An Australian Shanghaied in Shanghai

Elizabeth Watt (L) [Photo provided to chinadaily.com.cn]

Like many suffering from professional inexperience and itchy feet, my first trip to China began with a Google search: 'ESL jobs abroad'. Initially, I was set on Shanghai. I knew the sophisticated seaside city wasn't exactly 'real' China. However, I confess, I took considerable comfort in this.

At the time I was just 18, I had spent the last six years in a sheltered country boarding-school, and I didn't speak a word of Mandarin. I was too wayward to follow my friends on the Australian pre-University pilgrimage to the UK. But I wasn't quite so foolhardy as to think I could just turn up myself around country as utterly unknown to me as the Middle Kingdom. Although that, as it turned out, was my China story.

Upon arrival in Shanghai, what I thought was a reputable school turned out to be a dodgy agent who went by the English name of 'Frank'. After showing up at the airport two hours late, Frank informed me that pre-arranged position had fallen through. But fortunately for me, there was even better position in Xi'an: a city of ancient sites and modern delights. The catch was that I had to be on the 11-hour sleeper train in the next 12 hours. And so-overwhelmed and unsure as to what else to do - West I went.

At the Xi'an station I was embraced by ebullient young teachers, who clung either of my arms like children learning to swim. The school, they informed me in their best-but-broken English, was just a 'quick trip' from the station. But another bewildering moment later, I found myself aboard a bullet train, watching the foreigner-friendly city of Xi'an disappear before my eyes. In an hour and a half I was in Baoji: a city that even the biggest China-buff could be forgiven for not knowing. While the prefecture of Baoji has almost four million people (more than Sydney), it didn't even rate a mention in my bible, the Lonely Planet. Of course, I found this somewhat unnerving. However my potential protestations were muffled not just by my lack of language, but also the response I received upon arrival.

My welcoming party at the Baoji station was some twenty-strong; all beaming, cheering and holding bunches of flowers. This entourage accompanied me to a business-class hotel in the South of the city, which had a fake rainforest in the foyer. I should rest and prepare, I was told, because tonight I would be blessed enough to banquet with the big-boss.

Everyone stood as the laoban (boss) entered the hotel restaurant that evening. Subsequently, I learnt that he ran not just of a school, but the entire suburb, which was built up around a company that made airline parts. Following our feast he gave a long speech, which my 'translator' reduced to 'welcome to China, you are great'. He then declared that, as I was far too young to be living on my own, he would add my hotel room and three meals a day to my contract.

So, while I had not intended to stray so far from the pages of my guidebook, I decided to give Baoji a go. And for the next four months, it brought me both delight and distress.

It was a far cry from the bright lights of Beijing, but Baoji offered me its own distractions. I wandered aimlessly for hours through its narrow alleys and overflowing markets. I marveled at the mystifying items that lined the aisles of my local supermarket, in which I recognized only Coca Cola, chewing gum and peanut butter. I traipsed around the Shanxi countryside, where every square-inch of sandy soil bore some symbol or scar of human inhabitance: be it a cave dwelling, a crumbling tomb or a gnarly apple tree. And I visited villages where portable phones had preceded plumbing.

But my outsider status meant I could never really appreciate these scenes in their natural state. As you may imagine, having a foreign-face automatically made you big in Baoji. It didn't help that I was the physical antithesis of the average Chinese person: tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, blue-eyed and very pale. Spectators literally stopped in their track as I passed; children followed; babies cried and even the dogs seemed curious.

My employees took every opportunity to capitalize on this small-town curiosity. I lead hundreds of yellow-uniformed students and staff to perform a calisthenics routine in front of thousands of spectators and TV crews at a national football tournament. I donned a long, white silk dress and attempted to imitated the gracefully moves of my female colleagues, while holding candles in my palms and miming traditional Chinese songs. I starred in a 'documentary' (as known as an advertisement), which included scenes such as me swimming laps while onlookers dressed as airhostess' clapped and cheered. And at the end of the year, all 600 students at the school received a person photo with me to go on their parent's mantelpiece.

Having grown up the relatively mono-cultural Australia 'outback', I understood Baoji's fascination in foreigners. And so I took most of these occurrences with good humor. But as the month wore on, the novelty wore off, and the loneliness set it.

China was a place where I have never been surrounded by so many people in my life, and yet I've also never felt so alienated. The language barrier was the most obvious problem. The teachers at my school gave me the nickname 'silent one', which was ironic considering I've been told by a disgruntled teacher I could talk under water with a golf-ball in my mouth. But it also seemed that no matter how many times I said 'pretend I'm Chinese', people would also be jumping out of their seat to fill up my glass, or open my door, and telling me ‘take a rest’. These well-meaning acts inevitably had the inverse effect: or making me feel even more out of place.

But despite my 'character building' experience (as my mother used to euphemistically describe it), I have maintained my curiosity about the 'real China'. This is obvious in that I returned to Beijing as soon as I had graduated. Although it must be said, I certainly appreciate the cosmopolitan comforts of the country's capital!

Elizabeth Watt has a Bachelor of Arts (Advanced) (Honours) from The University of Sydney. She is currently working as an Editorial Intern at the Beijinger.

The opinions expressed do not represent the views of the China Daily website.

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