Stop the Bus

A few things that have become regular parts of our daily existence in China are extremely spicy foods and long bus rides. Unfortunately, sometimes these elements are combined and make for a disastrous combination, especially for the colon. [Warning: the contents of this blog posting may be unsuitable for sensitive individuals, those currently consuming food or those who wish to believe that visiting China someday will be an experience without occasional intestinal distress.]

Finishing up a weekends' trip to Yibin to visit friends, Richy and I headed to the bus station to pick up our tickets back to Chongqing. Our bus still wouldn't be leaving for about an hour, and since the trip is usually about 4 hours (give or take depending on traffic) we decided we'd better get something to eat beforehand to avoid the overpriced and questionable cleanliness of the pit stop snack stands. The only restaurant nearby was a typically small, family-run restaurant serving noodles and local dishes. We sat down and looked over the menu, noticing that they had a dish we often enjoyed in Chengdu, but rarely, if ever, see in Chongqing: hongyou chaoshou (red oil dumplings). Slightly spicy and slightly sweet, the red oil provides a nice contrast to the pork and green onions in the dumplings. What a pleasant coincidence that this restaurant would have them! The son/grandson of the women working the fully-exposed kitchen took our order and walked away.

To our disappointment, he soon returned, "Jintian meiyou." They didn't have any that day. Back to the menu. All of it was in hanzi (Chinese characters) and although we can recognize several dishes, the majority of the items on the menu were a mystery and we have a constant fear of accidentally ordering parts of animals we are not fond of eating (as has happened on occasion). I recognize niu rou mian (beef noodles) which, although it's not my favorite, tends to be relatively mildly spicy and edible. Richy orders the local specialty, dandan mian (spicy noodles with peanuts). When my order arrives, it confirms what I have begun to suspect about food in Yibin - it tends to be much spicier than the already quite spicy Sichuan-style fare in Chongqing and Chengdu. Gristly chunks of beef were floating in a totally opaque red broth, with puddles of bright orange chili oil collecting in the folds of the noodles. I took a deep breath and dug in. Although I have come to enjoy spicy food to a certain extent, in some cases, especially these types of noodle joints, you might as well be seasoning your food with pepper spray. Add a kick of hua jiao (Sichuan peppercorn) and your lips will be tingling (and burning!) for at least a half an hour to boot. I can understand adding a little kick to spice up a dish, but at a certain point, you can't even taste what you're eating anymore. It's all texture and sensation.

I finished most of my noodles, but had to leave the beef (almost all gristle) and broth behind. We quickly paid the bill (about $1.50 for the two of us). The heartburn started kicking in almost immediately, and I started looking for a milk tea or peanut milk to wash it down, which usually kills the burn. I bought an overpriced bottled milk tea (almost $1) from the elementary school-aged child manning the bus station snack counter and we hopped on our bus.

The driver was flying unusually fast down the highway, blaring his horn and aggressively passing other motorists. We were seated in the back of the bus per our assigned seats, so our passive-aggressive protests in English and Mandarin fell on the deaf ears of the noticeably-less annoyed passengers around us. Finally the traffic got heavier and he slowed down, giving us some time to sink back in our seats and have a bit of a nap. By the time we got to the customary halfway point pit stop two hours into the ride, my stomach was starting to churn and gurgle a bit, but when I used the restroom there was no urgency and things seemed to be generally operating as normal in my bowels.

Back on the bus, I drank a few more swigs of my milk tea and settled in for part two of our bus nap.  After about 40 minutes, just as the traffic was starting to thicken to a crawl, I woke up in a distinctive cold sweat. The gurgling had intensified and I could feel a slight burning sensation in my bowels. The line of tail lights up the hill in the distance was not a promising sign. I began mentally preparing myself for a long wait for a restroom. I tried to focus on the scenery, but the sky was beginning to darken and the windows were foggy from the outside, making it hard to distract myself. The entertainment selection on the TV screen was a manic Chinese variety show with a distinctive, rapid, zoom-in, zoom-out, zoom-in, zoom-out cinematography style that did nothing to quell my discomfort.

As 10, 20, then 30 minutes passed, my ability to keep my thoughts distracted from my bowels waned. Memories of childhood "incidents" began to flood my mind: wetting my pants as the flower girl my cousin's wedding - age 5; vomiting on the table after one too many ice creams at Old Country Buffet - age 10; puking on the school bus after over-indulging on the poorly-executed fruits of my labors from ethnic foods class - age 15. I was starting to imagine how I would remember the time I soiled myself on a Chinese bus - age 27. I informed Richy of my predicament and began to plan. "Richy, I may need to ask them to stop the bus. You need to make sure they won't leave me behind." and "Do you think we could just have them let us off in the next town and we can find another bus from there?" Richy shot me worried looks, and asked me if I was sure I couldn't hold it until Chongqing. I was taking deep breaths, squeezing the seat cushion as I endured waves of cramps from my bowels. I had goosebumps and chills, I could feel the sweat starting to bead in my hairline.

Finally, when we reached a toll booth about 30 kilometers from Chongqing, about an hour after I first awoke in my dreaded condition, I knew I had to act because I didn't think I could hold it in through another 40 minutes or so of traffic. I grabbed my purse and ran to the front of the bus to present my case in questionable grammar and diction:

"Fuwuyuan, wo you laduzi. Zhende li hai." (Attendant, I have diarrhea. Really serious.)
"Shenme? Laduzi ma?" (What? Diarrhea?)
"Dui. Wo xuyao yong cesuo. Wo keyi paobu." (Yeah, I need to use the toilet. I can run.)

The attendant shoots the bus driver a worried glance. The bus driver mumbles something about foreigners and pulls the bus over near the restroom.

The attendant tells me, "Kuai yidiar!" (Quickly!) and I manage to respond with, "Duibuqi, duibuqi, bu hao yisi!" (Sorry, sorry, how embarrassing!) as I jump out of the bus and run to the restroom.

In the bathroom, I bypassed a long line of middle aged women and jumped into the next available stall. I didn't have time to apologize. As I fumbled with my belt and my jeans, I could hear them mumble something about foreigners.

(I'll spare you the details of the following five minutes - it was not pleasant, but I imagine much more so than if it had happened in the back of a bus).

Upon returning to the bus in which 36 pairs of eyes, no doubt curious as to why their long bus journey had been suddenly halted, had just watched me bolt out of the bus and into the women's restroom on the side of the highway, I felt a surge of relief. I knew they would have been much more annoyed with the stench of a foreigner who can't handle the spice in the back of the bus. Still, I hear them mumbling something about foreigners.

For the rest of the ride, I sat more comfortably, but exhausted, and curious about the long term effects of ingesting (and holding) the Chinese culinary equivalent of pepper spray in my guts for those hours.

Moral of the story: even if you have learned to be capable of consuming the very spiciest of foods, it is most certainly not a good idea before a four hour bus ride. Although I hate to waste food, I probably would have done myself a favor by just pushing that bowl away or if I had simply swallowed my pride and told them "bu yao la jiao" (don't want chili pepper) when I had ordered it in the first place.

~ Katie