Off the beaten path in China

BEIJING — It was just after midnight when the taxi driver dropped us off at the entrance to an alleyway partly blocked by sacks of cement and piles of bricks.

It's fairly typical of what I expected when my husband, Tom, and I decided to skip a stay in a high-rise hotel and spend our first few nights at Sitting on the City Walls Courtyard House, an 11-room hostel tucked inside a traditional neighborhood called a hutong.

Still, at midnight, with no other cars or people around, it seemed wise to make a quick cellphone call to confirm we had the right address.

Rachel, one of the young Chinese owners, answered. "Just walk five minutes," she said. We stepped around the construction debris and rolled our suitcases through the alley, turning right, then left, until we spotted a little round sign and Rachel waiting in the doorway.

Hutongs are like self-contained villages in the middle of the big city. People live as a community in connected, low-rise houses, often sharing cooking and meals around common courtyards.

It would be easy to dwell on the inconveniences. Rooms at City Walls were clean but small and basic. A heat lamp in the bathroom doubled as a light.

But one of the joys of independent foreign travel is finding ways to meet local people and experience everyday life outside the usual tourist zones.

Staying here meant we could join our neighbors for morning exercises in the community-recreation area and be around in the afternoons as they danced and played Ping-Pong.

Rachel Nan and her partner, Rick Dou, cared for us like personal friends, helping with train reservations, bus schedules and restaurant suggestions. Breakfast — Chinese or American — was served in a beautiful courtyard decorated with red lanterns and wooden tables.

The best part was the way the residents seemed to welcome visitors. A friendly "Ni hao," the Chinese greeting for "hello," always drew a smile and a response from anyone we passed.

Making connections

Most of us don't think of taking a "vacation" to China in the same way we think about a trip to Europe or Thailand. But after my second independent trip in three years, I have to ask, why not?

It wasn't that difficult then, and it's easier now with more signs and announcements in English and children studying English as early as primary school.

It's sad then to hear that just a year after the Olympics, a recent survey ranked China near the bottom of a list of 50 countries where potential travelers thought the people would make them feel welcome.

We found just the opposite. Not surprisingly, the same strategies that work for meeting people and getting off the beaten path in more familiar destinations worked in China, too.

Lodging is always the first step. Our hutong stay launched us into the heart of a Chinese neighborhood within two hours after stepping off our international flight.

Next comes public transportation. Trains and public buses might not be as comfortable or convenient as planes, taxis and tour buses, but using them almost always provides interesting stories to tell.

Hard sleepers

Night trains are clean and comfortable, but "soft sleepers" (four berths in a compartment with a door) sell out quickly, and twice we had to settle for "hard sleepers," cars with six berths to a compartment with no doors.

Our Chinese roommates were gracious, offering to take the third-tier bunks with just a few inches of space between the bed and ceiling. The lights go out around 11 p.m., but as we found out, trains can arrive early as well as late.

We went to sleep on one overnight ride prepared for the train to arrive at 6:30 a.m. It pulled in at 4:48 a.m. Everyone scrambled to gather their things together and get off. One woman ended up trapped in the bathroom after the conductors came around and locked all the doors. Soft or hard, sleeping accommodations are always coed.

On an 11-hour overnight ride from Beijing to Xian, one of our roommates was a Chinese army officer who lifted our suitcases into the storage area above the top bunks. The other was a businessman who brought DVDs to watch on his laptop, and offered to share his dried fruit and nuts.

A recorded "wake-up" call in English roused us with a friendly "Sweet morning everyone. Wish you had a good night!"

Striking a bargain

Everyday shopping and eating provided more opportunities for cultural connections.

As uncomfortable as some Americans might be with bargaining, it's part of the Chinese culture. It's also a good way to connect, especially if the seller is a mom-and-pop merchant rather than one of the commercial vendors catering to the tour-bus crowds.

I was reminded of this when we stopped at a sidewalk antique shop in Pingyao, a medieval walled town once the banking center of China, now a tourist town with comfortable guesthouses, museums and cafes.

A vase with a picture of Mao on it caught my eye, and I asked how much. The woman quoted the usual outrageous high price. I countered with some words in Chinese a friend taught me for "Too much! Discount, please."

She smiled and laughed and called her husband over, clearly amazed that I knew this Chinese phrase.

"You punch," he said, handing me a calculator. I got the little vase for $3, probably a little too much to pay, but we were having so much fun trading "final offers" back and forth, I finally gave in.

We all "won," important in any transaction, and we celebrated by having our picture taken together.

Eating like the locals

A friend in Seattle wondered if it was possible to get vegetarian meals in China. The short answer is yes. Meat dishes, especially mutton and duck, are popular, but vegetables are inexpensive and plentiful.

Walking in Xian in the rain one afternoon, I noticed a woman selling steamed buns from her kitchen in the alley across from our hotel.

She spoke no English, so I held up two fingers to signal that I wanted two. One was filled with fresh, steamed greens; the other with mushrooms and bean sprouts.

When I asked if I could take her picture, she smiled and checked her hair in a little mirror hanging near her bamboo steamer.

We chatted back and forth, me in English and she in Chinese. Neither of us had any idea what the other was saying. No worries. She seemed to get a kick out of having a "foreign customer," and for 14 cents, I walked off with two buns and another entry in my mental scrapbook.

"Nice to meet you"

People constantly asked us to pose for pictures with them. It didn't matter that we were strangers. Most Western visitors travel with a tour group or a guide, and the everyday Chinese have few chances for one-on-one contact.

"We are interested and curious about foreigners like you," explained Rita Zeng, a college student who stopped us for a chat in a Xian museum. We've kept in touch by e-mail and recently answered her questions about the American "hippie" movement for a school report.

It was the chance for more of this kind of personal contact that I liked about wandering around Datong, a coal-mining center near the border of Inner Mongolia.

To the guidebook writers, Datong is just a no-name, polluted city, not worth any more time than it takes to visit the Hanging Temple, a wooden monastery built into the side of a mountain, and the ancient stone Buddha carvings at the Yungang Caves.

I was impressed by the caves and temple, but what I remember most is the meal of donkey meat and spicy tofu we ate at a local restaurant, and the way strangers greeted us as we walked there along a busy street littered with construction rubble and piles of empty boxes.

"Hello," several shouted out to us. "Nice to meet you!"

Carol Pucci's Travel Wise column runs Sundays in print and at www.seattletimes.com. Comments are welcome. Contact her at cpucci@seattletimes.com. Twitter updates at www.twitter.com/carolpucci