“You’re a vegetarian? You’re gonna starve,” nonchalantly quipped my friend Ellen. She is an American from Ohio who traveled through this region of Eastern Tibet for a year by bike in 2011 and has been calling Shanghai home ever since. I came across her blog in early 2015 when I was researching routes for my trip and reached out to her for insight. “Even the Tibetan monks eat some nasty shit.” It’s true, if you don’t say “Boo yao rou (I don’t want meat)” before you order any meal in China, expect a healthy portion of either yak meat or various chicken and pig parts. Chicken feet and pig snout seem to be the most popular. This is especially true in the high altitudes of the Tibetan Plateau, above 12k feet, above the tree line, and thus above where any vegetables grow. The only thing that does grow here is yak. Lots of them. For some people, this is part of the experience. It’s the adventure. For me, my adventure cup has been overflowing for a year now. “I’ll figure it out or just order from a menu,” I fired back, in an over confident ‘I’ve traveled for years’ arrogance. “Oh? Can you read Chinese?” Ellen countered even more arrogant. Boom. Welcome to China, the land of the perpetual language barrier. Even the tried and true charades are useless. Number signs with your hands? Nope. Those are different too. The number “6”, for example, is not five fingers extended on 1 hand paired with 1 digit on the other. Flash that sign and you’ll get a dumbfounded look. Just trying to communicate in English might yield a better result. The sign for “6” is a fist with the thumb and pinky extended. This is not even Chinese Food 101. It’s pre-China. There should be an early education program before entering, like pre-school. Throw out everything you thought you knew about international travel. China is a country of 1.4 BILLION people, nearly 5x the size of the United States . You don’t need to adopt western language or customs when you’re that size. You create your own….which they did several thousand years before our American culture existed.

Nothing can be more frustrating or paralyzing than simply trying to order food, the most basic function of life. Even when you think you have learned the word, it is nearly certain that you didn’t say it right. “Jee dan?” I inquired to the man in the back of the kitchen as I try to order an egg. A perplexed look glosses over his face. I could have just asked where to get a leash for my imaginary pet goldfish, which maybe would have been only slightly less nonsensical. “Jee daaan?” I tried again, more slowly and pronounced. Nothing. I flapped my wings and cackled like a chicken as I reached behind my butt and feigned pulling out an imaginary egg, much to the laughter of the few people in the restaurant. “Oh, jee dan!” he replies back. I. Just. Said. That. This happens every time and this…is Chinese Food 101.

Even if I felt confident that the person understood what I ordered, far too many times I have gotten something completely different. Most often it works out well and the food is quite good. When this happens, I immediately take a photo because that is significantly more effective when ordering next time, (although less entertaining for everyone else).  But even with a photo, it is still not guaranteed. Ordering an egg is one area of broad interpretation. If you want a traditional (from a western perspective) boiled egg, in the shell, as opposed to an egg cracked into boiling water or worse yet, an egg cracked into a pan of boiling oil (I call it the donut egg), good luck. “Meiyou.” I have heard this far too many times with a hand waiving in front of me, meaning, “No” or “not possible”. It was the first word in Chinese that I learned. It took several weeks before someone actually delivered this traditional boiled egg. When it happened, a photo was immediately taken and added to the “food” folder on my iPhone. Even then, most times I still hear “meiyou” either because they don’t want to make it or don’t know how. Sometimes I just have to grab an egg and drop it in the boiling water for them.

Don’t even think about creating your own dish in a restaurant, something not on the menu or unique. Even if you can describe with pictures and charades what you want, that is likely not what you will get. I have found that the Chinese are great cooks and make amazing food, however, they cannot deviate from the standard. My first time ordering food in China, I walked into the kitchen and in the cooler, I pointed at eggplant, tomatoes, spinach, and some noodles. I figured they would just fry it up together. I ended up with 4 individual dishes, each the size of a single entrée. I suppose that explains the perplexed and astonished look on the woman’s face as she took my order. I learned that each vegetable that you point at comes as a unique dish. If you point at a tomato, they scramble up 2 eggs with it. I have called it “tomato egg”…and yes, I know, not very original.  I’m sure there is a proper name for it that I cannot pronounce.  Eggplant comes presented on a bed of sautéed greens and ginger. I’m still in Chinese Food 101, and failing most tests but have learned to stick to the tried and true basics. I eat a LOT of tomato egg.  Unfortunately I feel that there is an entire world of amazing Chinese food waiting for me to try but I have no idea how to ask for it.

One thing that I have yet to see are any of the American style Chinese dishes that I grew eating as a kid in Michigan. No egg foo young. No chop suey. No egg rolls. Again, perhaps it does exist here, and is a regional thing. Or maybe I just don’t know the words, or likely the charades, because of course I have not graduated past Chinese Food 101. However, when given have the opportunity to get fresh made noodles, that is truly a treat and I typically double down. See the video below that I took.

Chop sticks with rice is the most challenging, and in my narrow, western raised opinion, pointless exercise in futility that I have experienced. Maybe its just my ineptitude? At least the Nepali people mix in the dahl (lentils) with their rice to form a sticky paste before grabbing a handful and shoving it in their mouth. Many of the Chinese people that I have seen eating rice simply put their mouth at the edge of the bowl and use the chopsticks to shovel it in.  I suppose it is more refined although less effective than the Nepali approach. I still attempt to pick up rice with the chop sticks, a few grains at a time. Perhaps it slows down the rate of consumption and forces me to learn patience. And maybe that’s the point? Hmm….

Convenience stores in large cities, or tiny shops in the front of someone’s home in a remote mountain town, always have instant noodles. It is the cheapest and most easy food to buy, carry, and cook. Frankly, I can’t eat any more of it, especially since in the United States it is every college kid’s staple diet. When yogurt is available, either fresh or packaged, I eat it like its my job. A fruit and vegetable market leaves me in a sugar induced coma. I’m over the moon, gorging on bananas, pineapple, and raw carrots, all things easy to peal. Available everywhere here are the popular pickled chicken feet, which however are not popular with me. Tofu, in vacuum sealed packages is a great camping add on to make the 3x per day instant noodles a bit less like a poor college kid experience. Kinda like the first time I discovered that I could add hot dogs and ketchup to mac & cheese and make an entirely new meal.

I have been traveling with my 2 Swiss friends through China for 2 months and I am convinced that they are biologically averse to spice (or flavor, as I say). “Boo yao la,” they have learned to say. “I don’t want spice.” “Boo yao rou,” I add in. “I don’t want meat.” The cook laughs, throws up his hands as if to say, “What the hell am I putting in there then?” Fair question. Fortunately for me, on every table there is a small jar of la that I add to my plate. Their noodle soup however typically comes as noodles in boiled water. It’s always an enjoyable moment for me when either they forget to say, “boo yao la” or just the fact that the pan the food is prepared in has been seasoned with thousands of meals of spice so a bit inevitably seeps into ours. First, little drops of sweat bead up on Ivo’s forehead. He casually wipes them away, hoping nobody notices. Then a subtle cough. Finally, on one of my favorite meals, he abruptly stood up and walked out. “I can’t eat this sheet,” he chokes out in his Swiss accent as I laugh hysterically, even though a small, barely noticeable, part of me feels bad for him. This video is only a slight exaggeration.

No discussion of food can be complete without the mention of…after the food. This may be a bit graphic but its part of the travel experience. Fortunately I have made it through China, both big cities and tiny remote mountain villages, without any significant issues. In the small villages, I always ask to see the cesuro (“toilet” – another critical word that I have learned). It is never a western style toilet, but rather a squatty and more often than not it is outside and nothing more than a hole underneath a couple of boards. Sometimes it is an elevated structure hanging over a river. Sometimes it is just…the river. Several occasions it has been a concrete building, one side for ladies, one side for the gents. There is usually a row of spaces, partitioned with a half wall, offering privacy if you choose, but low enough for social interaction otherwise. Sometimes there is no privacy, just all social. The real fun has been when it snows, adding the bonus of icy conditions to an already unstable environment.

Make no mistake however, the culture, the landscape, and definitely the food are amazing in China and Eastern Tibet. Even we I’m not cycling through this enormous and diverse place, sometimes just ordering lunch can be adventure enough.