A Storm and a Teacup
Not quite shanghaied, but scammed by the locals at a tea ceremony during Shanghai’s typhoon season.
PITCHED TO: ‘Divine Magazine’. The editor accepts different types of stories (good and bad experiences) that are completely different to the norm of travel writing.
I’ll be honest with you — even as I sat donning a red Qing dynasty hat with black pigtail and watching a man pour boiling hot water from a teapot over a ceramic frog, I honestly thought I was getting the authentic Chinese experience. Little did I know my wallet was about to be relieved of some serious Yuan. I realised I was being taught a very valuable travelling lesson which could’ve ended up with a very different ending. I was about to be scammed.
Now my experience of being conned isn’t some horror story like many tales you hear. It started quite amicably and how many travel stories do — with the meeting of new people.
As I stepped off at People’s Square station (人民广场) in the heart of Shanghai, the fog hit me, along with thousands of other masked commuters on their way to work in the midst of morning rush hour. I was dazzled by the neon reflecting off of the skyscrapers from the many advertising boards in the city. Toots of car horns brought me back to reality.
And then contact was made. I was approached by a woman, Xielin (apparently, Shirley is the English equivalent) and a man, Wiju (there was no equivalent, I was assured) who wanted their photo taken. Now this may sound strange, but I can tell you now, many people in China asked for photos with me and other westerners. We seemed to be novelties. So I obliged.
It began to rain. And I mean rain. As if someone had pierced a giant bag of water that stretched the sky. I thought it was hail!
They ushered me forward and suddenly I was running for cover with them. As we stood under tree coverage, they said I should try an authentic Chinese style tea ceremony. I considered the offer and weighed up my chances of a productive day against the current weather. I figured it would keep me dry, probably warm and would be the sort of cultural experience I’d come across the world for anyway. They seemed nice enough. Nothing sinister or untoward about them. Oh, what a mistake!
Within minutes, I was dashing through narrow streets with laundromats, restaurants and hotels blurring by whilst Xielin led my hand and Wiju laughed and jogged alongside me. I noticed people were thinning as they retreated for shelter and we were soon the only three on a side street. The place was maze.
The front door had a sliding view panel. That should’ve been my first warning, but I think the rain was in my eyes (that’s what I tell people anyway). Like some covert operation, the person behind the door slid back the panel, his eyes met ours. He was greeted by his associates in a fast Chinese exchange and then the door swung inwards and I was promptly ushered into a dark corridor before the door slammed back to the frame and was bolted.
Now I was feeling slightly apprehensive. I’d had tea before. It was never this top secret. But cultures are different. I thought perhaps they wanted to make it exclusive, so I proceeded on down the corridor.
I was led into a side room where lavender incense wisps floated up to the ceiling. a pipe and string compilation was softly filling the box room. An old Chinese man sat, head bowed facing a tea set — two teapots and three tiny china cups — and a ceramic frog centrepiece. In his hand he held a fan.
I looked at Xielin and Wiju for some comfort and they both smiled and offered me a seat. They sat either side of me and all those gangster films; The Godfather, Goodfellas, Reservoir Dogs and the like came to mind. Would I ever see the fog and typhoon of Shanghai?
I was told to lower my head before the red Qing dynasty hat with black pigtail was applied. I received a little round of applause for that.
The old man poured hot water from the pastel green teapot into a smaller brown one and waved the fan over it ceremoniously. Xielin and Wiju nodded encouragingly at me. The small teacups were then filled slowly, and the aroma of Jasmin and dried fruit was thrust under my nose. Then it was three sips, with a swirling interval between each before the ceremony was repeated three more times with three other tea: black, green and fruit. In between this, he poured the contents of the green teapot over the ceramic frog as Wiju whispered to me that it was good luck to douse the frog in water. And stroke it too. A cleansing of the soul exercise, apparently.
It sounds cultural and exciting, and in a way, it was, but the surroundings and the fact I was squeezed up against two people I’d met less than fifteen minutes earlier made this experience less enjoyable than it should’ve been.
The old man looked at me and muttered an incantation in Chinese. I was quickly informed what he actually said was “That’s the ceremony completed. That’ll be 500 Yuan.”
I quickly did the calculation and worked out it was about 50 UK pounds. I tried to rationalise that it seemed excessive for a ten-minute ceremony, but it fell on deaf ears.
Suddenly, the doorman came into the room and stood over us all. Those few steps he took were enough for me to get my wallet out and cough up the money.
Then they all laughed and I had pats on the back. I thought for a second it had been an elaborate hoax, but it wasn’t. It seemed to be the laughter at another victim.
And thankfully, that was it.
The hat was removed, I was ushered out as quickly as I had been brought in and before I could think, I was back out in the rain. Xielin and Wiju shook my hand and rushed off into the rain like the awkward exchange the morning after (perhaps for their next victim) and I never saw them again.
I obviously realise this story could’ve turned out much worse and I often think of my general stupidity at being led so easily into a scam. But that’s part of travelling. You win some and you lose some. It’s just about trusting the gut instinct and not getting overpowered. You learn lessons and as long as you come out (mostly) unscathed, it makes a great story.
Shanghai turned out to be a wash out because the typhoon hit a few hours later, but the people I met, aside from my tea buddies, were fantastic people. And the local food was great too!
But I’m still here. Alive. Racking up the countries and enjoying travelling. I might’ve been in hot water for a time, but at least I wasn’t alone. Maybe that doused ceramic frog did bring me luck after all.
