one month.

So, the boys are out getting better acquainted with Chinese women whilst I sit at home indulging in google music.
I could bemoan my solitude, but it’s the first night in a month that I’ve ended up on my own. And, comforted with a little lychee and baijiu, it’s not so bad.
This week calls for celebration, anyway. We (myself, Paul and Ali) marked our first month in Hohhot on Tuesday with an opulent meal and beer at Hawkers, a local restaurant whose menu offers something more than our daily staple of la mien (noodles in broth). The place is expensive (by Chinese standards) but delicious. And Ali was happy to walk away with the waitress’ phone number.
Can’t believe it’s actually been a month. A month since I got off that plane; since I first entered Aston English, since I met Paul, tasted greasy roadside tofu, drank nine-percent Chinese beer, slurped noodles, dodged high-speed electric bicycles, spied the first cockroach in my apartment… how can so much happen in four weeks? It seems like much longer.
How will six months feel?
We’ve splurged a couple of times in the past week, actually. Last Thursday we (rather, Paul) made an impulse decision to check out a Chinese massage joint. The three of us ended up flat on our backs being rubbed and mauled and pinched by three Chinese women for an hour. Going by their incessant giggling and chatter, I think the women enjoyed themselves as much as we did. We finished the night off with a boozy stint at White Castle hanging out with a bunch of teachers from English First, the other major language school here. A decent bunch of people. Pity about the Americans.
Paul and I also ventured in Coco Mood for the first time. Ever-generous Paul left 60 qi lighter; 32 qi (about six dollars) for his Irish coffee, 28 qi for my red bean smoothie. We sighted a couple of waigourens (who ignored us), met an Aussie guy travelling around China (who actually came over to chat) and the waitress zoned in on Paul to ask for English lessons. He left with her phone number.
I’m beginning to think that China offers more (at least, in the way of romance) for Western men than women. When it comes to waigourens, the majority of men we’ve met over here have – or have had – Chinese girlfriends. Not so the case for foreign women; I’m yet to see any even hanging out with Chinese men.

Hmm. Wonders will never cease.

It does, however, mean that I face the prospect of sitting at home listening to ripped music whilst the boys are entertained by hoardes of doll-faced Chinese women over green tea and beef hotpot.

Time to join a chess club, maybe.