Knowing Exactly Where We’re Lost

I wouldn’t call this getting lost. We knew where we were and exactly how to get back home, but we didn’t end up where we wanted. My friend Gavin and I biked for almost two hours in pursuit of Donghuamen Yeshi, (东华门夜市,) and some interesting culinary delights. The sky was darkening fast and the moon struggled to watch us through the smog enveloping the city as we stopped our bikes in front of Tiananmen Square. Behind us, lights blazed through the smog, leaving streaks of light suspended in midair like children’s mobiles, buildings changed colors, stores blasted music, and people chattered. In front of us, Christmas-esque decorations adorned trees, going down an avenue as far as the eye could see. All of it, the city, the ambience, everything, was stunning, truly stunning, but this was not the Donghuamen Yeshi and we were hungry. How did we get here?
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After an ordeal and a half with a side-of-the-road bike repairman, Gavin and I were ready to hit the streets. Stomachs grumbling we set off “south,” unaware of what was to come. Biking is always a trip. Every time I get on the incredibly uncomfortable seat of my bicycle in Beijing, I feel my imminent death right behind me. And it’s exhilarating. Weaving in between other cyclists like a choreographed dance, dodging cabs that seemed to appear out of nowhere, speeding through lanes of traffic and everything else that can’t be predicted are all part of the biking experience. The Beijing residents looked at us, two white American teens, biking in their hometown as if we were Chinese. I tried to hide among the fellow bikers to avoid their stares. We biked onwards, our legs getting a little tired, so we decided to stop at a mall. Walking into that building felt as if I had just stepped back into America, and I began reverting back to my American self. The mall was filled with big name outlets I’d never heard of. It had marble floors, glass window fronts, everything that I remembered about malls back home. This American self had an urge for the arcade. We rode three escalators to the arcade floor, and started playing games. We laughed and chatted in Chinese. “Easy 2 Dancer” caught our attention, and we jumped on it. It’s a dancing game, but it also incorporates moving your arms under sensors as well. To put our performance bluntly, we were horrendous. Stepping away from that arcade game and turning around, we saw a small crowd of Chinese teens. All of them looked at us incredulously. Waiguoren in our arcade and speaking Chinese? Gavin and I saw that look and began speaking with them about nothing in particular. We were showing off and breaking a stereotype about foreigners at the same time. We walked out of there beaming. Indulging in comforts and pushing our comfort zones, all in the same room. We began to get excited over the foods we would never eat back home but were on our way to go consume.
The bikes beckoned us, and so we went forth, feeling as if the Donghuamen night market, (yeshi means night market,) was right around the corner. Another half hour passed and we saw a Karaoke bar. Yet another thing I’d wanted to do. Skidding to a halt, and then backtracking a few feet to the Karaoke bar, Gavin and I stood outside for a second. The sun was gone, but still its rays were bending over the sky, actually arching over the buildings. The buildings had facelifts, but we could still see the remnants of the old Hutongs behind their new faces. We walked up a flight of stairs and got to the Karaoke bar. I fought off the fear of seeming totally ridiculous and did a duet with Gavin. “Take On Me,” never sounded better. Stares from people had suddenly stopped making me shrink away, and instead, I was beginning to thrive on them. Our stomachs started making audible growling sounds, so we hopped back onto the bikes and sped off. The town started to look more and more ancient, like how I originally thought Beijing was going to look like. The buildings were grey, bars were over windows, and the road was uneven. Then, as if they sprouted up out of nowhere, huge buildings, modern looking structures and everything else I remember from Tomorrow Land at Disney World were on both sides of the street. Each building was covered with tiny lights, and they displayed images, and advertisements, or they just showed colors. Dumbfounded by the sudden change, Gavin and I stopped. We asked a man where the market was. His response was slightly disheartening. “What’s the Donghuamen Yeshi?” So we asked another person, then another, and all their responses were the same. We biked to the end of the glowing lights, or as one sign said, “Joy City,” and stared at the giant wall separating us from Tiananmen Square. We sat on our bikes, my rear hurting from that awful seat, as our stomachs grumbled in protest. We weren’t going to eat scorpions or centipedes, but there always is street food. The night air was thick as it rested on our shoulders. We could see it resting there, but I stood up, shrugging off that cloak of thick, night air, and headed off for home, straight back the way we came. At least we made the most out of our failed attempt at finding it. Next weekend we’ll get there… we’re taking a cab.