September 30 2004, Beijing
I wake up early. My head is still a mess from the 12-hour time difference, but I am feeling well enough recovered to venture further than five blocks from the hostel that I had holed myself up in the previous day. My diary plan was to sign up for a tour trip and see the Great Wall, the rugged parts of course, the ones no western tourist could ever fathom. I imagined I would conquer them with equal parts bravado and humble appreciation for the Ancient Culture, bowing my head and proving myself a Traveler, not Tourist. That plan goes to pot as soon as I realizes I am afraid of even ordering food and can’t figure out how the hell to free my money from its plastic card prison.
Plus it is raining.
Not knowing what the hell else to do in Beijing, and banking on the fact that Subways, like Pigeons, are the same everywhere, I hightail it down the block to the station and get the train to Tienanmen Square.
There are a lot of Asian people here, I think stupidly.
I stumble blindly around the square, feeling somewhat disoriented by the mish-mash of Ancient Chinese and Soviet Realism, the still falling rain, and the yelling vendors swirling around my feet waving shiny gold Mao medallions (a bargain for sure). A young woman approaches me from the side and starts talking.
Before I know what has happened her mother has my camera. Then her arm is around me and there is a shutter click. Then she is gone and I am alone again, totally confused about what the fuck just happened. This is how I spent my eighteenth birthday.
