"You live in a village, right?" Joe asked over skype.
Zhengzhou doesn't make most notable maps of China, unless you're counting all the capitals of the PRC's provinces. Even the Chinese that live outside Henan consider the province and its capital, Zhengzhou, to be dirty backwater that is better to be forgotten.
I laughed. I was one in a city of 5 million. Subtract 2 million and you have the population of Iowa. It's huge, just not for China's standards.
But, if you think in the mind of an expat English teacher, Zhengzhou feels just like that, a small village with few worldly options.
Friday, I was feeling what I must call the Zhengzhou blues. A wave of depression swept over me in a not-so-subtle way.
I was bitter and a little sad and I only wanted one of Zhengzhou's little pleasures--a night out at a "fancy" Italian restaurant that a ZZ food blog had highly recommended. I eat rice two times a day, everyday. Many of life's culinary delights have escaped me since my arrival here. Avocados, cheese, limes, milk, cereal are available if you're willing to fork over half your month's salary. I'm not trying to complain here on Blogger, but just to say, variety is the spice of life that I needed right then. I thought it would be the cure all to my sullen mental state. So, Gill and I pulled out dresses fresh from the U.S. (in Zhengzhou there is hardly ever a reason to don one--classy Zhengzhou, mheh, no.) and Joe even flashed a tie.
The Italian restaurant was a flop. It was underwhelming, at best. Neon colored pink, yellow and orange plastic beads hung from the ceiling, creating a half-circle enclosure around each table. To complete the brightly-lit 70s porn-star den, the multi-mirrored wall read, exotica pizza. What?!
I went with the recommendation, a thin crust veggie pizza. It wasn't exotica, instead it had corn on it, something that wasn't promised in the short English description. I like my corn on the cob and in my backyard, but I thought I had left Iowa. The warm beer did little to swing my own spirit. I felt down and as I reached for another we found out the restaurant had run out of pijiu. Every last bottle. The last few were apparently already sitting on our table. Another ZZ disappointment. If we would have written the review, it would have been dramatically different; a missed opportunity of a Chinese Pizza Hut knock-off was more appropriate. If we would have known, we would've crossed the street to go to the real deal. (To understand, the Chinese don't understand the concept of cold beer. They might even tell you that you shouldn't drink it as it will most likely make you sick. Getting a cold one is like winning at the penny slots, you do your own happy dance when your small payday arrives. Ice cubes are an equally rare thing here, unless you're at McDonalds.)
We slunk back to our apartments, changed out of our fine ware and finally forced ourselves out for a drink. It was Friday night and it had been a week deserving of some kind of unwinding release. However, the Zhengzhou nightlife for a laowai consists of 2 bars, both luckily a 10 minute walk down the smelly Jingliu Lu. We bucked up and followed the usual stink. Not wanting to see, let alone talk to some of Zhengzhou's weirder characters or creeps, we chose Reds. It's a make-shift bar found on the 6th floor of a hotel and is the only place where you can get a real margarita, for a price. For a much smaller yuan note, however, they have an always on special shot of Jameson. The owner is super friendly and his girlfriend speaks perfect English as she studied in England for six years. When we arrived, the characters met us in the elevator.
It's weird, but in Zhengzhou because of the great absence of foreigners, you feel obligated to acknowledge one another. Be it on the streets, the Indian restaurant (a usual foreigner escape), Metro (the exclusive, member-only import shop) or the elevator to Reds. You want to know their story. Why Zhengzhou? But to be frank, our temporary travel companions were straight-up Zhengzhou trash. Individuals that we would later see drinking out of their own handles of vodka a table over (there are only 5 small tables in the whole place), whilst taking what I must call the MySpace sleaze photo. China attracts some weird people. This we all know. As someone returning for a second dose, I must count myself in this judgement. Being called weird lost its sting in second grade. Zhengzhou, however, brings the oddest, I swear. Last year one of the HMC teachers was a mid-thirties man who would occasionally wear a pj onesie to work in the teacher offices. To complete the look, the onesie had bear ears attached to its hood. Imagine walking in on that. He's gone now, but the sentiment still rings true. For this reason, I have few friends outside my small HMC teacher circle. This, I'm okay with as it means I'll save more yuan and when this semester times out, I'll be able to escape for a full 8 weeks and do what I truly came to Asia to do, travel.
This is the Zhengzhou Reality. You're not supposed to be too comfortable, nor or you suppose to fit in. Though, you know you'll always be remembered with more camera phone pictures than one knows what to do with. It's part of the exploration and awkwardness of being a laowai in China.
(To note, I'm doing fine. There should be no worries about me. It's just frustrating being without the comforts of home as well as the many friends I'm accustomed to and miss.)
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