Dan Smith
- Story 1
The year was 1990. The city was Kunming, China. It was late evening, and I was riding my Phoenix
bicycle to the Green Lake Hotel to pick up my future wife from work. I had stayed at this hotel for many months before moving to
Yunnan University housing, so I knew the hotel’s layout very well.
As I approached the hotel, I noticed that all of the streetlights were off for blocks around. This was something I had never witnessed before. I parked and locked my bicycle along the street, one block from the hotel’s main gate. As I walked along the sidewalk, I noticed that very few people were out and about.
I passed a man in a suit with a pistol plainly visible at his side. About 50 feet later, I came across another man dressed the same way. Neither of them said a word; we simply looked at each other as we passed. When I arrived at the hotel’s large steel front gate, I was stopped by two soldiers with machine guns.
Large black limousines were parked at the hotel’s front entrance. Being somewhat naive and not overly concerned, I decided to walk along the surrounding wall to the workers’ entrance in the alley. I made my way into the hotel’s kitchen area, where I knew of a back staircase that connected all three floors. By now, my wife, Jennifer, would likely be working as a host on the third floor. To my surprise, in the dimly lit staircase, a soldier with a machine gun stood at attention in the dark. I greeted him with a “Ni Hao” (hello in Chinese), but he did not respond. I continued upstairs, only to be greeted by another armed soldier on the second floor and yet another on the third floor. I greeted each one with “Ni Hao” in my best Chinese, but none of them responded. As I walked down the hallway and rounded a corner, I saw Jennifer standing at attention alongside the hotel’s general manager. As soon as they saw me, their eyes widened, and their mouths dropped open in shock. At that moment, an elderly Chinese man, followed by a group of dignitaries, walked through a gauntlet of hotel staff lined up in the hallway after leaving the large banquet hall. After the crowd moved toward the hotel’s main entrance, Jennifer came over to me and asked, “What are you doing up here? And how did you get up here?” I asked her who the important man was, as I had never seen so much security. She explained that the elderly gentleman who had just walked past was Wan Li, one of the “Eight Elders” and the Chairman of the National People’s Congress in Beijing. To this day, I still cannot explain why I was not stopped or questioned.
- Story 2
In 1987, I was on a bicycle vacation exploring the Yunnan countryside in China with seven others, sponsored by the Yunnan Sports Federation. We were heading to the town of Yixi, located south of Kunming. As we traveled through the countryside and small villages, we came across an ancient temple with a spring-fed pond where local people were worshiping. It was a small, modest temple, clearly visited only by locals—no foreigners, no cameras, no frills. Thirsty after a long ride, I approached an elderly woman who had set up a table to sell items to the worshipers. She had an array of goods, and I decided to buy an orange drink that she had on her table.
The bottle was small, perhaps six ounces, with a rusty cap. It wasn’t like the sodas I was used to, but it had some flavor and would help quench my thirst. Not knowing the price, I handed her one yuan—a Chinese dollar, worth about 25 cents in U.S. currency at the time—and motioned for her to keep the change. To my surprise, she refused. It turned out she couldn’t make change for one yuan. As I started to walk away, she stopped me and motioned for me to return. She began piling items from her table in front of me: another bottle, this one green and likely lime flavored, a pile of sunflower seeds, some puffed rice resembling breakfast cereal, a few small candles, and some incense to be used at the temple. Once satisfied that I had received a fair exchange for my one yuan, she smiled warmly and tucked the bill into her pocket. She seemed genuinely pleased with the transaction, her kind smile conveying her honesty and sense of fairness. I will always remember that elderly woman and her simple act of kindness. It was a reminder that good people are the same everywhere, no matter when or where you meet them.
- Story 3
The year was 1990 in Kunming, China. I had a good friend, Driver Miao, whom I had first met in 1987. He was a professional driver for the government. One day, he asked if I would like to travel to the countryside and visit the Alu Caves. It was a four-hour drive along backcountry roads. Always eager to explore more of China, I agreed without hesitation. To my amazement, he picked me up in a large black official state car, complete with Chinese flags on each front fender and curtains on the windows. The sight of such an impressive vehicle made the journey feel all the more exciting.
Before we truly set out, we stopped in town to have a large bowl of hot, spicy rice noodles. It was the perfect start to the day. After a few hours of driving along winding back roads, Miao suggested we stop at a local village to buy apples and walnuts from the villagers selling their goods along the roadside. As soon as we got out of the car, people began to gather. Within minutes, a small group had grown into a large crowd.
To my astonishment, this was the first time I had ever seen elderly women with bound feet, their small shoes a relic of an era long past.
The women seemed fascinated by me, pulling at the hair on my arms and gazing into my blue eyes with wonder. The arrival of an official car and a foreigner in their village was clearly an extraordinary event. More and more people gathered, the crowd swelling to over a hundred. They talked among themselves, craning their necks to get a closer look. Some pushed forward gently, while others reached out to touch my arms as if trying to understand this unfamiliar presence. At one point, a man stepped forward from the crowd. With an air of curiosity and caution, he asked Driver Miao in Mandarin if I was Russian.
Miao immediately replied with a smile, “No, American.” The man nodded, and a murmur rippled through the crowd as people absorbed the news. It was as though the revelation of my nationality added a new layer to their curiosity, making the moment even more memorable. Driver Miao remained calm, standing to the side and watching the scene unfold, seemingly unbothered.
Meanwhile, I began to feel overwhelmed by the attention.
With so many people pressing in around me, I felt like an exhibit at a zoo. There was a peculiar mix of respect, curiosity, and awe in the air, creating a moment that felt both humbling and intense. Eventually, Miao motioned for me to get back into the car. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, though their lingering gazes followed us as we climbed into the black state vehicle. The engine roared to life, and we continued on our journey toward the Alu Caves, leaving the curious villagers behind. The memory of that encounter stayed with me for a long time—a snapshot of a time when China was still opening up to the world, and moments of cultural connection like this were rare and deeply profound.
（作者现居香槟)