Dumplings

by Niko Frost (United States of America)

Making a local connection China

Clunk. I opened my eyes. Yet again, I was woken up to the sound of the large Italian man bunking above me noisily descending from his bed to go use the toilet. I blindly fumbled around my bed until I found my phone and checked the time: 5:00 am. It was way too early for this, but he was up, and I guess I would be too. I quietly donned my slippers and went downstairs into the warm, leafy common area of the hostel. A hidden gem I happened upon in Beijing, the space held a clean, friendly atmosphere, and a consistent trickle of late-night party-goers was slipping through the door as I walked in. Realizing that any semblance of silence had already been broken by the numerous people opening the front door, I set out to make myself some coffee and sit down by one of the enormous windows offering a clear view of Beijing’s happening Sanlitun neighborhood. As the sun came up, I wondered what I was going to do that day. I was on my own, a teenager in an entirely new country. The Cyber Monday flight deal I’d found was too good to pass up, but now that I was here it was overwhelming; I had no knowledge of Chinese, and had just learned how to use the multitude of apps required to do basically anything in China. Still, though, the day was mine. I decided to go explore the neighborhood once the sun peaked above the skyscrapers dominating the horizon. Walking down the busy street outside the flashy apartment building in which my hostel was hidden, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes faced up. Never before, had I seen so many tall buildings. Looking down the busy main street, it felt like they were never ending. My wonder was short-lived, however, as I was abruptly jolted to reality by a tuk-tuk blaring their horn at me - I was stopped in the middle of the street, and they had nearly hit me. I apologized in broken Chinese and moved on, my face red with embarrassment. Don’t worry, it’ll make a funny story for later, I told myself as I hurried along to the sidewalk. Beijing is the kind of city that I could be content in walking for hours without actually doing anything; there was, truly, always something happening. The brightly colored billboards and vendors calling out their wares drew me into every store, and people often stopped me in the street simply to practice their English with me. Eventually, after much insistence from my stomach, I wandered into a little dumpling shop. Outside the door, several metal pans filled with steaming hot baozi were stacked on top of one another, and inside the softly-lit interior an older woman was making tea eggs. I walked in and immediately was approached by the woman and her husband, who gently grabbed my hand and, without saying a word, guided me to a table. I laughed to myself a bit - they could see how helpless I was. I sat down and sheepishly pointed at the pans of baozi outside, and the woman rushed to grab one for me. I thanked her and began to eat, aware that both her and her husband were avidly watching every bite I took. “You like?” she asked hopefully. I gave her a big smile and nodded, and her face melted in relief, and after that I made sure to really emphasize how much I enjoyed every morsel. Finally, I finished (she kept bringing me more), and I used Google Translate to ask how much I owed. She responded, with her own phone, “Nothing”. I insisted that I pay, but she refused, and I eventually gave up and thanked her profusely. She only asked that I come back, and I did - every day of my trip. Each day, she gave me more baozi than before, and each day she refused to let me pay, only asking for my company. I cried when I left on my final day; never had I been shown that much kindness by a stranger. I’ll never forget that woman, or her little dumpling shop.