Bringing Weapons to China

 BRINGING WEAPONS TO CHINA

The year was 1980. The occasion: the opening of China to tourism from the West. The plan: a bike trip in the south of China, starting in Guangzhou (Canton).The place: the customs station at the Chinese border with Hong Kong. 

The customs officials were meticulous. Westerners like me were rare and looked odd. We had round eyes and big noses and smelled, I'm told, like rancid milk. The contents of my luggage was strange—I was traveling by bike and had tight biking clothes, a helmet and other exotic gear that was, well, foreign to the Chinese. Then there were several small boxes of Tampax.

"打开! (Dǎkāi!)" the Chinese official commanded, pointing to a box. 

"Open!" my Chinese translator interpreted. And open I did. 

"Open more," he persisted, and I obediently tore off the wrapper. 

The customs official was aghast. He urgently called the security guard. The security guard bent it, smelled it, and cautiously fingered the fuse at the end. He then declared proudly in English, "OK. Not to explode," and pompously departed.

I started to pack up my things, but wait. 

"这是做什!?(zhèshì zuo shen?)" the Customs Official  persisted, not quite trusting the pompous guard.

"What is the purpose of this?" My translator asked, handing the Tampax back to me. 

I was stumped. What to say? Who was going to believe? And how would my poor translator know how to translate it? One thing was certain: If the Tampax couldn't go through customs, I would not go either. 

 Could I say it was for curling my hair? A paint brush? An inhaler? Finally I stuck it up my nose.  

"Ohhhh, I understand,"the translator said.

"Ahh Wǒ dǒngle," the Customs Official agreed—and officially waved me on.

My waiting companions were astonished to finally see me charge out of customs, yelling 胜利! (victory!) and wildly waving a naked tampax.