See and Be Seen

See and Be Seen (Originally published by Beijing Review - www.bjreview.com.cn)

By R. SCOTT MACINTOSH

On the mean streets of America we tend to ignore our own. It’s the same in most big cities around the world, I’m sure. It would seem out of the ordinary to make a practice of acknowledging every perfect stranger. It’s just too much of a commitment. And besides, we are warned at a very early age not to talk to strangers. What if that person turns out to be a serial killer?

Most of the time, we tend to treat each other with a degree of indifference and save ourselves for those who matter-friends, family, and the checkout clerk at the grocery store. The strangers that crowd the sidewalks and subways are an inevitable part of the world we inhabit and we grow used to seeing them, like stoplights, taxicabs, or the homeless. It doesn’t mean we’re not friendly. It’s just easier to move on with our own lives when we’re not mixing them up with the crowd on the street.

Everything changes when traveling or living in a foreign country. Abroad, ordinary strangers take on an aura of fascination. They hold the secrets to a world completely different from the one we know. The places are the source of insight and intrigue. When we venture abroad we want the Columbus experience. We want to discover the undiscovered, commune with natives who find us novel and intriguing, and trade in the currency of culture. We want discoveries that will be our own, stories that will make our friends jealous, and interaction to broaden our worldview. Nothing can disrupt the feeling of discovery more than running into one of your own in some remote nook of the world.

I remember biking through the Yulonghe valley in south China’s Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region and being invited to lunch by a friendly Chinese family in a small village outside of Yangshuo. They led me into a grove of pomelo trees to a courtyard where another Western couple sat at table. Such moments can be surprising, but really shouldn’t. The world is getting smaller by the day and there are no longer any places that remain undiscovered. But when I walked into that courtyard it was as if I had walked into the couple’s honeymoon suite. Familiarity is the last thing one expects when searching for the exotic and the reactions that follow seem to depend on one’s expectations, how long they’ve been away from home, or even geopolitics.

After living in Beijing a while I’ve learned that it is still possible to experience some of the fallout from China’s decades of isolation and feel a bit like Marco Polo of the modern age. I live in the Xicheng District in an area where, outside of work, I’ve gone weeks without seeing another Westerner. Not a day goes by that I don’t stop someone dead in their tracks who will stare in disbelief at the passing waiguoren (foreigners). I’ve grown used to greeting those who give me this puzzled, inquisitive look. These reactions have an innocence that is rare in the cynical, world-weary West. It feels good to smile and know that you’ll get the same in return. But it’s different when Westerners cross paths.

It can be jarring the first time running into someone who looks like you after spending time in a country where you are the distinct minority. The first time I saw a Westerner in my neighborhood it was like discovering a lost twin. First, it felt as if someone had stolen my identity, encroached on my turf. But quickly I felt a little less homesick, less isolated, just by knowing that someone else was also experiencing the difficulties of living here. I had an urge to strike up a conversation. I wanted to know everything about this stranger. Then it occurred to me that it would have been unlikely that I would have ever acknowledged this person, much less noticing him, had we passed on the streets back home. Did the stranger suddenly merit some special attention just from being a Westerner in Beijing? Was I becoming more like my Chinese neighbors and starting to see some novelty in Westerners? Yes.

I have since noticed other Westerners who must be experiencing the same thing when they see me on the street. Some pretend not to notice and look away. Others are unsure if they should nod or not. It’s a strange phenomenon; a sort of reverse culture shock that strikes after first moving here but tends to wear away with time.

In my neighborhood, my girlfriend and I now play a game when we’re out and about or just bored. It’s called spot the waiguoren. We each get one point right off the bat for spotting each other, and throughout the day we will give nudges, trying not to be too obvious, whenever we see another Westerner. The one who spots the most is the winner, of course, and the number of sightings will typically add up on one hand. After living in Beijing a while Westerners can indeed seem novel, even to Westerners.
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The author is an American working in Beijing