Despite my Chinese appearance and attempts at speaking “curled tongue” Mandarin, Beijingers could identify me as a Hongkonger and affectionately offered me many innocent privileges. They treated me even better than a foreigner, because my pseudo-native Mandarin skills earned their respect.
While we often hear of shocking and sad stories from travellers elsewhere, such as of being robbed, cheated or defrauded, not a single mishap marred my strolls through the streets of Chaoyang district then. On the contrary, I seem to have had several lucky experiences.
Once tickets for a German radio orchestra concert were all sold out, but the counter window suddenly opened and staff offered me a reserved ticket meant for the recording crew. I was grateful also to receive many unsolicited discounts offers, waiters freed up a reserved table in a restaurant crawling with patrons for me, and taxis took me in amid heavy rain.
The magic was in the heartfelt Mandarin, that was what made all the difference.
Edmond Pang, Fanling