We Don’t Accept Foreigners

When I first moved to China, five years ago, I was told that the worst time to travel within China was during the Golden Week holiday. Imagine a billion Chinese taking selfies wherever you go, for seven consecutive days. So, every year since then, I left China during the holiday season, and instead explored the nearby countries. Every year, except this one. Thanks to the pandemic, I had no choice but to be in China during this holiday. Well, I had a choice to stay in my apartment like most of my friends did, but that would have been sensible, and I’m more of a foolish and hungry type. So, I called one of my Chinese friends, packed my bags, and went out to explore Gannan, the Tibetan autonomous region.

When we arrived at the Lanzhou Zhongchuan International Airport, our driver picked us up, and took us straight to a local restaurant for the authentic beef noodle soup. He said that the drive to Gannan would take around four hours, so it would be better for us to eat something first. I added a few spoons of chili paste in my soup, the driver scratched his head, so I laughed and added a few more because I was feeling adventurous (not sure why I do these kinds of things to myself.) The driver shook his head and so did my friend. “You’ll pay for it later,” she said. I smiled and slurped my soup. “Hào chī” (so delicious,) I said.

After a four-and-a-half hour drive, we reached Gannan. The air was fresh, but cold. As soon as I came out of the car, I was chilled to the bone, the feeling reminded me of my teenage years in Calgary.

A warm shower will be perfect, I thought.

We took our luggage, walked up the steep stairs, and by the time we reached the reception desk, we were out of breath.

“I don’t feel well,” my friend said.

“It’s the high altitude,” our driver said.

My friend pulled out her ID card, passed it to the receptionist, and asked for the WiFi password. “Zhèlǐ méiyǒu wifi” (there’s no WiFi here,) the receptionist said. “No worries, we’ll use our data,” I said, and passed her my passport.

“Wǒmen bù jiēshòu wàiguó rén” (we don’t accept foreigners,) the receptionist looked at me.

“Nǐ de yìsi shì?” (what do you mean?) my friend raised her eyebrows.

We argued for a few minutes, then the manager came out and kicked us out. So, we looked at a few other hotels, but all of them said they didn’t accept foreigners. My first impression was that they were being racists, but I was wrong, I was being judgmental. The reason was that these hotels were not equipped with the new police registration system for foreigners, so they couldn’t let foreigners stay there legally. After spending 30 minutes on the phone, my friend found one hotel that allowed foreigners, but they were all booked for the night.

WTF! Where am I supposed to sleep? I thought.

“I guess you sleep in the car,” our driver said. “Is he serious?” I looked at my friend. “I guess so,” she said, “maybe tomorrow I can find a hotel where we can stay, but for tonight, it’s the backseat of the car.” The driver gave me the keys, and left to go the hotel his agency had booked for him. My friend wanted to stay with me in the car, but I told her to sleep in the hotel, there was no point for both of us to suffer. She gave me her winter jacket in case I needed it later, and her small backpack to use as a pillow. “Call me if you need anything,” she waved at me, and shut the car door behind.

I’ve survived the below 40 weather in Calgary and the gusty winds of Lake Michigan, I thought, I can do this. I put on two pairs of socks, and wrapped my head with a thick scarf. It wasn’t that bad, eventually I fell asleep. But after a few hours, I suddenly woke up, and things took a turn for the worse.

It wasn’t the cold, it wasn’t the backseat, it was the chili paste.

I came out of the car, and ran up the stairs to the hotel reception desk, but no one was around. I looked at the wooden clock on the wall, it was three in the morning. Fuck, I never asked her room number, I looked around but there were no signs of toilets. I ran back to the car, took my phone out, and called my friend. The bell rang and rang at her end, the wind blew and the gingko trees bent, and the chili paste whirled and whirled at my end. Shit, I really need to go, I looked around the road for a spot, but it was so dark that it didn’t really matter where I did the deed. So, I got back into the car and searched for napkins, there were a few empty bottles of water, a pack of cigarettes that the driver had left behind, but no napkins. I moved things around in panic and my friend’s backpack fell to the ground. There has to be something in there, I opened her backpack and voila, there it was, a roll of toilet paper. I must have done something good in life, I thought.

When I came out of the car, the hotel concierge was smoking at the bottom of the stairs, and his eyes went to my toilet paper roll. “Nǐ xūyào shǐyòng xǐshǒujiān ma?” (do you need to use the toilet?) he said. “Shì de” (yes,) I nodded, and clenched my butt muscles together. He took me around the corner, pointed at the door, and said something in Chinese that I didn’t understand. I thanked him, and rushed into the toilet. It was dark, but I didn’t care, it was better than doing it in the open.

After I was done, I flushed, but it didn’t sound right. I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear it and smell it. That’s when I understood what the concierge had said earlier. “Don’t flush the toilet paper,” he must have said. Fuck me, I got up, tiptoed out of there, and hoped that no one was there to witness it. But when I came around, there was a welcome party waiting for me, the concierge, the manager of the hotel, and my friend.

“This is so embarrassing,” I looked at my friend.

“What a shit show,” she laughed and passed me the hand sanitizer, “hope the chili paste was worth it.”

“I think it’s clogged in there,” I pointed at the toilet area.

The manager and the concierge looked at each other and shook their heads. “Wǒ gàosù tā bùyào” (I told him not to,) the concierge looked at my friend.

“I guess now you know why they don’t accept foreigners,” my friend laughed.

In the morning, our driver returned and told us that he found a hotel for us that accepts foreigners. It was the best news ever. “Let’s go have breakfast,” I said, “it’s on me.”

“How about beef noodles with chili paste?” The driver winked.