dressed), waiting for the oasis city to awake.

Granted, I could have had a much smoother arrival and avoided the chilly winds from the desert if I had only booked my accommodations in advance, but that would have required a bit of planning; something I purposely do very little of when I’m journeying. For there’s something wonderfully imperfect about traveling without a fixed itinerary.  That morning in Siwa, while flirting with homelessness, I experienced one of the most splendid sunrises and befriended an extremely kind donkey-drawn cart driver.

As the tuk tuk driver pulls up to the entrance of another establishment, I brace myself for more rejection. There’s certainly a 24-hour MacDonald’s in this city and if not that park we passed a few moments ago had benches that I could recline on.

Fortunately, this decrepit hotel, which seems like the sort of place that offers hourly rates, accepts “wei guo ren” and has available rooms. On the elevator ride up to the seventh floor, all I can think about is the cleansing power of hot water and soap. It’s Monday morning, I’ve been on the road since Saturday afternoon with the same clothes and after a stuffy 20-hour train ride from Chongqing, Guangzhou was sweltering , causing me to perspire from every pore on my body.

After a long shower and 45 minutes of writing in my journal, with heavy eyelids, I finally give my body what it’s requesting: sleep.

Three hours later, I’m awake, excited about my date with a Beihai treasure. I’ve traveled far to commune with her; hopefully I’m not expecting more than she’s capable of sharing.

(To be continued…)

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