Livin' In The Chonx

Heeding the call of my grumbling stomach, I wander out the main gate of my campus and down to the noodle shop around 9:30 pm. There it is dinner time for the 老板 (laoban) and his family. A rather large and boisterous three generational affair. They gather around a large table, him, the wife, the sister, the brother-in-law, their children (about my age perhaps younger), and a smattering of little ones. They alternate getting up from the dinner table to attend to the guests still arriving at this late hour, like myself. The noodle puller sports a t-shirt of vivid yellow and bright red lettering which impresses itself upon my mind. That and the lively atmosphere created by the children running in and out of the small room next to the shop, presumably their home. The little boy laughs merrily as he lugs a heavy bucket nearly half his size, filled with steaming, boiled water. The sacks of potatoes are piled high against the wall, well above my head, waiting to become a part of the next day’s 大盘鸡 (dapanji). The laoban takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette, and a smile pushes up from his stomach and spreads from the corners of his lips to the crinkles around his eyes. Happiness is knowing that your family is all around you with full bellies and it’s closing time at the end of a long, hot day.

I walk past the clothes draped from tree branches. Avert my eyes from the dirty alleyways, and hold my breath against the putrid smells that steam up from between the cracks of the sidewalks. Turn my thoughts away from caged rabbits, baskets of chickens crowded till their feathers and beaks push out of the bamboo weave at sharp angles, ducks forlorn on the sidewalks upon broken limbs. Stifle the chuckles at the pot-bellied men with their shirts tucked under their armpits. Their bellies brown and tanned by the sun, like so many benevolent buddhas strolling down the street.

We climb steep steps up to the top of 南山 (nanshan) to look out over the city from above, only to find ourselves straining to distinguish the skyline from the sky through the heavy yellow haze. In the evening it changes to a nightscape that almost is. Barely perceptible outlines of black skyscrapers against the black, starless sky. Midnight in 解放碑*. The wide-paved walkways and streets are empty except for the yellow pools of streetlamps. The pervading atmosphere is one of quiet. A city of thirteen going on thirty-two million, but this city sleeps, and it sleeps early.

Not more than an hour before the streets were pulsing with life. The people, the buses, the taxis, pumping through the arteries of this busy metropolis. Venture into the dance clubs where the neon and the strobe lights break through the smoke-filled air keeping time with the dj and his techno mix. There the dancing girls with their midriffs, army fatigues, and bleached locks swivel their hips and snap their willow thin arms and wrists to the beat of Gwen Stefani. Here we find a tall skinny Chinese boy or a late 80s, Kevin Bacon impersonator, in a white button down open and knotted at the waist to reveal a wife beater and stonewashed pencil tight jeans. His white sneakers slide along the dance floor as a small crowd gathers around to cheer him on. And in the next corner three boys all thugged out in baggy Cali syle, oversized basketball jerseys, oversized jeans, oversized caps and bandanas tied around their heads. True disciples of the MTV generation, they bump and grind and face off as the deep thud of bass shakes the room.

Above the nightclubs, street vendors line the sidewalks with their wares. Unrecognizable trays of meat by-products, bowls of shaved ice and fruit, chests of multicolored cigarette packs. Children toting individually-wrapped red roses and pawn shop guitars prowl their turf for bleeding hearts and foreigners with fat wallets. They have the disarming look of innocents and cast aways. Even they are catching the last rickety shuttles away from the yellow glow of the square. The night is young, but the blood runs thin.

*Jie Fang Bei, the snazzy downtown area located 20 minutes from my campus. Where the rich people congregate.