Sing

One of the challenges I regularly face is what to eat. Such a simple task taken for granted in America requires some form of thought these days. I have to strike a balance between varying my diet and risking diarrhea. The latter was fairly regular in Shanghai, occurring about a once every two months. When I moved to Yantai, people told me the quality of the cooking would get better. This didn’t make sense to me, moving from a cosmopolitan place such as a Shanghai to small-town Yantai, but it’s actually true. I’ve lived in Yantai for four months and have only faced one serious bout so far (knock on wood).

So, Tuesday night, I strolled the streets looking for a good but different place to eat when I came across a restaurant that I had eaten at once before. My second week in Yantai, during Chinese New Year, all the shops and restaurants were closed, but this place was open. The food wasn’t bad and the staff was friendly. But for some reason, I hadn’t been back.

Within minutes of sitting down to eat on Tuesday, a local guy from another table got up and poured me a beer. He was a bit chubby and seemed to have a gregarious personality. Picture John Belushi, but Chinese and not wearing a shirt. He sits across from me and says, “I’m Sorry.” I ask him what he’s sorry for and he repeats the phrase. I would quickly discover this was among the few English phrases he knew. His other shirtless friend joins us and repeatedly explains to me how important it is that we met and that destiny brought us together. At the same time my head is repeating, “Wow, these dudes have a pretty good load on right here.”

They explained that they were army buddies and conveyed common sentiments – not fans of the Koreans, big dislike for the Japanese, North Koreans are cool though and they like Americans. We shared beers and a few laughs and they told me they were picking up the bill. I approached the cashier counter but one of them got up and escorted me back to the table. These dudes were big – not Shaq-big, but bigger than my brother. So, if they had something to say or insist on, I was listening.

At one point, one of them put his arm around me and led me up a dark alley next to the restaurant. "This is it. I’m going to get beat up for the first time in China." But instead he starts peeing. At the same time, he tells me I must do the same because we’re such good friends. I tell him I’ll wait at the end of the alley. He sings.

Moments later, I tell them I’m tired and it’s past my bed time. They’re not having it. They want to dance and sing; they want to go to a karaoke joint. Now, karaoke works a little differently in China. Unlike America, where you sing at the bar in front of everyone, here you get a private room and sing with your friends. I’ve gone a bunch of times and it’s a lot of fun.

Around 2 a.m., we wrap up our party and I head home. It was an interesting night to say the least and far from what I expected when I stepped outside to find a different restaurant. I’m thankful for my new friends and hope to see them again next week for dinner.