I was at a hostel in Chengdu, an inland city of China, following the procedure for the tour. I felt someone stood by me. “Could I ask where you are going?” A voice was in Japanese. Turning, I saw a young woman in black dress, carrying a huge backpack on her back. The look of her―glossy black hair, her slender figure, and strength and grace.
“Not at all,” I went on. “Tomorrow, I’m going to Jiuzhaigou. I’ve heard of the lakes, crystal blue, very beautiful.” “Oh, let me see … ,” she took her wallet and zipped. “Oh, what should I do?” she juggled her traveling expenses. “I’ll just be a second.” After some consideration, she said, “Would you mind if I joined the tour, too?” I thought to myself: “ Of course”; I disguised my feeling and said, “If you are okay with me … .”
In the afternoon, we headed for Jinli Street, Qing Dynasty style: temple, buildings, stores and shops. “I’m K, and you are?” I said. “My name is Miki(anonymous).” She was in her mid-twenties. A fine drizzle had started to fall. We were strolling about the streets, telling each other what we had been up to. She was eager to reach Larung Gar, the community of mostly Tibetan, and had gleaned its information.
We had coffee together at a cafe. “Do you mind if I smoke?”she asked. “Go ahead,” I said and saw her light a cigarette, needing to reevaluate the woman. “What do you think of women who smoke?” I felt that she sounded me out, as many women do. She knew I did not smoke and that I could not say I really don’t like that. Naturally, I was considerate toward her. “I don’t mind.”
The night before the tour, we sat on the stools outside the hostel, conversing and waiting for a Japanese staff who has extensive knowledge of Larung Gar. When he showed up and begun to talk about it, she was engrossed in his story―so long a talking was boring, I just pretended to catch up with them, for I did not want to leave them alone.
Huanglong, “Yellow Dragon” in Chinese mythology, was inundated by tourists, almost Chinese. To get to the main scenic spot, we took the cable car up to the top. From there we started a very long walk. As we savored the ambience of the forest, she talked about her family, her work―free-spoken―and her experience in love.
“I’ve so far had more than ten boyfriends. I was now chasing a man, since the first time I met in Thailand. He is Japanese. He and I have similar values. Music, book, food and so on, in addition, ways of thinking. One evening, we drank until morning and made love … I thought he was now waiting for me. He said, ‘Let’s be together, just the two of us.’ Though, he divorced once and had a child.”
There was something flirtatious. Why did she get involved in me, despite her having been into him? It was also typical of a shallow woman who implied how popular she was in the way she showed off a large number of guys she had been with. She would never articulate my thought quality counts, not quantity, and that she only debases herself by saying that; somehow I missed my old girlfriend—a decent woman.
I could not stop thinking of the good old days. She was not such a foolish woman. She was beautiful and had inner strength. Whenever guys would have come up to her, she would have snubbed to them. I thought if she saw me with this fast woman, she would despise me―I felt like I had fallen low. Miki kept on talking about something, but I could not hear to what it was.
Meanwhile, we were approaching the main spot. The valley―like terraced paddy fields―housed plenty of turquoise pools, so crystal clear, that I could imagine a celestial dragon waded through underwater. We started to take photos of the scenery. I took photos of her and vice versa, however, and none of us said “Let’s take a picture together.”
In the late evening, we arrived at the hotel and sat down on the chairs in the lobby. The female tour staff called my name, holding out one key to us. “No, separately,” Miki said flatly. It was natural that the staff thought we were a couple. Then the staff asked, “Why? What make you inconvenient?” “We are ‘friends’,” she stressed the word with a serious look, as if she was a decent woman. “Exactly,” I said, without looking in her direction. The staff looked curiously at us and cocked her head.