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Chinese Tour Psychology Canton The river port at Canton consists of a rusting barge tied to a rotting wharf. As we approach it, the official from Hong Kong, who has yet to introduce himself, but who helped us board and then explained that China has two kinds of money, real and tourist, announces that he will leave the group at this juncture, turning us over to our Real Chinese Guide. The latter, predictably, is absent. Several uniformed civil servants fill the void, and nonverbally instruct the group to move into a damp cement block stucco all-purpose government building. There, the uncertainties of a long and slow money-changing procedure and a silent customs inspection finally end and the leaderless and by now spiritless group falls out onto the hot and dirty road which fronts the dock at Pearl River. The psychological bottom is near again. Disappointment and frustration are about to take over.
Then it happens. Around the corner appears Mr. Yu and his magical air-conditioned Yamaha tour bus. The China Tour psychology was working well. One would think from the group’s reaction that the Chinese had provided each tour member with a private Mercedes Benz sedan instead of the basic and much worn people-hauling vehicle that came bumping to a stop. It was suddenly a new day! Finally, China, at last! Hopes shoot high, disappointments disappear. Off we go with Mr. Yu to lunch, the first meal in a real Chinese restaurant. It is served in a plain faded green dining room of a large hotel built several years ago to impress the foreign devil tourists and probably some of the rural politicians as well. It is at this first meal that the miracle of splintered bone is witnessed. As miracles go, it has to be respected. With amazing regularity, every dish containing fish, foul, or meat is chopped and pounded until the bones are splintered. And very finely, thus making it difficult to separate from the edible portions of the food. This is true whether one attempts the separation with a fork, chop stick, or just plain thumb and forefinger. It becomes clear very soon that the options are limited. Two, to be precise. Either eat the fleshy dishes, splintered bone and all, or don’t. There are no more alternatives.
The meal in the green room provided the first opportunity for members of the group to become acquainted. The group didn’t number more than 25, and included Americans, Australians, Canadians, French, and New Zealanders. It was apparent that no one wanted to be seen as an Ugly Foreigner, and so there was no outright complaining. Nevertheless, because all were seated around two large tables, it was immediately clear to at least half of us that one couple was eating lightly. Only rice. This middle-aged American woman and her recently graduated from law school son, had been touring China for 26 days. He volunteered that the present meal was above average, in their experience. She smiled, and said, “splintered bone,” to one of the New Zealanders whom she observed looked puzzled. “It is quite common.” “Great way to lose weight,” the son offered. “I’ve taken off 16 pounds since we started.”
The initial eating experience eventually ends, and Mr. Yu herds the group aboard the Yamaha for a trip to the Canton airport. No stopping, no looking, no explanations. Just a fascinating, if uninformed, quick look at life in Canton. But consistent. The trip is becoming a traveling prison. There is no information about what is happening next, and it is impossible to get away from the four hour wait (as it turned out to be) in the hot and sticky airport with still no information regarding when the flight might arrive and depart. Our faces were lined with resignation and frustration.
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