Stranger in a Strange Land: Prologue

In preparation for our trip to China, I found myself at the Chinese Consulate in San Francisco twice this week. On my first visit, I learned what should have been some self-evident facts. The Chinese consulate in San Francisco is the primary point of contact on this part of the West Coast for anyone wishing to interact with China; consulates handle travel and immigration business of its own citizens, not just that of prospective tourists; and San Francisco has a large population of Chinese nationals and immigrants. I first rolled past consulate at about 1:30 on Monday afternoon, and was able to identify quickly entrance to the visa office by following the line of people -- almost entirely Chinese -- that extended all the way down the block. After finding parking (no easy task) and joining the line myself, I realized that the limited hours of the visa office meant that there was no chance of getting in before the office closed. I resolved to return later in the week and lineup concert-style an hour before the office opened.

On Thursday, I returned to the consulate on a beautifully bright, clear morning and hour before the Visa office opened. Even that early, I was in about 25th place in line; I was also the second Caucasian person in line. Once the doors opened at nine, we all took numbers and were called to separate windows to meet with consular officers to submit the visa paperwork. My officer, a smiling young Chinese woman with the incongruous name of Sofia (according to her name tag), cheerfully approved us for a longer-term visa because the cost would be the same and because it would give us an opportunity to return to China more than once, which she indicated a great thing for us to do. She also got a good laugh out of Michael's application picture, in which he gave his usual charming grin. As a consular officer efficiently processed my paperwork and conversed briefly with me in broken English, I gained some insight into what Greg has been doing, in mirror image, for two years. I immediately regretted not having enough confidence to speak the simplest Chinese pleasantries I have learned.

Judging by the consular officer's reaction to kid's photographs, and my experience standing in line and being inside the consulate, being a distinct racial minority may turn out to be the most profound experience of our trip. It was not particularly surprising that I was at least 6 inches taller than every other person in the long line at the visa office (except for some of the Caucasians). More interestingly, once inside the visa office, the few westerners tended to seek each other out. My unscientific observations were that a few Caucasians in the room appeared to sit near each other and conversed with each other, to the limited extent that anyone was chatting at all. I suppose it is natural to do so if we assume that it is more likely that a Caucasian will speak English. On the other hand, we were still in San Francisco, and presumably many of the Chinese folks in the office would be just as able to speak English.

Do we ever set aside an impulse to align with what we perceive to be our own tribe? When in the comfort of our home, be it a house, school or town, I think even the marginally enlightened among us can feel perfectly at ease (or can learn to be so) with people of any race or creed. However, when we find ourselves away from familiar surroundings, particularly if we are others who are in surroundings familiar to them, it feels natural to cling to anything that is more familiar than the environment. The point of commonality need not simply the race. It could be a common identification by language, school, state or nation.

Experiencing life as a distinct, and distinctive, minority should be an important experience for all of us, and especially the kids. Not only are we Caucasian, but I am significantly taller than typical Chinese person, and the kids have red hair. Plus, will we be in the company of a Caucasian family in which the wife and two kids are blonde. We have had experience with this; Latino women used to follow Cheryl around in the Burbank 99 Cents store just to get a closer look at our redheaded kids. I expect more of the same in Shanghai, at least to some degree. Thankfully, the kids have grown up in places and in an age in which racial identity is neutral for them (unless members of a particular race choose to make an issue of it). Still, the experience of drawing attention to themselves as a result of their race will likely make a strong impression on them.

The visas will be ready next week. Then it will be time to think seriously about how we are going to pack for this adventure. Just what is fashionable in Shanghai this time of year?