Pology Magazine  -  Adventures in Travel and World Culture.
Travel and World Culture   
China
 Photo: Xin Zhu
China
 Photo: Robert Churchill

China: Normal Yelling in Urumqi (cont.)

The young woman from the bus, who shepherds me through this procedure, calmly waits and nods at me from time to time in an attempt to reassure me that everything is okay.  The Japanese backpacker stalks out, his driver shaking his head and following him.  Eventually, a male clerk appears to deal with the Middle Eastern men, and the female clerk turn her attention to my guardian.  The young woman from the bus negotiates a discount.  Once that’s settled, I begin filling in a registration form; and she waves goodbye.  I attempt to give her a tip for her help, but she refuses and normal-yells what I imagine are kind words.
    
I complete my paperwork as the Japanese backpacker slinks back into the lobby with the triumphant driver behind him and reluctantly asks to check in.  As a bellboy comes to pick up my bag and take me to my room, I see the Japanese backpacker bounce up and down in front of the desk screaming, “Passport!  Passport!  Passport!  Where my passport?  Stealing passport!”  He’s louder than the disco music.  The clerk pulls the passport out from under a piece of paper and normal-yells, “Passport here.  Not stealing.”  Three of the Middle Eastern men surround him, pat him on the shoulder, and tell him to relax.
 
 When I reach my room, the bellboy flicks the lights on and off, flushes the toilet, and turns on the air conditioner, all the while normal-yelling instructions incomprehensible to me.  I sprawl on the bed and read through the hotel’s brochure, a masterpiece of broken English.  The Shan Cheng, bills itself as, “ a synthetic enterprise with banquet, entertainment, guest-rooms and business center together, which is opening not only for civil guests but also for foreign and even traveling service.”  The first-floor restaurant boasts “various chafing dishes with chicken, fish and mutton which are good for your health.”  The “second-floor banquet showing you all kinds of excited dances with high level” sounds promising, as does the nightclub with its “excited variety show stage.”
  
I toss the brochure aside and walk across the room to open the mini-bar, which contains a small box of laundry powder, a package with two pair of briefs, a pair of socks, a bar of soap, a box of Nescafé, two chocolate bars, a bag of nuts, two packs of Doublemint chewing gum, a towel, a small box of Lipton tea bags, and four Chinese-labeled foodstuffs I can’t identify.  No Booze.
   
 I close the mini-bar, slip out of my clothes, crawl into bed, and turn off the light.
   
 Within seconds the phone rings.  I fumble for it in the dark, pick it up, and yawn a 'hello'.
   
A Betty Boop voice giggles and normal-yells, “Massage OK?”

“No thanks,” I say.  I hang up, and the steady boom-boom-boom of the bass from the nightclub’s 'excited variety show stage' boogie-wonderlands me to sleep.

 

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