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It’s 2013. I’ve just turned eighteen and apart from a few ferry rides to France and one holiday to see family in Denmark, I haven’t travelled much. Certainly not on my own or without my parents. But here I am, landing in Beijing after a long anxiety-fuelled flight, bleary eyed and terrified. China! Everything I know about this country comes from animated films and school history lessons. And that’s why I’m here. I’ve signed up to a school exchange programme where I go to Beijing with ten of my classmates and we live and eat alongside Chinese students. The students turn out to be a lot younger than us. They’re thirteen, and as I sit in a classroom with them, I realise they are far more academically advanced than I was at their age. It’s my first culture shock, and the first of many. It happens on Easter Sunday of that year. The student I’m staying with, let’s call her Blair, has to go to school. Not her usual high school, but a tutoring session that runs on the weekend. I’m amazed by her dedication, or rather her obedience, and I admire it. The second culture shock. So Blair goes off to school and I go off into the city with Blair’s father. Let’s call him Daniel. These are their English names, of course. As I’m in the back of the car, Daniel speaks to me in broken English. He speaks English well, better than I speak Mandarin, but still, our conversations come to a natural end as we silently agree there’s not much more to be said that makes sense. There are only so many times I can say Xièxiè - “Chi-eh Chi-eh” - Thank you. Daniel asks me how I am finding Beijing so far - it’s been a week. During this time, I have climbed the Great Wall, walked through the Forbidden City, learnt the sobering history of Tiananmen Square. I’ve also cooked traditional dumplings, been enthralled by the artistry of a Peking opera performance, and I’ve shouted out whilst standing on the Heavenly Centre Stone in the Temple of Heaven. For a kid used to the sights of south east London, I’m pretty overwhelmed to say the least. China is nothing like I expected and yet, exactly the wild experience I had hoped for. I tell him it’s different. For the remainder of my trip, when asking for my opinion on something typically Chinese, Daniel questions me, a kind smirk playing on his lips. “It’s different?” he asks me. I always nod yes. I relax into the seat until we get pulled over by the police. From what I can read of the policeman’s body language and Daniel’s response, there’s a road closure maybe, some sort of accident. We have to go a different way. It seems to not be a problem, and Daniel drives on taking another route. He tells me we’re going to ‘Tea City’. It’s official title is Qingxi Tea Market, located in the Xicheng district. He informs me it’s a big shopping centre full of tea shops and that we’re going to meet a friend. I tell him I’m looking forward to it. Of course I am. I’m English. I live for tea. When we arrive, Daniel leads me to a small shop, barely bigger than a living room, and there I meet his friend, the owner. I say hello, how are you, and thank you (the only phrases I know in the language), and then we settle down to drink tea. I learn of their friendship through watching them chat, observing their easy smiles. They teach me traditional techniques of straining leaves and making tea. I’m schooled in the lucky ceramic pig on the table who bathes in the leftover liquid that doesn’t quite fit in the cup. I have a notebook on me, and through sketches and single words we do manage to converse in some unexpected way. When we arrive home later, I ask Blair how her lesson was. She tells me it was good, asks me if I had a fun day. Daniel laughs. He knows me by now, knows it was different. Beautiful, delicious, and yes, wonderfully different.