You're not from around here, are you?

It looked like it had been a while since a Westerner had walked in. That was just the vibe I got when a little boy sitting by the door dropped his pen and stared at me, open mouthed. Chairs creaked as bodies turned to me.

"Ni hao."

"Hello." A woman motioned me to sit. Her face radiated with a smile, revealing her understated beauty. A menu was placed in front of me and I reached for my phrase book. I flipped it open, pointed to a word. They all crowded around to see what this stranger wanted. Beer. I smile and nod my head in almost a bow, hoping it translates to please. That's on a different page and I can't flip fast enough.

I pulled out my maps and a huge bottle of TsingTao is placed before me. The woman flips to a page on the menu, pointing to the most exxpensive items. Her husband waves her off. I point below it to I know not what, but at half the price of what she suggested. The wife nods, satisfied.

I look to my maps again. I am determined to get home via public transportation. It's been 5 days here and it had been too comfortable, too easy. It wasn't enough. I needed to know the native way of doing things. Maybe over the past two years I'd really become a New Yorker and can't rely on anything fully unless it's a subway. Maybe I just know I'll be in cities with limited public transportation, so this is my chance. Whatever the reason, I was a woman possessed.

I am sure of my route, but ask the owner at the next table for certainty. I show him my cousin's address and point to spots on the map zig-zagging my route. He unfolds a massive map of the city, flipping it over to show what looks like thousands of bus routes. He runs out the door to check the bus stop at the corner as I apologize and try to shoo him off going out of his way for me. But it's to no avail, for it is the Chinese way.

Turns out I'm dead-on, but he adds a bus to ease my walk to the subway. He carefully writes out all my stops in Chinese to give my pointing finger a break when I get on the bus.

A large metal bowl and sterno burner is brough to me and lit. Cabbage and tofu in a lovely, clear broth. I made a good choice, and thank them profusely with clumsy xie-xies. Their little boy looks over my shoulder at my journal, impressed with my sloppy handwriting.

We begin a simple converstaion of writing out our names. He knows the Western alphabet and carefully spells out the Chinese names in all caps, shyly correcting my misprononciation. Two of his friends outside press their faces against the window, inches from me. They giggle as I wave, not expecting I'd notice their cute, chubby faces and gazes boring holes in my back.

The wife sits with me and is joined by her mother, giving me the chance to flip through my phrase book and unabashedly attempt to speak Chinese. No matter how mercilessly I butcher their language, they don't seem to mind. It doesn't matter what language I speak, what I look like, where I'm from - they're just happy I'm there.

I'm happy, too. It was worth ignoring all the "Hey, lady"s on the tourist-choked sidewalks in Hou Hai. I knew there'd be a better lunch somewhere around the corner.

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