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Lust in Translation
Travel Stories:When the phone rang in his hotel room in Xian,China,Jim Benning expected to face a frustrating language barrier.He never imagined a woman with a sultry voice at the other end.
05.01.06 | 8:20 PM ET
iStockPhoto
I鈥榲e always considered my hotel rooms to be refuges鈥攑laces where,no matter how foreign the culture around me,I could retreat and unwind,free from the challenges and confusion of the outside world.That was particularly true in China.I鈥檇 arrived with only a few words of Chinese at my disposal:鈥渉ello,鈥 鈥渢hank you鈥 and,as a result of an ill-fated attempt at a community college Mandarin course,鈥淚 like to eat rice.鈥 While I had little trouble procuring a bland,starchy lunch,other tasks,such as asking for directions or buying a train ticket,often devolved into exhausting games of charades.The language barrier felt as insurmountable as the Great Wall,and at the end of each day,my well of patience having run dry,I would escape into the safe confines of my hotel room.
That鈥檚 exactly where my wife,Leslie,and I wound up after exploring the northern city of Xian late one afternoon.So when the telephone suddenly rang,intruding upon our sanctum,I was in no hurry to answer it.None of our friends knew where we were.Not a soul at the hotel鈥檚 front desk spoke English.And I had no interest in proclaiming,yet again,my great love of rice.
I considered ignoring the phone,but when the caller didn鈥檛 relent after nearly half a dozen rings,I flopped down on the bed and picked up.
鈥淣i hao,鈥 I said.
A woman at the other end uttered something in Chinese,her voice rising in a way that suggested a question.
鈥淚鈥檓 sorry,but I don鈥檛 speak Mandarin,鈥 I replied in English,assuming that would put a quick end to it.
As I was about to hang up,she said something else,this time exhaling between words,as though she were pedaling an exercise bike.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 that?鈥
She offered a few more words in a warm,soft voice,and then breathed into the phone,this time in a way that evoked not a sweaty gymnasium but a romantic,candlelit bedroom.I had no idea what she was saying,but I liked the way she was saying it.
Leslie,standing across the room,shot me a quizzical look.I pulled the receiver away from my lips and whispered,鈥淚 think it鈥檚 a prostitute,but I鈥檓 not sure.She doesn鈥檛 speak any English.鈥
Leslie shook her head,then wished me a good time and disappeared into the shower.
I鈥檇 remembered reading something about Chinese prostitutes occasionally calling hotel rooms to seduce potential clients,but I鈥檇 never received such a call myself.
On the streets around our hotel,amid the noodle joints and mom-and-pop markets,we鈥檇 seen a number of curious shops with barber poles,hazy pink lights and young women inside.Was this woman calling from one of them?Was she hoping to lure me in?
鈥淚鈥檓 sorry,鈥 I said,鈥渂ut I just don鈥檛 understand what you鈥檙e saying.鈥滭br/>She said something back,her breathy voice rising and falling seductively.
I cursed the Great Wall of language barriers.What to do?
I summoned my most charming,debonair voice and said,鈥淲o xihuan chi fan.鈥 I like to eat rice.
My phone friend giggled with delight and cooed,as though I鈥檇 just whispered a sweet nothing in her ear.
I felt as though I鈥檇 unlocked the door to some alternate Forbidden City where gibberish was an aphrodisiac and young women had nothing better to do than to giggle and coo and flirt on the phone with strange men.I liked it.
I picked up my Mandarin phrasebook and rifled through it,searching for another bon mot.
鈥淲o yao zu yiliang zixingche,鈥 I said.I want to hire a bicycle.
My friend laughed.Then she whispered something else,her soft voice revealing,I was almost sure,a deep and heretofore unspoken yearning.
A picture was forming in my mind of a young woman who looked not unlike Lucy Liu,flaked out on a sofa in one of those pink-lit rooms,twirling a finger in her long hair,smiling coquettishly.When she replied this time,I could swear she was telling me,鈥淚 know a great place where we could share a bowl of rice.鈥 Or maybe she was just saying,鈥淢y prices start at a very reasonable three hundred yuan.鈥 Whatever.The important thing was that she seemed to be into me.
I scoured the transportation section of my phrase book for another enchanting line.
鈥淢oban qiche jidian kai,鈥 I said.When is the last bus?
My friend giggled.I laughed.
Just about then,Leslie stepped out of the bathroom,a towel wrapped around her,patting her damp hair.She looked puzzled.
鈥淵ou鈥檙e still on the phone?鈥 she said.
I smiled and shrugged.
Leslie furrowed her brow and then cracked a smile.She couldn鈥檛 decide whether to be annoyed or amused.I wasn鈥檛 sure myself whether to feel guilty or stupid.
It was,in an odd,small way,not so different from the confusion I鈥檝e often felt traveling in a country where the culture and language are not my own.I arrive eager to make sense of everything.But the more time passes,the more I鈥檓 reminded that this is not so easily accomplished,and that the world is an impossibly complicated place.And then,as hard as it is,I try to make peace with my confusion,and even,on rare occasions,embrace it.
I decided it was time to get off the phone.I searched my phrase book for a few parting words.Then,in my best Mandarin accent,I said,鈥淚s there a lifeguard on duty?鈥滭br/>My friend giggled.We giggled together.Then I gently hung up the phone
Travel Stories:When the phone rang in his hotel room in Xian,China,Jim Benning expected to face a frustrating language barrier.He never imagined a woman with a sultry voice at the other end.
05.01.06 | 8:20 PM ET
iStockPhoto
I鈥榲e always considered my hotel rooms to be refuges鈥攑laces where,no matter how foreign the culture around me,I could retreat and unwind,free from the challenges and confusion of the outside world.That was particularly true in China.I鈥檇 arrived with only a few words of Chinese at my disposal:鈥渉ello,鈥 鈥渢hank you鈥 and,as a result of an ill-fated attempt at a community college Mandarin course,鈥淚 like to eat rice.鈥 While I had little trouble procuring a bland,starchy lunch,other tasks,such as asking for directions or buying a train ticket,often devolved into exhausting games of charades.The language barrier felt as insurmountable as the Great Wall,and at the end of each day,my well of patience having run dry,I would escape into the safe confines of my hotel room.
That鈥檚 exactly where my wife,Leslie,and I wound up after exploring the northern city of Xian late one afternoon.So when the telephone suddenly rang,intruding upon our sanctum,I was in no hurry to answer it.None of our friends knew where we were.Not a soul at the hotel鈥檚 front desk spoke English.And I had no interest in proclaiming,yet again,my great love of rice.
I considered ignoring the phone,but when the caller didn鈥檛 relent after nearly half a dozen rings,I flopped down on the bed and picked up.
鈥淣i hao,鈥 I said.
A woman at the other end uttered something in Chinese,her voice rising in a way that suggested a question.
鈥淚鈥檓 sorry,but I don鈥檛 speak Mandarin,鈥 I replied in English,assuming that would put a quick end to it.
As I was about to hang up,she said something else,this time exhaling between words,as though she were pedaling an exercise bike.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 that?鈥
She offered a few more words in a warm,soft voice,and then breathed into the phone,this time in a way that evoked not a sweaty gymnasium but a romantic,candlelit bedroom.I had no idea what she was saying,but I liked the way she was saying it.
Leslie,standing across the room,shot me a quizzical look.I pulled the receiver away from my lips and whispered,鈥淚 think it鈥檚 a prostitute,but I鈥檓 not sure.She doesn鈥檛 speak any English.鈥
Leslie shook her head,then wished me a good time and disappeared into the shower.
I鈥檇 remembered reading something about Chinese prostitutes occasionally calling hotel rooms to seduce potential clients,but I鈥檇 never received such a call myself.
On the streets around our hotel,amid the noodle joints and mom-and-pop markets,we鈥檇 seen a number of curious shops with barber poles,hazy pink lights and young women inside.Was this woman calling from one of them?Was she hoping to lure me in?
鈥淚鈥檓 sorry,鈥 I said,鈥渂ut I just don鈥檛 understand what you鈥檙e saying.鈥滭br/>She said something back,her breathy voice rising and falling seductively.
I cursed the Great Wall of language barriers.What to do?
I summoned my most charming,debonair voice and said,鈥淲o xihuan chi fan.鈥 I like to eat rice.
My phone friend giggled with delight and cooed,as though I鈥檇 just whispered a sweet nothing in her ear.
I felt as though I鈥檇 unlocked the door to some alternate Forbidden City where gibberish was an aphrodisiac and young women had nothing better to do than to giggle and coo and flirt on the phone with strange men.I liked it.
I picked up my Mandarin phrasebook and rifled through it,searching for another bon mot.
鈥淲o yao zu yiliang zixingche,鈥 I said.I want to hire a bicycle.
My friend laughed.Then she whispered something else,her soft voice revealing,I was almost sure,a deep and heretofore unspoken yearning.
A picture was forming in my mind of a young woman who looked not unlike Lucy Liu,flaked out on a sofa in one of those pink-lit rooms,twirling a finger in her long hair,smiling coquettishly.When she replied this time,I could swear she was telling me,鈥淚 know a great place where we could share a bowl of rice.鈥 Or maybe she was just saying,鈥淢y prices start at a very reasonable three hundred yuan.鈥 Whatever.The important thing was that she seemed to be into me.
I scoured the transportation section of my phrase book for another enchanting line.
鈥淢oban qiche jidian kai,鈥 I said.When is the last bus?
My friend giggled.I laughed.
Just about then,Leslie stepped out of the bathroom,a towel wrapped around her,patting her damp hair.She looked puzzled.
鈥淵ou鈥檙e still on the phone?鈥 she said.
I smiled and shrugged.
Leslie furrowed her brow and then cracked a smile.She couldn鈥檛 decide whether to be annoyed or amused.I wasn鈥檛 sure myself whether to feel guilty or stupid.
It was,in an odd,small way,not so different from the confusion I鈥檝e often felt traveling in a country where the culture and language are not my own.I arrive eager to make sense of everything.But the more time passes,the more I鈥檓 reminded that this is not so easily accomplished,and that the world is an impossibly complicated place.And then,as hard as it is,I try to make peace with my confusion,and even,on rare occasions,embrace it.
I decided it was time to get off the phone.I searched my phrase book for a few parting words.Then,in my best Mandarin accent,I said,鈥淚s there a lifeguard on duty?鈥滭br/>My friend giggled.We giggled together.Then I gently hung up the phone
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