A banquet survival guide

I woke up in some hotel room I'd never seen before in Danjiankou, Hubei province, with no idea how I got there.

Not that I could even really see any of my mysterious surroundings - my glasses were missing. But, strangely enough, my coat and shoes were still on.

My upper lip was split, and an angry knot on the side of my head was pumping pain across my scalp.

My first thoughts - after "Ouch!" - were, "Where am I, and where are my glasses?"

I realized I needed to answer the second question before I could figure out the first. Then, I thought it would be easier to look for my glasses if I had, well, my glasses.

Unfortunately, that epiphany didn't help much. After pawing at various blurs in my range of sight, I finally located my missing spectacles near the desk.

Then, I started looking for my phone, hoping messages or missed calls might yield clues as to what happened.

But while I still had my mobile, somehow, the battery was missing. Curiously, the back of the phone had been replaced after the battery was extracted from the device, rendering it a dead, hollow shell of a K-Touch.

The person with whom I was traveling to see the city's massive reservoir project, Xiao Guo, entered and announced it was time to eat. Breakfast was the last thing I wanted, but I had no choice.

At the table, I made small talk and listened for any hints as to what had happened since yesterday's lunch. The last thing I could remember was clinking glass goblets of Erguotou liquor with several tables of locals.

After the meal, we returned to our rooms. I was still trying to piece together earlier events but was more immediately concerned about figuring out what to do about my phone.

Xiao Guo knocked again. I asked if it was time to go. She looked puzzled.

She said something that made me realize I had just eaten dinner, not breakfast.

I asked her point blank, "What happened?"

"You don't know?" she said, giggling.

Apparently, it had been a boisterous banquet that incapacitated many participants, including me. Informed I wasn't the worst casualty, I felt a mix of survivor's guilt and victim's pride.

Joining baijiu-drenched formal Chinese banquets is something I had done hundreds of times without any problem. The worst that happens - other than that day - is I become braver about trying new Chinese vocabulary, and I get very smiley. The absolute worst is I get a fierce urge to go to the restroom.

And it had taken all of those dozens upon dozens of dinners to grasp local banquet culture's nuances.

One of the trickier tasks of cultivating my table manners was learning to drink - that is, to accept bountiful toasts and gulp copious spirits.

From that (missing) day forth, I entered the second phase of developing Chinese banquet etiquette - learning how not to drink, gracefully accepting bountiful toasts yet gulping as little liquor as possible.

I sometimes cheat.

When toasted, I often suggest we "he yi kou (drink one sip)" rather than ganbei (dry the glass)". If I can, I just tilt back the goblet and let the baijiu wash over my lips, merely giving the appearance of imbibing. If I can't get away with just a sip, I propose half a glass. And if I must empty the goblet, I've learned that puckering one's face afterward indicates a reluctance to have much more.

Learning how to drink in China took time and learning how not to was an even harder lesson. But it's one I'll probably never forget, well learned on a day I'll probably never remember.