chinatown

Imogen Florence
Nov 6 · 11 min read

Opportunity
Going for a job interview for an EFL teaching role in Oxford City centre and coming out fifteen minutes later with an opportunity to move to China was not something I had imagined when I’d woken up that Friday morning in March. My immediate answer was a simple no — I had a travel list as long as my arm but China was not even close to the top. I had heard the horror stories of teaching English in Chinese public schools with seventy children to a classroom, the teachers solemnly pacing back and forth between the grey walls with a microphone. But I’d been given an opportunity to work in a sweet English school, with small classes. The weekend slowly passed, and I could not shift the idea from the back of my mind. What an opportunity, really. I was qualified to see the world and get paid for it. Leaving the little school, walking around the familiar streets of my hometown, sitting in my favourite cafe, with my favourite order… I dipped my chocolate covered corncake thoughtfully into my latte, considering the opportunity that had just popped out of nowhere on this seemingly ordinary day.

1 month later
A busy month of filling in forms, visas, waiting in line at the post office, trips to London for fingerprint appointments, and suddenly here I am, in Chenzhou. It is a city in the South of Hunan province, a remote (by Chinese standards) — city of 4 million where no one speaks English and some people have not even seen a foreigner in real life before. I get stared at endlessly, often get asked to have my photo taken, or have it taken without permission. I get spoken at in a language I don’t understand, and I cannot speak my own language because no one here understands me. I’m trying to get used to the things the locals here would consider normal, like the strange items in the supermarket — fifty varieties of egg, hanging duck heads, the thousands of types of tofu — the hole in the bathroom floor for my toilet, the butcher killing ducks on the road on my way to school in broad daylight, careful to step over the blood and trying to cover my eyes and nose to stop myself gagging. China is not a place for the squeamish.

My flat, a cosy modern apartment in Chenzhou, the 7th floor balcony in a high-rise building. I love my apartment. It’s an open-plan room, a bed and living room area all in one with a kitchen and utility room off to the left side. The floor to ceiling window looks out into the courtyard of the complex, surrounded by four other grey concrete high-rises. It’s almost ten pm on a Saturday night and I can hear the echoes of children’s laughter and screams rising up from the gated courtyard, a ball being kicked against a wall, the horns and beeps of the city cars, lorries, scooters, mopeds. I’m sipping on buckwheat tea, a new favourite discovery, because it reminds me of biscuits from home. I love listening to the city below. I prefer it to the rain.

The Mountains
The bus bumped along the windy mountain roads, treacherously close to the edge, cool morning mist rising from the green river below. It’s not the first time I had experienced a mountain ride like this, but it never made it less breath-taking. The freshness of the air, the mist surrounding the mountains making it unmistakably ‘Chinese’, the underlying fear of the bus getting slightly too close to the edge…. the adrenaline of it, seeing things for the first time, each bend in the road telling a different story. I loved every minute of that journey. The boat ride to the island was windy, cool and long.

Dongjian Lake — Chenzhou

We stayed in a basic family-run bed and breakfast, with an outside decking area overlooking the mountains. Red paper lanterns swayed in the breeze and enchanting Chinese music played, making me feel like I was in a film. There wasn’t much here, but I felt so happy. I always feel happy in the simplicity yet overwhelming beauty of nature and being in the mountains. The owners of the b&b made us an amazing dinner that night — my first lazy Susan experience, alongside being overly-conscious of Chinese eating etiquette, was a feast of local food grown on the property; plump orange loquats, spicy new potatoes, tofu and greens in soy sauce, fluffy white rice, soft noodles in a flavoursome broth and fresh fruit for dessert. I slept on the hard bed that night, thousands of miles from home with my tummy and heart full, my mind content and sleepy.

A Tuesday in May
It was the Tuesday before my 25th birthday. I had woken up early that day, and it was quite a slow one. But I enjoyed mooching around the apartment, tidying, cleaning, getting organised for the working week ahead.
At 7pm that evening I went to the gym and joined the locals in a spinning class. I loved the spin classes in China. I could understand spinning, it was something I did regularly back home. I knew how to set up the bike to be at the same height as my hips and I knew how to adjust the seat so I wasn’t hunched over the handlebars, or trying to reach for them. Sometimes the instructors would put on English music, not knowing if this was for my benefit or not, I would let myself get lost in the music, the sweat pouring down my face, neck, back, bouncing along on the bike to the beat of the familiarity of home. Going to spin in China made me feel connected, it was something so universal. Apart from the stares and the sly photos being taken of me, despite the murmurs, in a city that was so big, and where I was essentially so alone, I felt that I fit in.

On this particular Tuesday night, I left the gym drenched in sweat and it was raining. I felt the droplets and sweat combine and run off my arms, down my neck and back. It rained often in Chenzhou, and after a few hot days I welcomed this cool rainfall. I looked up into the night sky, surrounded by skyscrapers and high-rises. I made the way over the road back to my own apartment, when I suddenly had an overwhelming rush of emotion flood over me.
How was I in China? This all happened so fast. It was a sense of complete and utter pride. I felt so, completely, proud of myself in that moment. I had moved on from something I thought I could never move on from. I had absolutely conquered my fears. I have felt the fear and done it anyway. I have never been freer. I belonged to no one but me. I’ve been constantly learning. I’d got out of that 9–5 office life I so detested. I was not conforming, living out my vision that life can surely not just be about working to live then dying. I was traveling the world and seeing new things every day. In that moment I was so, damn, free.
My vision blurred as I waited for the green man to show, letting the rain soak my already drenched clothes, sweat and rain washing off me into the drainage system of Chenzhou, bits of me, rain soaking through my trainers. I let the hurt drip off me like rainwater. I embraced the moment and felt empowered with it. I had never felt more proud of me, than in that moment.

Sunny
I befriended a lady at the local fruit market beneath the highway bridge who sells the juiciest watermelons. Her shop is not a part of the nicest of fruit markets. It’s kind of grubby, derelict and dingy. But her shop was bright, and her smile was warm. She reminded me of sunshine. She didn’t have an English name, but I decided if she were to choose one, she should call herself Sunny.
I went to Sunny’s shop on my birthday, on the way back to my apartment. It was a warm and bright Thursday in Chenzhou, and I was carrying my gift from my colleagues at school- a big bunch of flowers.
Sunny and her relatives were inspecting my flowers with curiosity, so, with a little help from Google translate, I explained it was my birthday. Sunny was so excited about it being my birthday she proceeded to give me free fruit and charged me just 40 yuan for a large melon, lychees, bayberries, nectarines and a mango. I noticed they were about to tuck into their lunch, and it looked so amazing I snapped a photo of it. Before I knew it, I was being summoned to sit and eat with them. This really made my day, perhaps such a simple gesture for them to invite a complete stranger to join them for dinner, but for me such a foreign concept that really touched me. I tucked into tofu skin, peppers, cabbage, fried onions and rice, and skirted my way around the octopus tentacles as we conversed through the translation app. I often experience situations like this when I visit new countries, people with little or even with nothing at all are always the most giving.
Why don’t we practise kindness like this in our western cultures? One thing I always notice when I travel is the kindness of the locals. The people here in Chenzhou definitely stare, and I don’t think it is meant to be rude, more just curiosity. Foreigners are not often seen in Chenzhou, and for some of the locals here they haven’t seen a Westerner in years, or, ever. It can sometimes feel uncomfortable of course, but I have never been mistreated by any local in Chenzhou or, in fact, anywhere I have visited in the world. It makes me question why are we not so welcoming like this in the West? What is it about our society that makes us so selfish? I wished we practised kindness towards strangers like this back home.

- lunch with Sunny

It was only a few days later I went back to visit my new friends and buy some fresh produce when I quickly realised the market was completely empty. The usual hustle and bustle, noise, smells, the frightened clucks of the hens before going into slaughter, the vibrant colours of the fruits and vegetables, it was all gone. The once busy market was a shell of what it was just days before — shutters down, concrete and steel tables, a banana skin, an orange peel on the cold concrete floor. I felt as though I was in one of those movies where a natural disaster or a zombie invasion had taken over and wiped the population out. A rat scuttled past my foot. A splatter dried blood on the walls of the now empty meat shop. I later learned the government had shut it down, as the shop owners didn’t have permission to be there. I was so sad to know I would never see Sunny again.

Loneliness
I feel selfish to say that I have felt lonely here in China. I have been offered this beautiful experience, essentially, being paid to travel and hang out with the sweetest children all day.
I have learned, though, absolutely OK to feel lonely when travelling solo. It’s inevitable. Not being able to understand general conversation between my colleagues and students without tiresome translation, returning home to an empty apartment, with my family and friends seven hours behind, so many miles away from my normality, it can feel incredibly isolating. Of course, travel comes with its beautiful highs, but when you’re away alone for weeks or months at a time, of course not every day is going to be rainbows, sunshine and waterfalls. It’s ok to feel a little homesick, and it’s ok to miss your loved ones and long for the familiarity of home, your dads’ bad jokes, or even a marmite crumpet and a decent cup of tea.
Something else I have learnt, though, is that life at home carries on. Being on the other side of the world does not change much at all in many ways. My friends come to me with the same problems, they go to the same jobs, eat the same food, see the same people. I will video call my family and my mother will be drinking from her same favourite mug, my dad’s same pair of shoes in their usual spot, the same programmes on in the background on TV or the same radio programmes drone on in the background.
I, too, have settled into routine here. I eat the same, go to the gym at the same time, buy the same things from the supermarket. When I go home everything will be exactly the same. I’ve realised it’s important to understand that although travel is a beautiful form of escapism and can be the perfect remedy for many things, real closure and peace comes from within. I can leave home because I feel I need to ‘get away for a bit’ but it’s still my mind and thoughts I carry with me. I could go to Jupiter and I’d still be thinking of the same people, things I’ve been through, what I want to do next. A 14 hour flight does not always change that. Moments like these always remind me to be present and appreciate the moment, and to be grateful for everything I have.

a lady selling vegetables in the shade

Souvenirs
I’m sat at the airport waiting for the beginning of my long journey home. This trip was sudden, unexpected, exciting, educational, lonely and challenging at times. Thinking back to three months ago, sat in the tiny school in my hometown expecting to be offered some flexible teaching work, I would have never guessed this would come my way. I did not expect to learn so much about myself. I am welcoming these changes and new thoughts. I’ve been writing more and I’m going to write more. I have realised that photography is my passion in life, so I’m going to get good at it. I love reading, and learning new words, and I’m going to make sure I always have a book on or near me always. I love feeling fit, so I will keep this fit. the feeling of walking to the summit of Nanta park with ease, or climbing to the top of my high rise barely breaking a sweat in the strength of the humidity here. I want to push myself, keep challenging myself. Keep teaching. Learn how to get better and accept when I am not. I know I will experience new things, different things, better things and even harder things than I already have during my time in this life so far. I will take the qualities and new experiences from this trip home with pride and I will carry them with me onto my next adventure.

instagram — @imogenflorence

Imogen Florence

Written by

english & creative writing graduate.

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