Hi there:
First, happy new year to all. May the coming months bring inner peace and good health to you and your loved ones.
Before I get to our latest selection, I’d be remiss not to touch on a major news development in China. On Jan. 8, the country marked the official end of its 3-year long COVID lockdown era, as the quarantine requirement for inbound travelers was lifted. Earlier, officials scrapped mandatory isolation for COVID patients, mass testing and movement tracking, among other control measures.
The transition has been chaotic, to say the least. From my vantage point in Kunming, my wife and I were infected consecutively as part of the mass outbreak that was unleashed across the country, which led to a mad scramble for fever medication. Luckily, the two of us and everyone in our immediate circle recoveredly rapidly.
The same does not extend to China’s elderly population, which enjoys a relatively low vaccination rate. The government is no longer releasing patient figures and death numbers on a daily basis, but anecdotally, it’s widely believed there has been a significant spike in casualties. The situation is expected to worsen during the month-long Lunar New Year travel period now underway, as tens of millions of people hit the road.
I’ll be monitoring our partner publications closely for quality first-hand accounts by either the patients themselves, their caregivers or medical workers. I’m also particularly interested in the impact of long COVID, which has scarcely entered the public discourse.
In the meantime, here’s a piece that ran before the scaling back of restrictions. Tour guide Cai Liangqing shares his emotional journey after being forced to deliver takeout when the travel industry all but ceased to exist in the early days of the pandemic. The source material was first published in Chinese on Nov. 2 by We Are People with Stories.
Take care and see you soon.
—ML
Coping with COVID: From Hotshot Tour Guide to Delivering Takeout at 48
By Cai Liangqing, as told to Tender Peach
Edited by Meteor Shower
1.
My name is Cai Liangqing. I'm 48 years old. I was born in a place too tiny to be located on a map.
Our family comprises three siblings. I'm the youngest. Mother and Father are farmers who aren't highly educated. We are not that well off. As the only boy in the family, my education was always funded, although I only favored certain subjects, which led to me flunking my university entrance exam. I ended up getting a higher education diploma at a school in our county.
Around the time I graduated, the father of a good friend from the same hometown had made a fortune in Hainan Island. Decked in gold and silver, he was unabashed about showing off the fruits of his success as he enjoyed a triumphant return. My friend’s father said that given its late establishment, every aspect of Hainan Province was underdeveloped. Some 10,000 outsiders had flooded the province. Opportunity was everywhere. As long as you were willing to work hard, you could make a killing even as a street vendor selling soda.
His comments filled me with fantasies about Hainan. It happened to be when I was looking for a job. I wasn’t content with just landing a factory job and spending the rest of my life in a mundane existence. So armed with 200 yuan (US$30) I borrowed from my second eldest sister and after leaving a note for my family, I braved the frontier that was Hainan without my parents’ knowledge. It was 1996.
At the time Hainan was cultivating its tourism industry. The goal was to turn Hainan Island into a prime tourist destination. There was a deficit of talent, especially tour guides who spoke standard Mandarin. Plus the bar was low. All you needed was a secondary school diploma to sign up for the tour guide exam. And thus I became a tour guide in Hainan Island.
The threshold for becoming a tour guide in terms of education credentials wasn’t high. The thing is the bulk of the visitors to Hainan at the time were either rich or wealthy—they were well-traveled and well-read. To guide people like that required a substantial amount of professional knowledge. It so happened I was a passionate student of the humanities. That heavy bias is also why I missed out on university. Now my interests aligned with my career ambitions. Not only did I have solid foundation, but I was also a keen reader. From ancient history to horoscopes, there was no stone I left unturned. Plus I was a smooth talker. Soon I became our travel agency’s ace guide.
Given my stellar reputation, I was deferentially called Teacher Cai in the industry. It wasn’t because I was highly educated, but rather due to the fact I had the ability to persuade our clients to spend willingly. My sales figures consistently topped the charts and I held the record of not receiving a single complaint in more than 20 years of leading tours.
You could say that the travel industry gave this diploma holder a stage to thrive on. Standing in my designated spot at the front of the bus and commanding the respect and attention of the entire vehicle—it was extremely satisfying and a huge boost to my self-confidence.
When someone without much in the way of education credentials or connections makes a successful career for himself through sheer ability, it breeds a certain amount of arrogance.
In those years, my income was considerable, but I didn’t save much either. Whatever I earned went toward building a home for my parents in our hometown and their medical expenses, or subsidizing the household budgets of my two sisters and supporting my own small family. I never had to worry about money. As long as I was willing to work hard and lead tours, I was bound to rake it in.
But little did I expect that one day there would be no tours to lead.
2.
On Jan. 26, 2020, the central government announced that all previously booked tour groups were canceled without exception. I became unemployed.
A mid-life crisis ensued. I had parents and children to support—and yet my bank account was empty. I was saddled with loans and pressure, but I didn't have a job.
Because I earned a sizable income in recent years, my wife felt comfortable being a full-time homemaker who backed up her husband and took care of our son. But once my livelihood was cut off, the bills quickly piled up—my kid's tuition, even our monthly household budget, let alone car and mortgage payments.
The most important thing in a moment like that is to produce and survive. Yet for someone nearly 50 to send out his CV—especially considering I lacked respectable educational credentials, a stellar resume and youth—it was natural to not hear back and hit a dead end.
A few proteges of mine switched to social media. I put on my thick skin and filmed a few videos. The view count was pathetic, let alone talk of building a fan base. My students insisted that I stick to it for while, saying that once the account was established the cash would start flowing in quickly. But my circumstances did not allow time for experimentation. As much of a fortune was in the making, the prospect did not resolve my immediate financial pressure. My foremost concern was maintaining a living.
So I gritted my teeth and said: “The heck with it—I’ll deliver takeout.” It was an industry that didn’t factor age or education. As long as you had speed, anything was possible.
Even though I braced myself, when I started making deliveries I still felt a loss of face. When I used to lead tours I always donned a dress shirt and slacks. Fellow tour guides who ran into me respectfully called me Teacher Cai. Now my job required neither brain power or communication—yet there was always someone who complained about my speed. Working among young people, I felt so weak for the first time in my life. My nickname became “Tortoise Old Cai.”
Good luck never comes in double dosages and disaster never strikes just once. When someone is down and out, even water gets lodged in your teeth. I was struggling with my pride at the outset. Lo and behold, I run into a former adversary—A Liang. We fought bitterly over the same tour groups that were better-educated, wealthier and bigger. Later on he started a supermarket chain and retired from the tourism industry.
It was an encounter that came at my lowest point. Adding to the dynamic was our unequal relationship. He was the customer and I was the deliveryman. He recognized me as soon as he opened the door. “Well, isn’t it Teacher Cai! How comes you’re in the food delivery business these days?” he asked, as he opened his front door wide, fully exposing me to his immediate family.
Embarrassed but composed, I responded: “Oh, A Liang! What a coincidence. As you know, tourism is at a standstill. It’s too boring being stuck at home, so I decided to find some odd work and earn some cigarette money.”
“How exhausting delivery takeout is, having to brave the elements of nature. If you’re not too proud, my supermarket chain is looking for a night-shift security guard. We’ve been struggling to land the right candidate. You must be 50 by now, no? We don’t come across that many older job candidates. This position is a perfect fit,” A Liang said with a laugh that reverberated loudly in the hallway.
My face was burning, so badly I felt I was about to pass out. I feigned a poker face and ignored his insults, stuffing his order into his hands frantically. “Here’s your takeout,” I mumbled before turning around.
But A Liang wasn’t done. He summoned me again. “Um, Teacher Cai, if you don’t mind, can you take out the trash for me? I’m entertaining guests and can’t get away,” he said, proceeding to point to a black plastic bag next to his door. I wanted to ignore him again, but I quickly remember I had already been docked pay several times that month because of lateness. It wasn’t worth it accumulating another complaint. Sometimes circumstances meant caving in. So I quickly picked up the trash bag and left. A Liang then took a picture of me while I was waiting for the elevator in the name of posting a positive comment about me.
So much for the praise. The next day the photo popped up in various tour guide chat groups on WeChat. There I was—a mere skeleton in an oversized outfit, blocking A Liang’s line of sight with one hand reflexively and holding a trash bag with the other, looking ever so desperate and awkward.
A Liang set the tone in the chat groups with the following comment: “Now doesn’t he live up to his reputation of a top tour guide? Such a fierce dedication to service—offering to take out the customer’s trash after delivering takeout. A true role model.”
My fellow tour guides came out of the woodwork.
“Wow, even Teacher Cai is reduced to delivering takeout! Talk about a legend falling off the pedestal. That’s how immense financial pressure is these days. It doesn’t matter how much talent you have. All he can do is physical labor when you get old.”
“Teacher Cai looks so much older. He’s just a fraction of his flamboyant self when he was leading tours. Looks like it pays off to have sound financial planning. Luckily, I’ve always taken on part-time work. I’m still earning an income just sitting at home every day. Interested colleagues PM me.”
**
It took just one day for me to plummet from respected teacher to industry laughing stock.
I was infinitely furious and felt mad ashamed when I saw the photo. Emotions were especially strong when my former students called to console me. Tears formed in my eyes. I imagined all the talk behind my back when I returned to my old trade. It felt utterly embarrassing.
But the interest payments on my mortgage weren’t going to drop on account of my self-esteem. The family that counted on me couldn’t indulge my hurt feelings and self-pity. I couldn’t afford to be trapped in depression. Be it a brutal rainstorm or the wee hours, all I could do was charge forward with all my might.
3.
But given the overall economic picture, naturally I wasn’t the only one who was suffering.
I often received interesting orders. For example, it’d be an order for a cup of milk tea for takeout and the customer would ask me to pick up a second order placed as a self pick-up one. The point of placing separate orders is to use different coupons. Or the customer would actually be at the shop and ask me to just hand over the order right after I picked it up, the reason being a discount on a certain takeout delivery platform. A penny saved is a penny saved.
So I was hardly surprised to receive that order for takeout coffee that day. The coffee chain and my delivery platform were doing a joint promotion. Ordering takeout was half the price of dining in. My customer was sitting in a car parked right outside the cafe. I loved orders like that. They were literally done right after pickup, conserving precious time and energy.
The car was extremely easy to find because it was a driver for a ride-hailing app and the vehicle was clearly marked as such. I cross-checked the license plate number and tapped on the window by the driver seat. The customer thanked me profusely as he received the cup of coffee.
“Manager Chen?” I blurted instantly when I recognized the familiar face.
“Oh, Guide Cai. What a coincidence! How come you’re delivering takeout now?” My friend wasn’t expected to come across an acquaintance, only lifting his head when I called his name, which made for a slightly awkward encounter.
Manager Chen was a project manager for a large property developer that specialized in vacation homes. Most of their customers were northerners escaping cold winters. To boost sales, the developer organized tours for prospective clients. They targeted people who were willing to pay a good-faith “down payment” for a 3-day, 2-night tour of Hainan. Most of the time was spent viewing apartments. If the trip ended up with a purchase, the down payment went toward the cost of the flat. If not, the deposit covered part of their travel expenses, which helped reduce losses for the developer.
Back then our travel agency was in charge of hosting these clients. In a bid to boost sales, the developer encouraged tour guides to talk up their development’s pros and appreciation prospects by promising a $1,000-yuan bonus for each closed deal.
Manager Chen was in charge of the tour groups on the developer side and I supervised the tour guides, so we ended up talking in private quite extensively. Our temperaments were similar and the conversation flowed well.
“I need to make a living somehow. Tourism has stopped and I’m not a young man anymore. I couldn’t find a good fit, so I’m delivering takeout. And Manager Chen, your situation is?” I asked while casting a glance at the logo on Chen’s car.
“I’m unemployed too,” Chen responded quickly.
“How come you’re unemployed at such a young age?”
“Darn, age doesn’t matter these days. After my last project ended, my company offered me a job on the mainland, but my mom fell sick, so I can’t get away. I didn’t find anything suitable here in Hainan after sending out my resume. Plus taking care of my mom requires flexible hours. So I’m driving for a ride-hailing app as a transition,” Chen said, followed by a sip of his coffee. At that point his smartphone announced that he had a new request and to proceed to his pickup point immediately.
I was due at my next restaurant and didn’t have time to see Chen off. Everyone has their share of hardship to deal with. No one has it easy. Having my own business to attend to, I had no time to mourn the adversity in life.
After running into Chen, all the self-pity and anger in my heart vanished. Someone more outstanding than me had to take on odd jobs to survive. Who am I to complain?
If possible, who doesn’t want to hold a respectable and easy job? But life is often that harsh. As hard as the work is, it’s nothing compared to the responsibilities one has to shoulder. Perhaps letting go of face to earn a living is the most respectable thing an adult can do.
4.
Later during that period there was one occasion when I was waiting on an order at a restaurant. I overheard a young couple arguing fiercely over their itinerary. With all tour groups canceled, traveling on your own became the top option. But that requires adequate preparation, especially when it comes to itinerary planning. Otherwise the trip just becomes the chance to switch beds.
Unable to overcome my curiosity, I crept up on the couple. The source of their argument was simple—they were ignorant about the distance between major tourist destinations and the appropriate time to spend in each spot. That led them to miss quite a few spectacular shows.
Perhaps it was professional instinct, but I ended up drawing up an itinerary for them and even updated them on changes that weren’t reported online. I also briefed them on each tourist destination and ranked them based on my professional opinion. That way if they ran out of the time, they could prioritize the more important spots to hit first.
The couple began to look at my in a completely different light, as if I wore a Superman outfit underneath my takeout delivery uniform. My posture seemed exceptionally upright when I walked out of the restaurant takeout in hand. It wasn’t because of the couple’s gratitude, but rather because I had reconnected with the profession I had set aside for so long. Indeed, at that moment, I felt I genuinely loved my occupation and missed it dearly.
Luckily, domestic tourism began to resume a year later. My travel agency also called me back. I was sitting on concrete steps eating an order of rice and meat sauce that a customer had canceled because of lateness when I got the call. I was overwhelmed with emotion. The day I had been waiting for had finally arrived.
But business trends in the tourism industry a year into the pandemic were nothing to write home about. The economic impact of the pandemic led to pay reductions across all sectors. Having to struggle for food, shelter and other basic matters of existence, who had extra money and time to travel for leisure?
The only group whose income hasn’t been affected during the pandemic is elderly retirees, whose fear of infection and physical limitations translate into a reluctance to leave home. Not to mention some of these retirees now have to help out their children financially and don’t have extra cash to spare.
The number of tour groups paled in comparison to before the pandemic and income levels were meager. Still, I chose to stay in the industry. Some my attribute it to vanity, nostalgia of the dignity that tour guiding instills in me. Undoubtedly, the tourism industry made my career and supported my family, but deep down I know that my 20-odd years of persistence wasn’t about a buck or two. Every customer who takes a trip away from home is in search of happiness. Never has there been an industry where you can witness so many smiles or constantly linger in beautiful sites.
I love being a tour guide, perhaps because of fame and fortune, or its non-discriminatory approach to talent, or maybe because it brings me contentment and a peace of mind. Regardless of the tough road ahead and the inability to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I sincerely believe that many practitioners like myself are still sticking to their jobs. It’s something worth shedding tears and persevering for.
I hope the hardship we endure today will lead to clear skies at some point down the road.