Dreaming

Back in January, I woke up newspaper-delivery early to watch the AFC Championship at an expatriate bar, the Big Bamboo. At 4:00 a.m., the streets were about as desolate as I’ve seen them. It was my first realization that the millions of people I see during the day really do sleep. It was an odd sight and, for a brief instant, I feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway – but at least he had Wilson.

I’m walking through a fine mist that coincides with the constant moisture in the air here. Aside from my visible breath, there are few companions around and the sun hasn’t begun to think about rising.

As I near what I think is the address, the voice of Jim Nantz begins to echo down the street. It’s music to my ears. It’s also four minutes into the game and the Patriots are not winning yet. Matt, my teaching colleague, and I inch our table closer to the guys smoking cigarettes. Cigars or cigarettes - make your choice because you can’t have both. And it dawns on me that Shanghai is probably 25 years away from passing smokeless provisions.

It feels odd to be watching the game “live” as it feels taped. The audio setup and video images interchange between high definition, being in sync, black and white, to crazy internet feed. I glance out the window find an odd mixture of people on the streets – the many Chinese caught up in the early morning twilight next to prostitutes waiting for the foreigners to leave the bar.

A guy with a Donovan McNabb jersey strolls in during the 2nd half. He’s originally from Upper Darby and is opening a Mexican restaurant here soon. I haven’t seen the guy since. But meeting him is a good metaphor for the type of foreigners you meet here – quickly coming or going, and dreaming a big dream.

Lately, I’ve been dreaming about my family and cheese steaks. Both are about to come true.