Does Not Speak Chinese

I get myself out the door and into the elevator slowly positioning my four pieces of luggage, stuffed with Christmas presents.  I vex for a while on whether or not to preorder the Uber or call him once I’ve checked out.  I’ve decided on the latter. (what if there’s a line?)  There isn’t.  And it doesn’t matter.  A driver is on the way.

When he arrives and steps out of his Honda Accord I process in the blink of an eye that he is Chinese.  I have a huge suitcase and offer to help him place it in the trunk but he is fast and competent.  We clarify what airline I’m heading to and he speeds off.  Before long I’ve shared with him that I am returning to China, where I live.  I ask him in Chinese if he speaks Mandarin assuming of course, he’d confirm but he replies in English that he does not speak Chinese.

My driver is Tibetan, he explains.  He grew up Dharamshala.  The only word of Tibetan I recall is the word for Tibet itself which, I remember sounds like “Puh.”  He confirms that this is how to say “Tibet” in Tibetan.  We soon are trading stories about our respective visits to Tibet.  No.  He hadn’t seen Mount Kailash either but we both agreed that Shigatse was lovely with its golden spires seen from a distance, reflecting sun on the broad plateau.  The conversation never made it further into politics then to define it all as "sensitive" and "crazy. "

I did my farewell calls to one family member and then another.  Unfortunately my friend from Dharamshala had a lead-foot that had him speeding up and slowing down every few moments.  I tried to crack the window and get some air.  I considered my driver again and he no longer looked Chinese but now, rather Tibetan.   By the time we turned the corner and made landfall at the curb for United he had another ride waiting for him there at the pick up. 

Wednesday, 12/20/17