Extra Peanut Sauce // Shenzhen pt. III
On the best days, I wake up with my alarm at 6:20 am. The phone is strategically placed on top of my running clothes, which are on top of my running shoes. I keep a long metal pole beside my bed, which I use to open the curtains before my body has woken up enough to get past the double-strength gravity field around my bed. My view looks down through the alley to the street, which won’t come alive for another twenty minutes. That’s the window I need to run to a quieter neighborhood before the traffic becomes an obstacle.
I lace my runners and head down to street level, forced to run down the dark, dingy fire escape because I was never given a key to get out the front door, and lack the Chinese to ask for one. A few weeks ago, a lost tiger was sleeping at the bottom of the stairs, and I didn’t see it until I was two steps away and activated the motion-sensing light. By the time the adrenaline fog faded from my brain and I realized it was probably a house cat, I had already shrieked and sprinted back up to surface level. I took the elevator for a few days after that. There was a poster for the lost cat in that very elevator for a few days — they’ve been taken down now, which I take to be good news.
My street is at its most beautiful at dawn, soft light filtering through a tunnel of overhanging vines. A real canopy complete with birdsong was not something I expected to have on my Shenzhen doorstep, and I’m sure to take a minute to notice it all coming to life. I have a few options now — down towards the seawall to watch the sun rising above the mountains of Hong Kong, or head inland to Mount Nanshan. I could plunge into the narrow maze of the market, emerging near the canal to join the other morning runners. When I first arrived, I stuck by the oceanfront every morning for three weeks. Looking out over the water made me feel closer to home, and gave me space to breathe away from the crush of buildings and traffic. But I got bored of pacing the same linear track day after day, and the call of unexplored neighborhood alleyways needed to be addressed. After three months, I’m developing an increasingly rich mental map of the web of side roads surrounding the known landmarks. I love the feeling of bursting out of a tiny alleyway, and finding myself on a familiar avenue; another dark area of the map filled in, sights and smells neatly filed away under the appropriate geographic label.
If I’m quick, I can blast myself with a cold shower and meet my co-worker Jojo at the gate for our morning commute. We walk down that same tunnel of trees, now filled with traffic and dust. The construction workers line up outside their site at 6:30, and the schoolchildren start their morning songs and exercises at 7:30. By 7:45, the lady selling fish through her front gate has run out of stock, leaving only the lingering smell. Many Chinese households like to buy their groceries in the early morning, when it is freshest.
At first, Jojo would help me order breakfast, but I eventually learned enough Chinese to order myself three steamed veggie buns and three meat buns. The lady who runs the bun shop is very busy during the morning rush hour, but I enjoy walking past after work and seeing her help her young son with his homework in the evenings, when everything has slowed down. I wish I had the courage to ask for a photo of the two of them, sitting down after a long day amidst the neatly stacked towers of bamboo steaming trays. One week, I studied my numbers so that I could understand the price she quoted for my bun order, rather than offering her my phone to type the bill into WeChat. I was proud when I understood the number, and she told my co-worker that my Chinese was improving. I’m afraid I haven’t improved much since then, but fortunately I only need a few words for our ritual morning transaction.
Things are simple for those first few hours of the day, before I get to the office and open up my to-do list. After a summer trying to unlearn my compulsive obsession with productivity, I’ve fallen back into my worst habits — checking and re-checking a collection of lists, organized using colored labels, due dates, and nested sub-lists. There was a time in university where the only time I would allow myself to close the to-do app was when I was too drunk to complete any tasks. I’m not quite there yet, but it would only take a few more months of office life. This seems a poor lifestyle for someone in their early 20s; personally, I know I’m not designed for it. Rewarding in short bursts, but not sustainable.
The other day, I was talking to a close friend about my current job description. I told him that I spend the bulk of my day combing through famous YouTube and Instagram accounts, cold emailing them to see if they’re interested in doing a merch line with our company. Normally they don’t respond, and those that do tend to be flaky and difficult to work with.
He laughed and said, “if you asked me to design a special kind of hell, just for you, I wouldn’t have the creativity to come up with such a perfect one”. I have not made a single sale. I’m not very good at sales — but to be fair, I originally came here to work on another project; which was unfortunately scrapped due to funding and time constraints. It isn’t so bad — I get to work with good friends, and I’m in China for god’s sake. Many people would consider this a dream job, to work with creative people and generate fun merch for their communities to wear with pride. Really it’s an excellent job and an excellent company — it’s unfortunate that I march to a different drum.
Fortunately, it’s only a few hours before the noon lunch break. The Chinese have really figured out the office lunch break. We all line up at a nearby cafeteria, and bring our trays upstairs to sit together and gossip. When I had more male coworkers I could avoid the gossip, but now that I’m the only man on the lunch excursion, my vote holds little sway. Lunch is the easiest time of day to eat vegetarian. With my rice, I have a choice between broccoli and oil, cauliflower and oil, green beans and oil, and hot peppers with oil. This is the real reason for my morning runs. I usually make it worse by grabbing an ice-cream bar from the 7/11 on the way back to the office; but hey, I earned it. The office calls me the Snack King, a title I proudly inherited from my father (though my mom calls him a snacking monster…). The oily lunch and ice cream sets me up nicely for the traditional afternoon nap. The whole office passes out under blankets for an hour, eye masks on and lights out.
By the time we rub the sleep out of our eyes, the end of the workday is in sight. A few times a week, I take off after work to meet Ed at the climbing gym. Days are getting shorter, so I no longer see the sun setting as I walk to the subway station. I realize that anew every day, and it makes me equally sad every time. I miss the sun when it’s gone, and I never want to miss a sunrise or a sunset. That’s what I get for hanging around too many photographers.
Despite the post-sunset blues, commutes can be made extraordinary by a good book. I’ve been through several while I’ve been here, and my Kobo allows me to have a good dozen on the go at a time, opening up an author who suits my mood. Lately, my Dad’s books have brought simple joy and humor into that erstwhile gloomy part of the day. I’m fortunate to have many parts of my upbringing recorded with thoughtfulness and elegance, and to be able to learn about my Dad’s life as well. When I’m lonely and traveling, his stories touch me that much more deeply. I’ll also try to read about the place where I’m living; in this case, Age of Ambition by Evan Osnos and Factory Girls by Leslie Chang. Both have been eye-opening reads about the shocking changes which have occurred in China in the last century. But that breathtaking pace of change continues, and the trouble with all of the statistics and insights about this country is that they are four or five years out of date. In other words, completely unrepresentative of the present.
Once I make it to the climbing gym, the rest of the world fades away to leave me with a good friend and a fun set of boulder problems. I’ve become a much stronger climber since coming here, and I’m beginning to get a feel for the delicate tension and balance of forces required to climb smoothly, rather than muscling through climbs with brute force. It often serves as an important reminder to carry into the next day. To move with a wholesome awareness, instead of fighting to grab the next hold, one shaking limb at a time.
I remember reading about other Cansbridge fellows sticking to the same circuit of restaurants during their internships, where they knew one or two safe menu items to order. I scoffed at them at the time, but now I’m in the same boat. Jojo is a foodie, and has shown me a half dozen excellent little places for an authentic dinner. I’ve got a dumpling place, a won-ton soup place, a Chinese burger place, and a salad place. The owner of the peanut noodle shop across the street doesn’t even ask for my order anymore — though patrons are always curious to find a white guy in this closely-guarded neighborhood favorite.
In a country where you don’t speak the language, these mealtime rituals can be wonderful friendships. It’s easy to get caught up in your own head, failing to notice the beautiful rhythms of your new life, and focusing on the comforts you miss from back home. But a friendly smile of recognition from the old man in the noodle shop kitchen is as good as a hug from a close friend, when you’ve gone through another day of averted gazes on the subway and ill-concealed stares in the street. As much as I dream about getting out of the megacity and disappearing into the mountains of British Columbia, I know that I’ll miss my everyday in Shenzhen just as much.
Plus, I think the old man at the noodle shop has started to give me extra peanut sauce.
Maybe Shenzhen will miss me too?
This is Part III of a series. In Part I, I covered the long journey which eventually found me working at a startup in Shenzhen. Part II is about the environmental considerations of overseas travel, and how I’m dealing with those on this trip. Thanks for following me on this adventure!
I’ve been avoiding writing about it while in-country, but I’m going to publish a secret Part IV with my observations living in a country with tight political controls and a growing conflict right next door. In the interest of re-entering the country, it won’t be attached to my identity in any public format; I certainly won’t be posting it on Facebook or Medium. The only way you’ll hear about it is by signing up to receive a link when it’s posted, which you can do here.
