How I met my wife

             I first saw my wife in the Vancouver Airport. She was pretty in her pixie cut and blue pant suit so I was pleasantly surprised when she finally steeled her nerve to approach us.  I thought she was German.  In 1984, English Canadian girls were all into big hair and high waisted jeans and she was different.  She’s still different but not German.  Nicola did not have so favourable impression of me.  Instead of thinking me exotic, she figured me to be 22 years of age and coming from a background of privilege.  I have no idea the source of that conclusion except that my outfit of choice was long shorts and Lacoste golf shirts, a variation of which I wore every day, kind of like Steve Jobs with his black turtle necks and jeans.   

She was wandering around, making circuits through the airport looking for the group with whom I was sitting. We were all teachers who’d signed up for the “Education in China” graduate course being offered out of the University of Victoria.  In 1984, the idea of going to China had really excited me.  Controlled under the mysterious power of the Communist Party, the country had been closed to Western travellers for decades.  Who knew what we would find there?

Although most of the participants were middle aged women, there were a few exceptions.  My wife of course, Aaron who taught Grade 4 in Vanderhoof, B.C. and Don, a thirty something year old guy closely linked to Eleanor, an attractive forty something who really liked loose-fitting cotton print dresses.  I can’t remember hearing him speak. 

            Nicola was seated directly behind me on the first leg of our flight from Vancouver to Tokyo.  Two or three hours into the flight, I became bored so I kneeled on my seat and turned around to introduce myself.  Knowing what she must do for a living, I asked her where she was lived.  She said “Sexsmith” and I asked her where that was.  She replied about 20 kilometres from Grande Prairie.  Being a naïve, big city kind of guy, I asked her why?  Why what? she said and I said, Why would you live there? She told me that it wasn’t so bad.  Besides, that was where her boyfriend lived and I thought, Man, that was direct.  Not knowing where to go with the conversation from there and with no indication that Nicola may have even a casual interest in my life or circumstances, I returned to my book. 

Deplaning in Shanghai

            In Tokyo, our transfer to a China Airways plane destined for Shanghai became interesting when one of our group, Julia, was unable to navigate her way from the waiting area onto the plane.  She had overindulged her access to free alcoholic beverages on the previous flight so Don and I, each under a shoulder carried her while she pretended that her legs were still functioning. Fortunately, we were flying China Airways because any regular airline wouldn’t have let her on.  I don’t think the stewardesses knew what to expect of the Western traveller. 

            In Shanghai, Julia was able navigate the mobile steps that led from the plane down to the runway and from the runway to the airport terminal.  At first I thought the source of the suffocating heat that had hit was like a wall was emanating from the jet engines.  It was like someone had added water to the rocks in a sauna except there was no door from which to exit.  I was disappointed to discover that the heat would follow us right into into the ancient terminal building where we were somewhat relieved by a breeze wafting down from whirling ceiling fans.

            No representative from the university was there to greet us.  In point of fact, we’d yet to see any official from the University of Victoria.  Eleanor had been given us our passports and airline tickets at the Vancouver Airport and I was to discover that she was also a student.  Fortunately, Kim, from our group knew Chinese so she was able to negotiate a couple of taxis to take us to the Shanghai Normal University where we would be staying in residence and receiving instruction.  Everyone piled into the cars except me.  There wasn’t room.  I wasn’t worried.  I figured I’d catch another taxi.  How the hell I’d be able to tell the driver where I supposed to go, I’ll never know because Marilyn, a friend of Kim’s insisted they make for me in their cab. 

             Within minutes of leaving the terminal, the sun dropped from the sky and it was dark.  Common practice in Canada is for cars to turn on their headlights at this time of night, especially when there are no streetlights.  Not in Shanghai.  Not in 1984.  The practice was for the driver to flick on his lights when saw an obstacle in the way and then flick them off once he was past. With every burst of light, we’d see a busy street life flashing in front of our eyes.  People in hammocks.  Women cooking on charcoal braziers.  Families squatting on tiny stools eating dinner.  Men playing mah-jong.  Children playing on the street.  It was too hot to be inside the one room hovels inhabited by most of the people along that road.  No one seemed perturbed sharing the narrow two lane road with our crazy driver and others like him.  Occasionally, a figure would appear directly in front of the wind shield, jump out of the way, rudely gesture at the driver and disappear into the dark of the night.  I never got used to these harrowing night-time drives.    

            The university campus was a profusion of two and three story brick buildings interspersed with large green spaces and a running track where I would race the local lads and sweat profusely.  The dorms were spacious with two students assigned to a room.  Because Don was sharing a room with with Eleanor and Aaron had volunteered to stay behind a day in Vancouver when we discovered the flight had been overbooked, I was placed with a Japanese student of about my age.  He collected oriental instruments that I couldn’t identify so he demonstrated a few.  I didn’t know Japanese and he didn’t know English so our communication was extremely limited.  Nevertheless, I kinda liked him.  When Aaron arrived the following day, he would request that I move in with him.

Aaron became a pretty good roommate. I enjoyed listening to his theories about the Chinese and teaching and Nicola found the difference between our two sides of the room very amusing.  My drawers were stuffed with clothing without an attempt at order.  Empty beer and soft drink bottles were strewn all over my side of the room and dozens of near worthless scrunched and crumpled Renminbi notes were thrown into the top drawer of my desk.  In contract, Aaron’s side of the room was immaculate.  His drawers were organized, extraneous objects removed and no foreign currency stuffed wherever.  That said, he never complained about my pigpen tendencies which was impressive because honestly, it would have annoyed me. 

Nicola in her shorts 

            The bathroom was at the end of the hall and featured a toilet and a giant bathtub which nobody used.  The temperature rarely dropped below 30 degrees at night.  A quick shower was the best solution to the thin layer of sweat that constantly covered our bodies.  Nicola never wore her pant suit again.  Instead she stuck to loose fitting dresses, mostly handmade like nothing I’d seen on my female compatriots back home.  After a couple of weeks, she purchased a pair of Chinese men’s polyester shorts which were unusual but did not make her look Chinese.