A moment of frustration

It was a hot and sweltering day. Having lived for four months further north, it was quite a
shock to head down south and feel the difference in temperature. Stepping off the plane after
an hour and a half flight, the pilot informed us that the temperature was 20 degrees. By Israeli
standards that was not too hot, so I stepped off the plane quite confident that the clothes that
I had brought would be suitable for my trip.

I had chosen a mixed wardrobe of a floral skirt, made of thin material, a sleeveless top that was
covered with a summer weight crochet sweater. I had brought with me a summer Lycra shirt
to wear in case the days were a little warmer. Upon arrival at my hotel, I was already a mess.
The sun albeit shining, was casting a humidity that was totally unexpected after the pollution
and greyness of Beijing. Even though the days were bright and sunny, it was as if the sun did
not even 'kiss' my skin, but bounced off and left no mark.

On the other hand, the claustrophobic feeling cause by the amount of people on the streets and the warmness of the city, left me dashing for the shower and a change of top, before I embarked
on the rest of my tour. As to where I went and what I saw I shall save for now, but share instead
what conclusions I drew as to why I appeared to be the greater point of interest than the historic site (The Terracotta Soldiers) that I had come to see.

After getting tired of the stares, pointing and occasional laughter of the Chinese who do not consider it rude to openly come up and stand next to you, obviously discussing you in great detail, either gesturing with fingers or outright stares, I wrote down some words to alleviate my frustration. It is possible that they do not believe that foreigners have feelings, for you do not
see them staring at each other in the same fashion and however hard it is to be understanding, it
can at times be most trying, so I wrote.....

''Now let me count the ways that I am a curiosity to them (the Chinese).
I'm blond, not young, wear a skirt, short colorful socks and shoes (they wear flesh colored nylons), I ignore them (most of the time), I don't use an umbrella as a protection against the sun, I write English and most incredibly...... with my left hand!

They on the other hand, mostly wear jeans, except for the older men that wear pants above
the waist line pulled in tightly with a belt, use umbrellas, both male and female, are afraid of the sun, clutch on to each other as a definition of togetherness or possessiveness, stare as if you are an alien and not just a white female (although I do concede that I do not look 'run of the mill')
let their children of young age, up to around four run around without underpants or nappy, give a push or shove that can send you sprawling or flying as they clamber to get on the bus first.....
so who's strange?

Honestly, at times it is endearing, but at others trying, it is really hard not to get a little
more than offended at times. What will be when it comes to the Olympics I ask myself?
Maybe I shall by then fade into the background?!