Freaking Lychee!

Aggie has made it her mission to introduce me to all of types of foods I’ve never seen before. “Try this! It’s delicious,” she always says right before she orders me a heap of something. Food is never good or great, it’s always “delicious.” Surprisingly, she’s right.

Today, she wants me to eat a fruit that her Chinese to English dictionary says is “Lychee.” I’m weird about fruit though. At 33 I feel as if I should know all of the fruit that is out there: Mango, Starfruit, Lemons, Plums, Bananas, etc. So when someone is introducing a “new fruit” to me, I’m skeptical. “When did this arrive on earth?” I’ve heard about lychee though, but I’ve never seen this before.

“Try it,” she says. “It’s delicious.” I try it and in the back of my mind I’m wondering how do you say “Epi Pen” in Chinese. It’s delicious though and I end up eating five back to back. It’s really sweet with a citrusy after taste, similar to a kiwi, and I’m enjoying myself immensely. I’m reaching for another when I notice that my tongue is tingling and the corners of my mouth feel raw; like I’ve eaten too many sour patch kids. “It will go away,” I think to myself as I abandon the idea of just one more.

Do you know what this fruit is?

One hour later, my tongue is now itching and I feel like tilting my head back and sucking on a tube of Cortizone. On my way to the train station, I began mentally berating myself for not knowing my limits. Try means try, not back up a trough to the buffet!

I get on the train, passing by families, a hella rowdy group of men shooting the breeze and single travellers like myself. No Americans, no westerners, no black folks. I’m getting used to it by now. This time I’m on a hard sleeper train, which is six bunks to a berth instead of four and no doors. I settle into my bunk and this elderly grandma type immediately takes a liking to me. She’s firing off in rapid Chinese and smiling and when she realizes that I don’t speak Chinese she starts pointing to my arms. I don’t know if she’s saying that I’m strong or fat, but I just nod, smile and try to get comfortable with my new family.

After a while, several more people show up and it quickly becomes clear that someone is in the wrong place. I hand my train pass to grandma in hopes that it’s not me and she reads it out loud. Everyone begins pointing in the opposite direction and pointing at numbers I swear I didn’t see before. Rightttt….. I’m in the wrong bunk. I gather my things and head to the other end of the train and of course, I’m in the berth with the rowdy bachelor party I passed earlier.

As soon as I show up, someone yells, “LOAWAI, Hello!” Laowai means foreigner in Chinese. They know I’m confused and was in the wrong place and everyone starts cracking up. I’m super embarrassed, but thankfully I can laugh at myself.  Apparently my laughter breaks the ice because someone immediately starts breaking out bags of food. “LOAWAI, Hello!” they are saying as they pass me hands full of bright red, prickly balls – freaking LYCHEE!!

These are some of the nicest, uncle types I’ve met in China and understanding the significance of sharing food, a proverbial olive branch, I peel the lychee eat two more and then offer them the food I’ve brought with me. “Father God, please help me. These are delicious.”