I noticed recently in a magazine for expats that Guangzhou was having a performing arts festival. I immediately jumped on this knowledge and decided to book tickets for two events. The first was called “Men in Tutus.” The ballet company Les Ballets Trocadero de Monte Carlo, consists of men, dancing, in tutus. This was, as you may well imagine, impossible to pass up.
I decided to attend the event , held at the Guangzhou Opera House, with some friends from work. We also determined that we would meet for dinner before the event as it began at 8:00 p.m. We planned to meet at 6:00 p.m. at a restaurant near the venue. I had a general idea of the location of the restaurant, so I decided to take a taxi and just show the address to the driver. Between the time I arrived home at 3:30 p.m. and leaving two hours later, a deluge of Biblical proportions began. My better judgment told me that I should probably take the metro, as the stop is located right under my building. But, owing to the fact that I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going, I decided to rely on the street smarts of my cabbie. Wrong, wrong, wrong. My first mistake was assuming it would be wise to catch a taxi in the rain. The minute the drops start to fall, taxis disappear. I had 20 taxis pass that were full. I waited for 15 mintues and finally flagged down a cab. However, two women materialized on my corner as the taxi pulled over and jumped in. I was incensed. How dare they poach my taxi. I managed to keep the stream of profanity in my head rather than pounding on the window and letting them have it.
Another five minutes passed and I finally managed to get a taxi. My umbrella was leaking at this point and I was soggy and angry. As I showed the driver the taxi card, he gave me a look that told me he had no idea where I wanted him to take me. At that moment, I prayed for Chinese language abilities to materialize. This did not happen. Instead I showed him a taxi card for the Ritz-Carleton, which I knew was fairly close to where I was going. He seemed frustrated with me, but I as I had flatly refused to surrender my ride, he had no choice but to take me. He did, however drop me on the opposite side of the road, which was divided by a very large and impassable median. I think he even sneered and laughed a little when he took my fare, but I can’t be sure. I walked, in three inches of rainwater, to the nearest crosswalk and started out in the general direction of the restaurant. I called my friend who was already there to see if she could give me directions. She asked several people that worked there if they could explain to me (in English as I was still not fluent in Mandarin) where the restaurant was located. No one could give me directions.
By this point I was soaked to my knees. My umbrella was still leaking and I was worried that I would destroy my phone by trying to get directions. There may have been tears. It was hard to tell with all of the rain leaking through my umbrella. I continued in the general direction of the restaurant and realized that I was starting to recognize things. I knew where I was! I knew there would soon be a dry place, a burger and a Coke Zero. My mood improved from hysterical to teetering on the edge. Things got even better when the food arrived. Ironically enough all four of us that were attending the ballet had similar stories of rain woe. Two of my co-workers never made it to the restaurant and took Shelter at the Ritz where they drank $10 coffee and weathered the storm.
Just as I began to get dry, it was time to go back out into the maelstrom. However, this time I knew where I was. And the rain had lessened a bit. We made it to the opera house and took our seats. While the place was super-air-conditioned, it was not wet.
The performance was well worth the epic struggle required to arrive. The ballet was both masterful and grotesquely comical. What else would you expect with an all-male ballet company. Dying swan from “Swan Lake” was the highlight of the night. Natalie Portman has nothing on dying swan guy.
After two hours, the performance ended. I had almost forgotten about the rain. Until I stepped outside. Cats and dogs. I dashed, once again in several inches of water to the metro station. I arrived on the platform ready to be home. I decided to fish my keys and my key-card out of my bag before I had to go back out into the rain. As I searched my purse, I realized, to my horror, that my key card was missing. I looked again. And again. No key-card. Somewhere, out in the rain, my key-card was floating toward a drain. Could my rain karma possibly get any worse? Fortunately, it was a short ride on the metro and some kind soul in my building forgot to shut an outer door. I was able to gain access to the building and my warm, dry apartment. Was it worth it? Yes. Would I take a better umbrella next time? And galoshes? And an inflatable dinghy? Yes. But Men in Tutus, sodden or dry was a cultural event not to be missed. I hope they come back soon. I’ll be waiting with my rain-gear.
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