M A C V A Y S I A

Our last weekend in China began with work. Most of Saturday was spent marking exams, compiling marks, packing things, etc. Then on Sunday it was time to go out and hit the town one last time. I brought along our videocamera so our kid can see where we hung around while waiting for him to make his big debut. I shot video in our room, around the campus, outside the college gate at the local restaraunts, and in the van all the way down to the bus stop where we got on the trusty 862B. I shot video of that too.

Accompanied by Ice, my brother from a Chinese mother, we changed to the 296 and got off at Tee Mall, where we began the celebration of our last weekend in China by going to Starbucks. Really, I’m going to miss Starbucks when I leave China. I didn’t often go to Starbucks in Malaysia, nor did I want to simply because A) it’s bloody expensive, and B) coffee does terrible things to my body, and C) did I mention it’s bloody expensive? But here in China, Starbucks has been somewhat of an oasis of comfortable familiarity. After a week on our campus on the outskirts of the city, our weekend trips to the city centre don’t need to be full of ‘authentic’ or ‘exotic’ experiences. We get enough of those from Monday to Friday. On the weekends, we want our java chip frappuccino.

Did I mention Starbucks here is bloody expensive? Hey, I think in Chinese money, so to me, shelling out RMB 34 for a java chip frappuccino is just north of completely insane. But it was our last weekend in China, so who cares? I whipped out a hundred-renminbi note and handed it to the barista, who looked at it very carefully the way they always do in China because of all the fake money. Then before I knew it the money was handed back to me. The guy knew about three words of English , none of them apparently sufficient to explain to me why he couldn’t take my money. But I already knew, having found myself in possession of a counterfeit ten and a fifty in the last few months. As if to drive the point home, the guy behind me in line, a local man who spoke pretty good English, said, “It’s fake. Just like China.” Looks like authenticity would be an issue this weekend after all.

I paid for the drinks with another hundred and sat down with Leen and Ice, and we sat there getting all hopped up on caffeine, talking about how ridiculous it was that HSBC’s ATM had given me phoney money, etc. Then Alain and Jija arrived to share in our joy. They gave us a lovely going-away gift: Starbucks coffee mugs.

We went into the mall so Leen could buy some sandals that wouldn’t hurt her feet, then strolled across the street for lunch at another place I’ll really miss: Newland Pizza. What better way to celebrate our last weekend in China than with pizza? Hey, don’t they claim to have invented pizza anyway?

Of course, on our last weekend in China, we just had to follow up our pizza feast with dessert at Dairy Queen. Mmm…peanut buster parfait.

After that we rolled into Grandview Mall for some window shopping, and maybe even some real shopping. Actually we went in there just so we could kill time before dinner. But some shopping was inevitable. We walked into a shop that sells those beautiful Chinese ink and watercolour prints, some with lovely calligraphy. A student had made several for Leen and me, and Ice had had one made for us; now we wanted to look for one we could give to someone back in Malaysia. Jija thought they were nice too and decided to buy one that only cost RMB 50. She pulled out a hundred and gave it to the guy who’d been telling her all the prices, a guy who struck me as a little odd because he was quoting higher prices than the ther guy who worked there. We all continued looking at the lovely artwork until I asked Jija, “Hey, are you going to buy that one?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m just waiting for that guy to come back with my change.”

“Maybe he won’t come back,” I joked.

He didn’t come back.

Turned out the guy who worked there had no idea who that other guy was, and when Jija was ready to pay, that other guy snapped up the opportunity to snap up some easy cash. He had followed us into the shop with treachery in mind. That’s why he quoted higher prices than the other guy: he was planning to take the money, hopefully before the other guy figured out what was going on. He didn’t get the several hundred he was hoping for, but he certainly got away with some money before the other guy noticed. Before we all noticed. I wonder if he went to Starbucks? For a java chip frappuccino?

Jija felt pretty violated by the whole experience. It might not have been so bad if it had been an isolated incident, but the fact is that ripping off foreigners is way too commonplace here. Anyone who says they spent any considerable length of time in China without ever getting pickpocketted, or conned, or just plain ripped off, is full of shit. I’m quite proud of myself that I’ve never had my phone or wallet or anything else stolen from me here (it’s actually a real accomplishment considering how often it happens), but even then it’s almost impossible to completely avoid getting ripped off somehow. Now that’s an authentic Chinese experience.

The ladies made themselves feel better by going to another shop and checking out some really cheap headcarves (cheap but pretty, and of course this being China there were even some that had Louis Vuitton written all over them). Then we continued our last weekend in China by having another feast—at an Indonesian restaurant.

There we were: two Malay women, a Frenchman, a Chinese guy and a Canadian, having a toast over a table covered with Indonesian dishes. There we had a toast to friendship, to fun, and to China.

After parting ways with Alain and Jija—who we hope to see again real soon—Ice and Leen and I headed for home. But of course we stopped at the Garden Hotel first, to use the cleanest bathroom in Guangzhou. I even shot video of that.

Later that night as I sat in Ice’s room watching Italy defeat France in the World Cup (why, Zizou, why?!) , drinking Nescafe 3-in-1 from my new Starbucks mug, I thought about how funny it seemed that Alain didn’t care. He doesn’t really like football, and he didn’t really care about the World Cup. He thought it would be cool that his favourite Italian restaurant would give him a discount if France won, but other than that, he couldn’t care less. If you ask him about football, you’ll get to hear the word faggots in a delightful French accent that makes it almost sound like the word forget.

I also thought about all those people who come to China—or any other country for that matter—and try so hard to have ‘authentic’ experiences. They crave the exotic, and when they find Starbucks and pizza and shopping malls they feel disappointed. But they shouldn’t, because that’s China too. I’m glad we’ve been able to explore different areas, from the glitzy city centre to other parts of the city where you won’t find a Starbucks—or any other coffee shop. And we’ve experienced plenty of things that outsiders would consider authentic or exotic or whatever. But the fact is, everything we’ve seen here is somehow the real China, even Starbucks or pizza or Grandview Mall…and even fake money.

I wonder if the hundred that guy stole from Jija was fake? Now that would be poetic justice. I can just picture him standing at the counter at Starbucks being told he can’t have his java chip frappuccino because his money isn’t authentic. Hah! Welcome to China, buddy.