Kitty

     I climbed up the uneasy, slippery pebble hill to rejoin the group for our hike to the Miao village of Wuliu, but they had already left without me. I looked around quickly, eyes scanning the dirt road we had driven on for four long bumpy hours. Oh, there was Posie, Morgan, and Jonny G. waiting for me beside the bus. I had slipped off quietly at the call of nature, and I was not surprised that no one but my closest friends had noticed my absence. As I jogged up to them so we could set off, a small groan leaked from my mouth.

     There was Kitty, the Chinese tour guide, who’s spoken English would become the butt end of typical jokes scrutinizing Chinese people’s accents. It was that painful. She was, of course, a very nice lady, and though not apparent to me, or any other SYA students, I am sure that she played an important role in planning this awesome trip. In times like these, however, her presence was often… trying.

     I apologized to my classmates for being the last one, even though I knew that they did not mind, and would have enjoyed being the caboose, if it were not for our companion. Kitty was very pleasant today though, and savored the peace and quiet that our small group always enjoyed, speaking little. Feeling free, I breathed in the perfect air, brisk and fragrant. Rice and cabbage fields terraced the rolling mountains encircling us, like several places in Guizhou we had already hiked. The beginning of today’s hike was on a dirt road that followed a clear creek. I thought of the brownish water that fell from the hotel faucet this morning. Too bad I attempted to wash my dirty socks and underwear in that water, I thought. I smiled at the thought of joining the woman carrying a basin of clothes to wash in the stream that we had seen earlier, a member of the Miao minority that populated the area. The sun broke through a cloud, and we jumped off the road’s slope to hop from rock to rock.

     Released from the pressures that even SYA in the middle of China harbored, and surrounded by tolerating, and even challenging, friends, a rare moment of genuine relaxation slipped in and convinced me: I loved this place. Many of my classmates, contemplating our newest geographical adventure, were most likely pondering the ethnic minority’s relationship with the Communist Party government; or maybe they were asking Mr. Bissell and/or Wild Zhou Ge about the area’s particular agricultural potential.

     I still could only think of my family at home. Perhaps because the scenery during February in Guizhou was distinctly similar to that in Montana during June, and the familiar smells and sounds took me to afternoons spent quietly in my regular summer home, walking or riding horseback outdoors. Or perhaps it was the tranquility between friends who felt confident in themselves despite the presence of such talented and exceptional equals that reminded me of the relationship between my sisters and I. After a thought, however, I realized it was simply pure desire to share the boundless scenery- which begged gallops through meadows on horseback, oversized games of hide and seek, or a singular spirited elope into the bamboo forest- with people I loved and respected as much as my faraway family.

     It was in this manner that I rounded a corner with my four companions, Kitty trailing to make sure we did not lose our way on the broad and open valley road. A most perfect miniature waterfall, dipping with the road and ending in a deep purple and green pool met us. Sighs and exclamations of delight paused as Posie, Morgan, and I all looked at each other, a common thought between us.

     “Oh, it would be SO cold!” Morgan said with a wild smile creeping onto her face, “but I would so definitely do it.”

     It did not take much more than that, for Posie, Morgan, and me to begin removing our bags, cameras, and hats; we hastily stripped the indefinite layers of sweatshirts, T-shirts, and tank tops that gave proof to our confidence in Mr. Bissell- when he suggested layers, we responded. I gave Jonny an inviting smile and nod, somehow anticipating his refusal, and told him to hide his eyes as our fearless threesome in slinky bras and underwear ran off the pebble bank into the arctic water.

     Kitty’s shouts of doubt and concern in her broken English only heightened our enjoyment in the plunge. We did not take pleasure from her distress, of course, but rather because we knew her likely preconceived notion of us as weak and fussy tourists needed to change. Her generic, practiced, and cheesy (de yao ming!) tour bus lectures were enough to believe we actually were the uneducated, gullible, and fat Americans that such a speech seemed directed towards. Now was the time to distinguish ourselves from a typical tourist, and while immodesty was perhaps the most obvious giveaway to our cultural upbringing, we three half naked teenagers were boldly using the natural bathtub as a local would. I am sure the hilarity of us treading water and issuing loud screeches of joy and hypothermia loosened Kitty up, and she quietly chuckled at us before telling us to hurry up so we could catch up to the group.

     Walking away with our clothes back on, Jonny finally made the remark I had been waiting for. Coming from one who could pass up a chance in the beautiful, untouched spring creek, it was an accusation so predictable that I immediately recognized his reproach and yet also tint of envy in his voice. He looked at our three inspired, animated faces, and then to the back of our sweatshirts soaked from our dripping hair, and said, “You guys are crazy.”