Teresa Chappell
Sep 1, 2018 · 4 min read

Independent Woman

Lookin’ like a 包子 with my 包子

Wuhan, China

31 August 2018

I wake up this morning at 7:27 — one whole hour before my alarm is supposed to go off. I had gone to bed late the night before and was really looking forward to a full eight hours of sleep, something my body did not permit. So I sit in bed for a few moments more before getting out my laptop to catch up with what my friends have been up to back in the states. The internet sucks me into its trenches for another hour. It’s only when my alarm actually does go off that I’m shocked out of my trance.

I should probably have breakfast, I think. My phone’s clock reads 8:36. This is only my second morning here in Wuhan, and I don’t know what there is to eat around here. When I studied in Hangzhou, China it was easy. There was a strip of street right across from the school campus that was filled with rows and rows of cheap street food options that we fondly called 垃圾街(la ji jie) or “trash street.” From what I could tell, Wuhan didn’t have a 垃圾街. I remember that one of the local teachers had told me that there was a street close to campus that had some good restaurants, which seems like a promising prospect. I quickly shoot my co-fellow, Gregg, a message: “Hey hey, do you wanna grab breakfast? If you’re awake, maybe around 9:15?”

It’s 9:20 and Gregg still hasn’t responded. He’s definitely not awake. I’m going to have to go alone.

All my friends know that going to a new place by myself is one of the hardest things for me to do. Why? I’m not sure. Chalk it up to social anxiety. At this point, you may be saying: “But you moved all the way to China by yourself!” And you’re right, I did. But I knew I was going to be greeted by a supportive group who would show me around. My problem is that I rely too much on that group — I even do this at home. Once the group becomes unavailable, I freeze up and barely leave my house unless I know exactly where I’m going and what I’ll be doing. In Wuhan, I don’t know where I’m going or even where the popular breakfast places are.

At 9:30, I check my phone again. My message remains unread. I take a few deep breaths and look at myself in the mirror. You got this Teresa. I set my face in a steely look of determination. I slip on my sneakers, grab my purse, and walk out the door before I can lose the ounce of courage I manage to scrounge up.

I make my way down the street toward the campus entrance. As I near the entrance I see a few people carrying bags with a street food I recognize from when I studied in Hangzhou. I continue walking in the general direction that they are coming from and I find the street that the local teacher had pointed out. Rather than street food, this street is mostly lined with restaurants. There’s a restaurant on the corner that looks promising. Two girls walk in arm in arm and I almost follow them, but out of the corner of my eye I see a young man carrying a bag of street food. I keep walking.

That’s when I see it. At the end of the street there is a small 包子店(bao zi dian) — a storefront shop that specializes in steamed buns with savory fillings. There were a few people crowded around it when I approached, that’s how you know the place is good. I claim a spot in line and scan the menu for characters and words I recognize, while also using Pleco (a Chinese dictionary app) to fill any blanks. Finally I’m at the front of the line and I order in what I can only imagine is perfect Chinese, three 青菜香菇包子(qing cai xiang gu bao zi), or Chinese cabbage and mushroom steamed buns.

The 包子店owner hands me my three 包子and I could not feel more accomplished. I, Teresa Chappell, on my second morning in Wuhan, just got breakfast by myself with no help from anyone. I am a god. I begin to walk back to my apartment and yes, there is a spring in my step.

I’m not five feet away from the 包子店 when it starts to rain. At first it’s only a drizzle, but within seconds there is a full on torrential downpour.

It feels as if everyone on the street has vanished, there are only a few stragglers left and they all had umbrellas. I am not one of those lucky few. I clutch my 包子to my chest and make a run for it. I’ll be damned if anyone rained on my parade, I worked too hard for my breakfast and I want to eat it!

The streets transform into small unavoidable streams. With each step, my sneakers divide the flowing water, engulfing my shoes. Big pellets of rain drop on my head, soaking me completely through. Almost there, almost there. After what feels like an eternity, I finally arrive at my apartment building. I scramble up the stairs to my front door and as soon as I’m inside, I strip off my wet clothes, jump back into my pajamas, and open my bag of 包子.

A huge grin spreads across my face as I pull out the first steamed bun. They’re still dry. I take a massive bite and it tastes like coming home. The other two 包子 are gone within minutes.

Teresa Chappell

Written by

Welcome to my public diary. Princeton in Asia Teaching Fellow in Wuhan, China

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