Fran Lynggaard Hansen, a Brattleboro native with deep connections to local history and to people everywhere, is a Commons reporter and columnist.
The Chinese town of Hangzhou is the place where centuries ago the silk industry began. Since it was only a few hours from the school where I worked, I took a bus there for a long weekend and explored the city's many silk museums and traditional gardens.
When traveling alone, I begin with a list of must-see places and their addresses, then I wander the streets to see where I end up.
Sometimes, as was the case on this cold January day, I walk for hours. I saw red lanterns hanging in anticipation of the most important holiday of the year, Chinese New Year. Colorful lights adorned the outside of the small shops and restaurants. Like any city, each neighborhood had a different feel to it. I strolled for hours.
Roaming the streets of cities all over the world in this fashion has provided me so many wonderful adventures and opportunities. In Vietnam, I landed in an enormous wholesale flower market, where stunning orchids, fragrant jasmine, and other tropical flowers of every description scented the air.
In Kuwait, I found myself sitting with a couple on the banks of the Persian Gulf, where I learned that locals instead refer to this body of water as the Gulf of Arabia. I still don't know what kind of fish we caught, but the experience was happily memorable.
In Japan, I ran into the daughter and granddaughter of a Japanese soldier who fought in the Battle of Okinawa during World War II. All of us were on a pilgrimage to trace the steps of our family members. We shared stories from each side of the battle as we waited for the bus to go to the Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum. My father, thankfully, returned home. Their relative, sadly, had not.
* * *
My time in Hangzhou was turning out to be atypical to these past experiences. Later, I would check a guidebook and discover how easy it is to get lost in this city. Originally built around 700 B.C.E., the streets are antiquated, winding, with a dense network of rivers, the largest of which is the Yangtze.
After three hours of walking, the streets grew increasingly narrow. As the sun began to set and darkness began to fall, I realized I was in the wrong part of town. I sensed that I might not be safe to be in this neighborhood after dark. As I continued walking, I listened for traffic so that I could get out to a larger street and hail a cab.
A large Chinese man, bald, in his late 50s, sailed by on his motorbike, wearing a black motorcycle jacket, silver chains, and no helmet. He smiled and waved at me.
I pretended not to notice him, as his actions were culturally inappropriate. It could have meant that he thought I was looking for a date, or more. Many Chinese men, watching U.S. movies, assume that all American women are fast and loose. I am not.
Hearing more traffic as rush hour began about four blocks away, I began to walk with purpose in the direction of the noise. Motorcycle Man drove around the block and sailed past me again, this time waving, smiling, and beeping his horn. I ignored him, which was difficult to do on an empty mostly residential street.
Thinking I could cut him off by walking over a traffic bridge, I watched from above as I paced quickly across the eight lanes above the traffic for his bike. I realized as I crossed the road that it would be tough to hail a cab on these heavily trafficked highways at the end of the workday. Traffic was moving fast, but I was boosted by the thought that I think I managed to lose my admirer.
I positioned myself at the end of the on ramp between the flowing traffic on my left and the cars joining them on the right side on-ramp. I knew that most taxis driving onto the highway likely already had a passenger inside, but I was feeling more anxious to get back to my hotel.
I scanned the roofs of the cars for an unlit taxi sign. Seeing none, I threw up my left hand to be sure I wouldn't miss one in the bright light of setting sun that wouldn't allow me to see so far back. I moved my head continuously, looking from left to right, trying to be sure I didn't miss any taxi opportunities.
Five minutes went by, then 10, then 15. Still no cab.
As sky displayed a gorgeous sunset, I realized I didn't have my bicycle clips with me to give me a safety stripe anywhere on my dark clothing. Being out here in traffic would become downright dangerous within a few minutes.
Compounding the matter of limited taxis, most local drivers don't like to pick up foreigners - a common issue all over China. The Chinese are a proud people who will avoid a foreigner out of concern about the quality of their English or needing to admit they don't speak it.
I thought about doubling back, but I also noticed that I didn't have enough internet service to get walking directions and I was likely at least one hour, and possibly two hours, from my hotel.
Then there was the matter of the man on the motorcycle. Did he live nearby? Had he given up the hunt for foreigner love?
* * *
My left arm aching, I threw up my right hand as I spotted a cab about four cars back. My heart sank as I saw right behind him Motorcycle Man, grinning and beeping his horn and waving to get my attention. I felt like a deer in the sights of a hunter and panic began to rise in my belly. I had no escape.
The taxi slowed and I rushed to the door, willing to open it even as the car was moving. The driver sized me up with a glance and sped away.
Feeling desperate, I put my hands together as a sign of my pleas for his help and chased the car while running in the breakdown lane even as the taxicab driver sped up.
Suddenly, Motorcycle Man appeared beside me, just 5 feet away, patting the small seat behind him inviting me to join him. There was a lecherous grin on his face. He had trapped me.
I was momentarily terrified - an unusual feeling for me. I tried to take some deep breaths to calm my belly so that I could plan my next move.
Suddenly, I heard a car laying on the horn just ahead of me, as though there was an accident. Both Motorcycle Man and I looked in that direction. Apparently, the taxi driver had been watching in his rear-view mirror and has decided to help me.
I ran for it.
Motorcycle Man scurried to start his bike and catch up with me as I approached the cab, dived into the backseat, and slammed the door shut.
"Go!" I yelled instinctively to the driver, as I recovered my breath from the run to the cab. He didn't need to understand my English, as he saw the situation for himself. Motorcycle Man was in hot pursuit, beeping his horn and riding the bumper of the cab.
"Oh," said the taxi driver. "No good."
He motioned me to slump down in the back seat so that Motorcycle Man wouldn't be able to see me. My American mind overtook me, and I started to wonder if Motorcycle Man had a gun.
I slumped down and lay flat on the bench seat, but because traffic had slowed, Motorcycle Man maneuvered his bike such that he was now looking in the back seat window. I sat back up and looked away from the sneer on his face and tightened my seatbelt.
Suddenly, my driver floored the gas pedal and began to weave in and out of the slowing traffic to outmaneuver Motorcycle Man. His hands were glued to the steering wheel while he continued to divide his attention between his three rearview mirrors.
I divided my attention, focusing first on the driver, then Motorcycle Man, and then on scanning the traffic, hoping to spy a police car. I saw none.
"Bad man," said the driver in broken English, now making his own fear visible to me. I wondered if he regretted picking me up. Would he insist I leave the cab?
We weaved and bobbed in the traffic lanes and we saw the bulge of cars ahead of us beginning to break up. The driver hit the gas pedal again and made a successful run for the largest hole in a slew of cars.
We left Motorcycle Man in the dust, and I began to breathe a tiny bit easier. The driver did not until we had about a quarter-mile distance between us, and then he smiled as he pointed to the nearest exit where he saw Motorcycle Man leave the highway in defeat.
We smiled at each other in the rear view mirror as the driver asked, "Go?" as he pointed ahead, using his hands to ask me my destination.
I hadn't a clue where we were.
* * *
I checked the internet, which was now strong, and tried to find a map to show me where we were. I discovered that we were about 10 minutes away from a small fishing village. Wuzhen Water Town is an hour north of Hangzhou and is known as the "Venice of China" because of its ancient canals and houseboats along the waterways. I showed the name of the town to my driver. He nodded his head and took me to the next exit.
Ten minutes later, I was walking the lit canals, stunning against the dark night sky. I sighed with relief as I walked and began to calm down from my near-miss adventure.
The town was sleepy with few people about and the stores turning out their lights and locking their doors. After a 30-minute walk, I checked the taxi stand where my driver left me off. There was no taxi waiting. I scanned the streets. Not only were there no cabs, but there also were barely any cars.
Knowing that I was still an hour away from my hotel and that this small town would close for the evening, I tried to formulate a plan. I attempted to find someone who spoke English to advise me how to find a taxi. The first five people wouldn't even meet my gaze, meaning that they either wouldn't or couldn't help me.
I walked quickly toward the one shop that was still open. Two young women - the last people I saw anywhere on the street - were inside purchasing flowers. I scurried over to get inside before the shopkeeper locked the door.
As I entered the shop, the two women were chatting excitedly. One was holding a big bouquet of roses and baby's breath; the other, pink Stargazer lilies. They talked and laughed with each other as they paid for their flowers. I pretended to look around the shop, knowing that if I purchased something, the shopkeeper would likely be more willing to help me.
The two women finished their transaction and left the store. I approached the shopkeeper and in painfully slow words, asked in Mandarin if she spoke English. She did not and showed me to the door, which she quickly locked behind me.
* * *
Feeling a tiny bit unnerved, I yelled a friendly "Hello!" in English as I hurried to meet the two women.
"Can you help me?" I asked, with more angst in my voice than I intended to show.
The women looked at each other.
"English?" I asked as they began a quick conversation in Mandarin. I sincerely hoped that they were trying to decide who wanted to take on the challenge, but I greatly feared that they would be too shy to try, even if they did speak a bit of English.
To try to make it easier, I said, "Taxi," and I gestured toward the taxi stand in the middle of the town square. They looked at each other again.
"No," the first brave woman said, "no taxi." She put her hands together as if going to sleep, to show me that there will be no more work today.
My panicked face elicits some sympathy.
"You go where?" one asked.
"Hangzhou," I replied.
"No Hangzhou, no taxi," the second woman said.
They looked at each other and begin speaking in Mandarin. I watched from the sidelines, trying to read their body language to get a clue what might be happening. They began to giggle, nodding and smiling at each other, then glancing at me.
"We go birthday party," the first woman says. "You come!" She continued giggling as she pointed to a restaurant just down the street.
It was now almost 8 o'clock, and I hadn't eaten dinner. I thought about the offer for just a few seconds, considering that I could go to the party and perhaps make a connection there to get back to my hotel. The young women were unsure if I had made up my mind, so they linked their arms in mine and said, "Come!"
I relaxed and smiled at them both, and we headed toward the restaurant silently, linked in a happy chain of arms full of flowers.
While the conversation might have been limited, their offer of hospitality, their kindness to strangers, is common within the culture, though not often extended to foreigners only because of the language barrier. I felt very fortunate for their invitation. I suddenly realized I should offer a gift to the person celebrating as part of the celebratory protocol. I stop walking.
"Gift!" I exclaimed with a bit of shame.
They knew exactly what I'm thinking, but already had a plan.
"You gift!" said the first.
"You sing Happy Birthday," said the second.
"OK!" I exclaimed as we entered the restaurant.
* * *
I remembered a Chinese wedding I attended where I had brought a wedding present, only to realize that the true gift that everyone was expected to bring was a talent of some kind.
I thought while watching as each guest went to the stage with their offering to the newly married couple. Children sang songs, or played an instrument. One child did an acrobatic routine. Grandparents gave speeches; friends told stories about the couple.
Suddenly, I was surprised to be the last person escorted to the stage as the crowd seemed to think I knew what was expected. I sang a song that I had sung at my sister's wedding in Denmark as my sudden contribution to the event.
So it wasn't totally surprising that singing Happy Birthday would suffice for the birthday person.
A hostess escorted us to the private room at the back of the restaurant. Inside were two large tables that each held about 10 people. At the front of the first table a man in his early 40s rose to welcome his guests. He greeted each young woman with a smile as they presented him with their bouquets.
After a brief discussion with them, he turned to me and said, "You are the birthday singer! Thank you for coming! Please eat dinner with us!"
Amazed at his generous hospitality, and ability to speak English, I was guided to the head of the second table. As he gestured for me to sit down, he told me that I was to be his guest of honor. He hadn't expected he would ever be lucky enough to meet a real American, and so he hoped I would stay and enjoy a meal with his friends and relatives.
He then spoke in Mandarin to the other nine people at the table. I guessed that he must be saying the same thing to the others as they all began to stand and shake my hand.
Then I was encouraged to sit down and sample the 20 or so dishes at the huge table. Because this was a distinctive celebration, many were special dishes with shrimp and other exotic fish. I was expected to sample them all.
Fortunately, I had lived in China long enough to thank my host kindly, and refuse a tall glass of Baijiu. Made for over 5,000 years, Baijiu, also known as "firewater," is a specialty alcohol that is 80 to 120 proof. Just a few sips can make a person instantly regretful. Otherwise, the party offered fantastic food, many friendly people who wanted to practice their English, and a welcoming crowd.
I sang Happy Birthday in both Danish and English, and the Baijiu helped spark both a rousing round of applause and an encore.
But as the hour grew later, despite my asking several people, no one knew how I was going to get back to my hotel. Folks smiled and encouraged me not to worry about it and just enjoy the party.
* * *
A few hours later, around 10 p.m., as the party guests began to leave, the two young women brought me outside where a taxi was waiting.
I was incredulous.
"We glad have you," one said. "Uncle Wei drive you to Hangzhou."
I could only suppose that "Uncle Wei" is a friend of a friend or a relative. A cab driver, he had been encouraged to come to the party only to bring me home.
An hour later, as we pulled up to the hotel, I took out my wallet, expecting a huge bill. I noticed Uncle Wei hadn't turned on the meter, which could mean only one of two things. Either he expected a huge sum - or he expected no money at all.
I took the largest Chinese paper money available out of my wallet, 100 yuan, the equivalent of about $20 U.S., and handed it to him with a smile. If there had been a bill, it would likely have been around this amount.
Wei refused it with a big smile.
I tried again. He refused.
Instead, he made a fist with his left hand, and I covered it with my right, and we shook our hands up and down. This traditional Chinese way of shaking hands is more intimate, saved for good friends and family members. It was his way of telling me that I should stop offering him money, that he was happy to help me, as apparently, I was close to someone he knew at the party. To continue to offer him money would be an insult.
* * *
For 10 years, I traveled the world while working as a teacher with thousands of interactions with strangers in more than 30 countries. I most often traveled alone. Only three incidents like the one with Motorcycle Man occurred, each one ending with kindness, grace, and perhaps just a smidgen of good luck.
It is true that bad things sometimes happen in this world.
But I would venture that while we fear the bad the most, it is the good things that happen with strangers that data say occur more often. Our fear tells us not to interact with unfamiliar people, even though the chance of something good happening is statistically more likely.
There have been rough years since the pandemic began in 2020. Even though we have just greeted a new year, it is off to a rocky start. There are wars, worry about our next presidential election, the effects of last year's inflation that lowered the buying power of our wages, and heating bills that are sky high. Collectively, the world is in deep negativity as we wonder what might happen next.
I would suggest that we consider not giving in to our fears and remember that the vast majority of the time, people are good, and that eventually, things work out in the end. If they haven't yet worked out, it isn't the end yet!
We read in the news about murder, drugs, crime, homelessness, and addiction so often that we become fearful of not just strangers, but sometimes our neighbors and even our friends.
Reaching out to one another, trusting a pure motive before we close ourselves off, brings us closer to one another and, I believe, keeps us safer than we realize.
Start in January, saying hello to someone unlike yourself. Perhaps that person will be of a different race or speak a foreign language. That person might have a different sexual orientation or might practice a different religion.
Especially reach out to people who frighten you, or whom the media has suggested you should be afraid of. Ask them questions about their life with an open spirit, or buy them a cup of coffee and just sit and talk. You might just make an unexpected friend or learn something new.
My experience has proven to me, again and again, that offering openness and kindness - that even asking for help from a stranger - most often brings so many unexpected pleasures. It makes the world a more welcoming place.
And really - that's what the world needs just now: closeness, trust, and caring.
All you need do is set your fear aside and give it a whirl.
This Voices column by Fran Lynggaard Hansen was written for The Commons.