Navigating China’s borders can be fraught with anxiety, as I knew all too well from a previous harrowing layover in Beijing. Accused of unspecified crimes and denied entry, I was left scrambling for an escape route, a stark welcome that felt particularly pointed given my academic focus on China and past accusations of espionage. Even speaking Mandarin, a language I professionally interpreted, seemed to trigger suspicion. As an Indian-looking woman with an indigenous name and a Polish surname, born in Costa Rica, my identity often felt like a point of contention.
Despite this history, a stubborn desire to return to China persisted. This time, meticulous planning was key. With my Taiwanese friend, a native Mandarin speaker, by my side, we approached the land border from Hong Kong. My support network in Hong Kong stood ready, a safety net in case things went south. But this time, they didn’t. Adopting the persona of a clueless tourist, I remained silent in Mandarin, and to my relief, it worked. Years after my last, unwelcome encounter, I was back on Chinese soil, in Guangzhou.
This return was more than just a change of location; it was a deeply personal journey. China itself had transformed, but so had I. The person who had previously navigated these streets was insecure and lost. China, in its demanding way, had been a crucible, forcing rapid personal growth amidst financial and social pressures. I arrived as a naive young adult, lacking basic life skills and completely inexperienced. Looking back now, standing in Guangzhou once more, the distance I had traveled, both geographically and personally, was strikingly clear. This trip felt like a powerful culmination, a “Travel Wrapped” experience that brought a sense of closure and profound personal reflection.
