Culture Shock

At first, everything was new and overwhelming. When I arrived in Hong Kong I found my way through the busy airport to customs and baggage claim. After locating my bags my top priority was food. I used my Visa to buy a cup of watermelon, which I practically swallowed whole, as I hadn’t eaten since brunch with JB 16 hours prior. I couldn’t convince my nervous stomach to handle the vegetarian option on the plane, which I’m convinced was a piece of styrofoam with canned hollandaise sauce poured over it. My master plan was to beat jet lag by staying awake through the flight in order to be tired when I arrived late at night in Zhong Shan. It worked; I was TIRED- the kind of tired where thoughts become sentences in the simplest form. I remember thinking, ‘Watermelon tastes good in China’. I waited for Howard at Popeye’s Chicken in the Hong Kong airport. He showed up with one of the players that he coaches, Dani. He apologized for their tardiness, explaining that it was Dani’s 21^st birthday and they were buying her an Ipad. She beamed, holding up her shopping bag. We whisked away onto a bus, riding 30 minutes into the heart of Honk Kong. I remember this night as a blur of people everywhere, pushing, cutting in line, and yelling. It felt similar to New York City in July: dirty, crowded, muggy and swarms of people rushing around with a sense of urgency, as if the building is on fire. I lugged my cargo off of the bus and onto a subway toward immigration. As I filled out my paperwork my tired eyes saw double. I handed the papers to a Chinese official who looked at my passport and visa uncomfortably thoroughly before letting me pass. We waited in line as I watched people run, holler, and bicker over taxis as if each one had a trunk full of gold. Twenty minutes later we found ourselves in a taxi taking us to Howard’s car. Before hitting the road we stopped at McDonald’s. I don’t even eat McDonald’s food in America, but here I was on the other side of the world under the golden arches. I settled for mushroom and onion soup. After a quick ‘bathroom’ stop (imagine a sink in the ground) we were finally on the way to Zhong Shan. I passed out immediately in the back seat and woke up an hour and a half later at my new doorstep. We carried my bags to my apartment, up three floors. The apartment was stuffy and smelled like mothballs, but I saw a bed (well, a mat and an air mattress on the floor) and couldn’t ask for any more. I’d been traveling for 36 hours. Howard said something about meeting in the morning but in my head the lights were already out.

My first meal in China

Waking up the next morning was a struggle. I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh dear. I couldn’t have looked more tired if I had swum here instead of flown. I splashed some cold water on my face and went to meet Howard with the directions I vaguely remembered him giving me the night before. Surely he didn’t say the tennis courts were on the roof. A block from my apartment I trudged with heavy feet up three flights of stairs to the roof of the wet market where there are two tennis courts and a clubhouse (I use this term loosely, as it’s no more than a humble room with couches, a table at which we eat, a TV and a stringing loom). I wandered into the clubhouse where I met Flash, Danimamma, and Oldman. Flash trains and teaches here with Howard and Dani. Danimamma schedules lessons, and Oldman looks after the property. We all stared at each other for a few seconds until Damimamma motioned to the food on the table. That’s all I needed to hear. Unfortunately, every dish had meat in it except for a cucumber and cilantro salad.  I was so hungry that those veggies tasted like birthday cake. Danimamma handed me the phone and Howard instructed me to go with Danimamma and Flash to the

The wet market below the courts

school. We walked a few silent blocks to the school where we served lunch (McDonalds, of course) to 70 kids. Did I mention I was TIRED?

That afternoon we played doubles. To me, this meant ‘go time, baby’. I may be 7,000 miles from home, but a tennis court is 36 feet wide by 78 feet long everywhere. Howard, Dani, Flash and I played a set. I played the best I could with feet of lead and arms of Jell-O. Dani and Flash are GOOD players. Regardless of my complaining muscles, being on the court felt amazing- like putting on a favorite sweater on a cold day. It is my comfort zone, where I am the freest version of me. That afternoon I started giving lessons. Most of the children know at least a little bit of English. Though, none of them know who Pocahontas is. As I mimed forehand impressions to the kids I made a mental note that I need to learn Mandarin.

This guy is 60 years old!

A week and a half later, I finally feel rested. A routine has set in; in the morning I roll out of bed and onto my mat for yoga and meditation. I Skype my friends and family back home (who are about to go to bed), stop by a fruit stand for lychee (my new favorite fruit- spiky red balls with a rind that holds sweet and juicy, translucent, fleshy goodness) and head up to the clubhouse for lunch. Every day at noon Oldman cooks lunch for us. He is a very good cook, using a variety of vegetables that he purchases each morning from local farmers at the wet market downstairs. Each day he feeds 6 humans, five turtles, two dogs, a rabbit and a chicken. All of the animals kept here are pets that have been saved from becoming someone’s dinner. I sit quietly and listen to everyone banter in Chinese as we eat, willing Howard to fill me in. As lunch finishes, I clean up the mess I’ve made due to my mediocre chopstick skills and say to Oldman, ‘Zhen haochi!’ (That was delicious!), butchering the

One of our pardoned pets behind the courts

pronunciation. This leads to an hour lesson from Oldman in speaking Chinese. While I learn, Dani and Flash play on their Iphones and Danimamma watches Chinese soap operas. Every once in a while someone will look up to interject their pronunciation of a word, or to laugh at my failed attempts to correctly say ‘bathroom’ (cesuo….why would you make ‘bathroom’ such a difficult word to say?!) As soon as lunch settles, we have tennis practice. As much as I enjoy teaching tennis, my spirit comes alive when I get to play. We either have a casual hit, or Howard puts us through drills that leave us exhausted, our shirts drenched in sweat. After practice we give lessons until late at night. When I get home I eat the dinner Oldman packed for me-vegetables and mushrooms. Before bed I message people back in America, wishing them to enjoy their day that is just beginning- the day that I have just finished.

This is not a very exciting routine, but it feels good to be grounded again. I have had plenty of excitement in the past few weeks. My psyche now craves discipline and my soul craves comfort. Now, as I sit writing in the clubhouse, Danimamma’s ‘Chinese Days of Our Lives’ is blaring in the background. Oldman hands me a piece of fig scone, fresh from the oven. I take a bite and know that I have found yet another place on this earth where I feel at home.

Planes, Trains, and Sidecars

Let’s travel back in time to March. Business at the tennis ranch in Texas was at a steady roar. We had just completed Spring Fantasy Camp (when the legends (Roy Emerson, Owen Davidson, Ross Case, and John Newcombe) take over the camp and the pros become overworked towel boys (and girl)). My soul started getting that restless feeling like air-popped popcorn in my stomach. I felt that I was going to explode if I didn’t make a change. I begged myself to have patience and wait for a golden opportunity that may or may not come. I practiced breathing deeply and wrote ‘Patience’ on my bathroom mirror so it would be the last thing I saw before bed and my first morning mantra. One day my roommate asked me if I’d like to go to China, as if she was asking me to go out for ice cream.

‘Yes. Yes I would’.

Mel went to China for the summer last year. She stayed three months and loved it. She reported that the boss, Howard, would do anything to make his coaches feel comfortable. Mel gave Howard my number and I spoke to him on the phone later that week. He told me that if I chose to come I’d be coaching children and have the opportunity to train for and play in a few amateur and pro tournaments. He also explained that he has his own project that involves teaching tennis to orphans from the local orphanage. I think he asked if I was interested, but I can’t be sure because I stopped listening and started packing my bags.

It was a long road getting to China between visa complications and a total of 36 hours of travel. The only consolation to this travel time came in the form of a small piece of candy. Before leaving the states I visited my brother in Colorado where I was given a (legal) ‘mile high’ candy as a parting gift. I forgot that I had shoved this candy into a pocket of my carry-on until I was in line at airport security. I had a choice to make- either get out of line and find an inconspicuous trash receptacle, or power through. I popped that little morsel in my mouth, put it under my tongue, and breezed through security like I owned the place. My memory gets hazy after that, but I do remember trying to keep up a conversation with a hippie woman who had a kokopelli tattoo on her calf. Needless to say, I had a very sleepy yet insightful flight after that.

Before leaving American soil, I had a six-hour layover in San Francisco. This was welcomed as I have friends in the city that I met last year when I spent the summer in Napa. The best of these is JB. I took the Bart from SFO to Montgomery Street where I walked 8 blocks in the wrong direction, still groggy from my first flight. Once redirected, I met JB for tea at one of those funky San Francisco coffee houses/art galleries where city folk shuffle around slowly holding mugs, whispering softly, and look overly-attentively at paintings of naked people. We ate brunch and pretended we had all the time in the world until reality caught up to us; JB needed to get back to work and I had a plane to catch. We caught a Sidecar (technology is amazing) back to JB’s office where he insisted that I take the car instead of the Bart to the airport. I resisted once in order to appear polite, but I knew he wouldn’t budge.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

‘Scared shitless’ I replied truthfully.

‘Don’t be. You’re going to do great. I’m so proud of you. Just have fun and BE CAREFUL’. With that pep talk, JB gave me the kind of hug you can still feel for minutes after it's over. I dipped into the car and took deep breaths. Dave, the Sidecar driver, startled me when he spoke up. He had been watching us in his rearview mirror. 

‘Yup. It’s moments like those that make you feel human’ he stated, very matter-of-factly.

‘Yup.’ I repeated with a frog in my throat.

Have you ever experienced a moment of clarity in your life? It’s as if time has stopped for a few seconds and you have stepped out of your skin, seeing your life through objective eyes. Everything is the same, but yet so foreign. In this moment you may ask yourself questions like ‘How in the world did I get here?’ or ‘What the eff am I doing?’ Have you ever experienced a moment of clarity while on an airplane heading to China? Thankfully, my MOC spurred only excitement and sureness. Every part of my mind and soul was happy with my decision even though I was terrified. I was distracted from this phenomenon by the massive peaks towering below us. Six hours into the flight we were high above Alaska. It was hard to decipher clouds from snow because everything looked so pure. I watched heaven and earth swirl together thousands of feet below. The sun was setting, but our airplane chased it, resulting in sunshine the whole way to China. Only when we arrived in Honk Kong did the sun finally win, consoling our loss with a beautiful dark blue sky- a backdrop for the shadowed mountain range looking over the city. As I took my first steps on a continent other than North America, more deep breaths came in and out of my lungs. Dave the Sidecar driver’s words came back to my mind.

These are the moments that make you feel human. 

I Believe I Can Fly....To China.....Tomorrow

I’m going to China tomorrow. I’m going to China tomorrow. I’m going to China tomorrow.

No matter how many times I run this sentence through my brain, I can’t make sense of it because I don’t fully understand what it means. In the literal sense it means that I will get up at 3 am tomorrow, say goodbye to my parents, and get on an airplane to Hong Kong. But that’s not what I’m having trouble digesting. A plan this brilliant begs the question; what will spending a year in China mean for my life? It will probably mean that my outlook will broaden, as it does with each new place we travel. It might be easier to see the world from a different perspective, as the people I will meet there were raised half a world away.  It could mean more confidence and independence as a result of spending a year far away from home. These speculations will probably come true, but it is impossible to fully know how seizing this opportunity will alter my life. That’s the terrifying part. That’s the exciting part.

Getting to this point was not easy. My visa was delayed twice due to the incompetent visa service. I could write a whole paragraph on this subject, but I’ll limit myself to this link to the Yelp! review I wrote on the company. If you’re looking for a laugh, click away> Don't Mess With Polka

After rescheduling my flight twice (for a pretty penny), the visa FINALLY arrived and my parents, my trusty mutt and I hit the road to Albuquerque. Before we left, my dad sat me down for a serious talk. We don’t do these pow-wows often, but when we do, some serious shit is figured out. And I cry. I always cry.

‘Darrah, this is your last chance to back out’ Curtis began. ‘I don’t want you going just because you believe there’s no other option’.

Back-story: Corkie and Curtis (the ‘rents’….my roommates for the past month, since I left Texas) have struggled with my decision to go to China. Back in March, Cork was driving to visit me in Texas with a friend of hers when I first mentioned the idea over speakerphone. Her friend started laughing like I had just made a hilarious joke (all of my jokes are hilarious). But the Corkster knew I wasn’t joking. Since then her and Curt have been pouring over every China-related article, news story, website, Ted Talk, pod cast, telegram, children’s book, carrier pigeon message, graffiti art, horoscope, and psychic reading. (I’m only kidding……they don’t know how to use pod casts). Every negative bit of information had been swimming through their brains and haunting their dreams for weeks.

‘So do you want to back out?’ my dad asked me.

‘Dad, no. I truly don’t’ I answered without hesitation. I went off on a brilliant soliloquy that was too perfect to quote, but the essence was this; it’s a big world with some scary humans walking around in it. I will not fully understand how my parents currently feel until I am a parent myself and my idiot adventurous child decides to run away to Timbuktu for a year. But I do know that my parents raised me in a way that has prepared me for this. They raised me to be smart- to be aware of my surroundings and listen to my gut. And they raised me to be vocal- to speak up if I am uncomfortable or in need of help. They raised me to be personable; if there are any nice, helpful, or kind people within a 50 mile radius, I will find them and they will be my new best friends (whether they like it or not). With these tools I believe that I can avoid most sticky situations, and find myself in some great spots. I promised them that I will be careful. Then I spoke my piece. I told my parents that I needed them to put their fears aside for a minute. See, my soul was craving belief.  Fear had moved in to my heart and set up camp, evicting confidence and mindfulness. The thought of leaving behind everything (and everybody) I know and love in order to travel to a foreign land where I know nothing and nobody terrified me. ‘What if’ questions raced in my brain, but none of them were positive.

‘What if I hate it? What if I’m lonely? What if I’m not good enough? What if I flop?’  ‘What if I accidentally eat a bite of puppy fried rice?’

These questions were incessant and unnerving. Right before this conversation with my parents, I had decided they needed to stop….or at least become positive. The only way to change these thoughts was to start believing in myself. Deep down in my soul lies the belief that I can grow, learn, laugh, love and thrive in China. And beyond that, I can encourage the people I meet in China to do the same. That is a beautiful thought. Sitting in the dining room of the house I grew up in, the morning sun blinded me as I looked across the table at my parents with tears in my eyes (I ALWAYS cry).

‘I believe I can do this and do it well. Do you?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.

Although my mom was also on the verge of tears, her voice didn’t falter with her reply.

‘Of course we do.’

I’m going to China tomorrow.