Getting Home from Shenzhen (part 3 of 3)

We finished up our KFC and got back onto the streets of Shenzhen. Annika made me carry the Straw Hat. We had emerged from the subway into a heavy-duty commercial area and there was not much to see except for concrete skyscrapers. We were hoping to see a section of the sprawling Shenzhen that had a little more flavor and character.

I stood on the street corner and looked down each of the options. I tried to read the city by watching the people. I saw a guy riding a bike with ten five-gallon water jugs attached to it coming toward us. From the right, I saw a group of three fashionably dressed young women. Across the street we a group of shool boys in uniform.

“Well Annika, what do you think?” She took a moment, looked at the options, and pointed down one avenue “Let’s try this way.” We repeated this process three or four times over the next ten minutes. Our urban intuition must be improving, because we turned the corner and we found ourselves in an older section of town that was bustling with street vendors and shoppers.

We picked one particularly lively alley and ate our way from end to the other. We bought a sticky bun from one vendor and sweet red-bean cakes from another.

The afternoon light was threatening to fade and our packs were becoming increasingly heavy. It was time to get back. It is my usual method to wander a city, get myself completely lost, and then jump in a taxi to get back to the station or hotel. It’s a stategy that had served me well in the past.

We waved down a taxi and hopped in. It only took us a moment to realize that we had found the one taxi driver in Shenzhen who spoke absolutely no English. He kept asking us in Cantonese where we wanted to go. I pulled out my passport and found the word “Hong Kong.” I traced my finger down to the Chinese characters that more or less matched up. I pointed at them. It didn’t seem to help. He kept asking me more questions in Cantonese. We were all getting a little frustrated.

I looked at him in the review mirror and said “Look buddy. Look at my face. Do I look Chinese? Where do you think I want to go? Take an educated guess here. You can do this.” I pointed forward indicating for him to just start driving. I figured we had a 60% chance of ending up at the train station where we needed to be, a 20% chance of ending up at some international hotel, and a 10% chance of ending up at an airport.

He started to drive. Because we had taken the underground subway, nothing outside the taxi window looked familiar. Ten minutes later, our driver pulled up to the curb outside a large municipal looking building. I looked up and -sure enough- in large letters it said “Shenzhen Train Station and Border Crossing.”

See, I knew you could do.

I paid the driver and gave him a large tip.

I am such an bad American. It's a good thing I have that large Canadian maple leaf sewn to my backpack. I sure would hate to give my home country a bad name.

An hour later, Annika and I were through immigration, on the local train, and on our way back to our apartment.

Note: Julie, I am sorry that you are finding out about this for the first time via the blog. Sweetie, you know that I make half of this stuff up anyways, don’t you.

-Jack