Heading south to discover the simple life

As another drunken reveler staggered out of a bar in northwest Beijing's student hub of Wudaokou and emptied the contents of her stomach in front of me, I wondered whether standing outside 7/11 at 2 am drinking beer with foreign students was how I wanted to spend my time in China. Moments later, a bottle flew past my head and into somebody else's face. Now, I was sure that standing outside 7/11 at 2 am wasn't what I wanted to do. Aside from partying, there are hundreds of things to do in Beijing but one thing remains constant: you will not escape foreigners or the English language.

My decision to leave Beijing took me to Xichang tucked in the rugged mountains of southwest China's Sichuan Province. I'd found a teaching job in the sleepy town of just over 100,000 known for its satellite launch center and sizeable population of people from the Yi ethnic group. I arrived at night into what appeared to be an unremarkable place. However as I left my hotel the next morning, I knew I had found what I was looking for. The air was clean, the sky was blue and majestic mountains surrounded the city. Yi women dressed in beautifully elaborate traditional clothes.

It was lunchtime and my first Sichuan meal was required. The dish I struggled to order arrived and I tucked in gamely. Before long, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The spices were mind-numbing. Three bottles of water later with tongue still ablaze, I decided I would "man-up" and finish the dish. Every eye in Xichang appeared fixated on me. Most locals had never seen a foreigner, and they found my antics terribly amusing. 

That morning was an eye-opener as I had my first taste of "provincial" China. However aside from the abounding natural beauty, there was also a less pleasant side that involved people indulging in many of the vices rampant in Beijing that I had tried to escape.

That night, one of my new colleagues invited me out for a meal of shredded yak meat washed down with "rice beer." Being the VIPs we were, we drank for free. But later in the night, something unusual happened. Something I had never witnessed in Beijing. 

A policeman climbed through the window into the bar and sat with us. He ordered beer for everyone. His slurred Sichuanese was beyond my comprehension, but we managed to communicate through the passing of cigarettes and the clinking of beer glasses. It was late and the policeman insisted on driving us home. Upon getting into his car, it was evident he was in no state to drive. He dangled his car keys and asked if one of us would help. Astounded, I froze. My friend took the keys, switched places with the policeman who promptly fell asleep and safely drove us home. 

As Xichang and I got to know each other better, my archive of tales grew evermore extensive. Some of the tales are too outrageous to be retold in a family newspaper. Perhaps the only way to find out is to escape the rat race of Beijing and see for yourself.