Chinese nostalgia and the legend of the iron pit

Now that i’m one month and two countries removed from china, I’m far enough to possess some perspective on my experience. Mostly, i really seem to be missing the place. I realized immediately that I miss the language; upon entering Laos and being completely incapable of communication, I realized how much I actually learned in China. I dearly miss the food, partly out of thriftiness, but mostly out of deliciousness. Most of all, I miss the utter unpredictability of Chinese life. Along the way, countless previously unimaginable events took place in China, which I will not soon forget.

I beat several Chinese people in ping pong, and I lost to several Chinese people in basketball. I suffered mild electrocution, rode a bike to work in below freezing temperatures, hula-hooped with a group of middle aged women, had a chiropractic manuever stealthfully performed on me while urinating, and got chased by wild dogs... The list could go on. Mark my words- I will return to the middle kingdom.

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Due to numerous successful run-ins with food of questionable levels of sanitary quality, ive been dubbed the “iron pit,” referring to the ability of my stomach to convert troublesome material into raw energy. Part genetic, part real world experience, the iron pit was forged in the fiery furnace of East Oakland, where the streets are graced by countless taco trucks and some of the greasiest burgers in the Western Hemisphere. From here, my gastronomical quest has spread outward, to the shores of Mexican beaches, back alleys of Barcelona, and all you can eat bbq in the parking lots of Brazilian gas stations.

In Asia, the legend of the pit has only grown in splendor, mostly due to my surviving 4 months of Chinese cafeteria food. There, at least 5 meals per week were spent eating rice and soup out of a communal trough, shared by fellow teachers, and greasy fingered students alike. Following this miraculous success, my post teaching life on the road has further put the pit to the most rigorous of tests, consisting of daily doses of street food, which was like a continual game of Chinese roulette. I recently boasted about my successfully spending 5 months in asia with no stomach ailments, and this confident boast appears to have been my downfall. A few days later, I would fall terribly ill from the unlikliest of causes. While enjoying the paradise of the 4000 islands of Laos, a trojan horse rolled up to the gates of the iron pit, in the form of a banana shake. This seemingly harmless cocktail of bananas, ice, and sugar, would soon prove to be the beginning of the end. Hours later, i felt the onset of something terrible, a rumbling from the depths that resulted in 24 agonizing hours of laying paralyzed in a hammock. Eventually, the strength was summoned to move on to Cambodia, which meant 24 hours of minivans, and buses, all done with a mind splitting headache - not a wise move.

Should you be fortunate enough to have not experienced a bus journey in this region of the world, don’t put it on your to do list. Even in full health, it requires a tremendous amount of blind faith. Shortly after crossing the border, our vehicle engaged in a deadly game of cat and mouse with another bus. The better part of the next half hour involved each vehicle passing the other, only to be overtaken again, a vicious cycle, which only ended when the other bus blew a tire and was left in a heap of smoke on the side of the road. Compounding the pain of this arduous journey was the horribly timed incompetence of my ipod, which meant being subjected to (no offense to any Cambodian pop stars), a looping video of Cambodian karaoke. Never again will I take the ipod for granted. Never. Eventually, I reched my desired destination of Siem Reap, the base town for exploring the famed temples of Ankar, which would make the previous 48 hours seem more than worthwhile…