Stay curious – and travel!

My grandma loves to travel, before the pandemic, she’d make the trip to France a few times a year to see my dad. In her 80s, she’d finally conceded she needed a wheelchair to navigate check in and the long walk from the departure lounge to the aircraft. She had resisted until then mainly because she was horrified at the thought of her neighbours seeing her being wheeled around. My (very sound) argument that given the age range of her neighbours, it was highly unlikely they’d be doing any travelling went unheeded for another few years before she admitted defeat.

As she got older, well into her 80s, it became almost impossible to book via travel agents on the high street, so I would organise her trips for her online. Something she was always unsure about, due to the lack of human interaction and the fact she had no clue how I was doing it through ‘that machine’, referring to my laptop. She also became a little more nervous to travel alone so I accompanied her on her first trip to China as I lived there with my father at the time, with the dreaded wheelchair to get her used to the process. Once she got comfortable with being pushed around, she realised it was indeed much easier and she enjoyed the extra attention of the airport staff marvelling at a woman ‘of her age’ going ‘all the way to China!’.

On our first trip together, as we waited to board our flight to Shanghai, I had wheeled her into a coffee shop as I was badly in need of caffeine. I had lost the battle of being 4 hours too early for our flight – we’d had to get up in the middle of the night completely unnecessarily.

I casually mentioned that she should remember this place for the next time she travelled as it was quieter than the main terminal. I subsequently learned that for every trip from then on, she insisted on visiting that same coffee shop because I’d say so.

After we’d boarded and she had got over the shock of having her own little TV screen to watch during the flight, she spent most of the 12 hour flight happily watching films and talking very loudly to the cabin crew who would bring her special treats on account of her very thickly laying on the old lady charm. She never needed me to accompany her again and travelled on her own to China, New Zealand, and Indonesia from the UK to visit my father, as well as her regular trips to France to see the rest of the family.

Her escapades generated many funny tales which she’d often tell with her well-rehearsed thoughts thrown in. Here are few:

–        On her visits to Shanghai: ‘I LOVED that place’ / ‘ We arrived at this 5 star hotel like a couple of drowned rats’/ ‘I broke a rickshaw!’

–        On trips to France: ‘I love going to cake shop!’/ ‘I climbed up a glacier.’

–        New Zealand: ‘ The beaches are pristine!’

–        Singapore: ‘I’d love to go back!’ / ‘We used to go to great baths.’

–        London: ‘I was sick in Earl’s Court tube station.’

I’ll elaborate on some of these stories in due course, fear not. Let’s start with a China travel story.

‘Ah I do like Michael Palin, he makes proper travel films.’

‘Hmm’ I answered absentmindedly, typing out an email to a colleague on my mobile phone. We were in the living room on a Saturday evening, watching an old Michael Palin travel documentary, one of the TV programmes that was acceptable to my grandmother. I was in the room but not really paying attention.

‘Of course’ she continued, ‘I’ll never get to go to the Himalayas.’

‘Well, you got pretty close. You came to visit dad and I in China lots of times.’

‘I did love Shanghai! It is a marvellous place!’ She said, for the hundredth time.

‘Remember when you got lost? You nearly gave me a heart attack!’ I said putting my phone down.

‘I was sure I was going the right way!’ she said giggling.

‘You most definitely were not!’

I remembered the panicky feeling as I saw the empty chair in the hair salon I had left her at 45 minutes earlier. Grandma, into her mid-80s by then, had come to visit my father and I in Shanghai. I was a student at the local university learning Mandarin and was looking after her while my father was at work. After my classes that morning, I had come back to our flat and taken her to get her hair done, a non-negotiable activity even in China. We walked up the bustling street from the flat, ignoring the ‘Lǎo nǎinai’ (old granny) calls from most passersby – seeing a foreigner in Shanghai was a common occurrence but an eighty-odd year old foreigner was not. I guided my grandma to a western salon as I wasn’t sure the local Chinese ones would know what to do with her fine, short hair. We walked into the salon, and I explained what we wanted. My grandma, as was her habit, started chatting away in fluent English to a slightly bemused assistant who was clearly not understanding a word she was saying.

She was guided to a chair and I said I would be back in 45 minutes.

‘Stay in the salon even if they finish early, please.’ I told her.

‘Yes, it is nice and cool here.’ She answered, smiling up at me from her chair.

‘Ok, have fun. I’ll be back soon, you forgot your walking stick again. I’ll bring it so we can walk back.’

I smiled at the hairdresser who was busy showing my grandma photos of Queen Elizabeth II and pointing at her hair to confirm that was what she wanted.

‘Yes, that’s right dear, just like Her Majesty.’

I paid for her haircut at the reception and smiled to myself as I walked back out into the hot, humid street, grandma would surely make a great story out of this for the neighbours back in the cul-de-sac. I hurried back to the salon about 30 minutes later with her walking stick, curious to see what her hair would look like. I walked in, quickly scanned the room but couldn’t spot her. I turned around to the receptionist and asked where the little old lady I had brought in earlier was.

‘Ah! Tā yǐjīng zǒule!’ the blue-haired lady replied enthusiastically.

‘She’s already gone!’

‘Yǐjīng zǒule? Lǎo nǎinai?’ I quickly asked for confirmation, feeling a rising sense of panic.

‘She’s already gone? The old lady?‘

‘Duì ah!’ she nodded, smiling.

‘Yes!‘

I hastily thanked her, and half ran out of the shop.

Where could she be? I told her to stay put! She has no idea where she is, it is hot and she has no walking stick. She never listens!

I hurried back the way I came, looking at every face I crossed desperately hoping to see her. I was starting to really panic now, my heart was racing and I couldn’t think straight. I was hoping she would be hobbling back along the street to our flat but the closer I got to it, the more I felt a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. She wasn’t in the little corner shop, she wasn’t in the car park of our block of flats, the porter hadn’t seen her, and to my despair, she was not waiting at our front door.

I was panting and, with trembling hands, I took out my mobile phone and called my dad.

‘Yes?’

‘Dad- I’ve lost grandma.’

‘What? What do you mean?’ He said, sounding instantly stressed.

‘I left her for 30 minutes at the hairdresser to go and get her walking stick and when I went to pick her up, she has already left. I told her to stay put!’ I almost shouted down the phone.

‘The hairdresser didn’t say where she went?’

‘They just said that she’d already left! What do I do?’

‘Call the police? I don’t know!’

‘OK, I’m going to go looking for her again and if I can’t find her I’ll call the police. It’s been 20 minutes, she can’t have gone that far, can she?!’

I was trying not to panic but the thought of my grandmother out alone in the streets of Shanghai, where anything could happen, really scared me.

‘OK- call me back.’

I hung up and hurried into the lift. I half considered calling the police but I thought it might lead to a spectacular misunderstanding of some sort with my not-yet-fluent Mandarin and the local police officers eager to impress us ‘Lǎowài‘ foreigners. I decided to retrace my steps back to the salon, as I hurried along the narrow street from our flat up to a main road, a car screeched to a halt very nearly running over a pedestrian. I had horrible visions of this happening to my grandmother. Pushing the thought from my mind, I hurried up the road back to the salon. I popped my head in to make sure she hadn’t retreated back there but I was greeted with mildly surprised smiles telling me she hadn’t made a repeat appearance.

I hurried further up the road knowing that at the end of it was a huge junction that was always very crowded and dangerous. The rules of the road as we know them in the West do not apply in China, and walking out onto a busy road is the only way of crossing it. It takes a while to get the hang of precisely the right time to confidently stride out into a busy road to avoid being hit and get to the other side (relatively) safely with car horns blaring furiously at you. Any hesitation could get you run over, as drivers can’t anticipate where you are going.

As the junction came into view, I spotted the familiar silhouette of my grandma at the edge of the road stepping on and off the curb trying to cross. I could’ve cried with relief as I rushed up to her and dragged her from the edge of the road.

‘WHAT are you doing?!’ I said angrily, a little surprised at my tone.

‘Well… I’m trying to get home!’ she said, panting and looking around confused. ‘Where did you come from? I didn’t see you cross.’

‘That’s because you’re going the wrong way! Why did you leave the hairdressers? I told you to stay there?!’

‘I was trying to save you time…’ She said, grabbing my arm and her walking stick.

‘Never do that again.Ever.’ I said angrily.

‘I won’t! Are you sure I was going the wrong way?’ She asked, looking around.

‘Yes. of course I’m sure. I live here!’ Annoyed that she was questioning my sense of direction. ‘I need to call dad, tell him I’ve found you.’

‘You told your father? You shouldn’t have!’

‘Of course I did, I nearly bloody called the police! You’re in biiiig trouble!’

‘Well… I..’She spluttered apologetically. The threat of being in trouble with her (only) son always filled her with dread. A very effective tool to get her to comply with orders, I later learned as her carer.

‘Dad- I have her. She was going the completely wrong way. We’re going home.’ I said, guiding grandma slowly back down the street to our flat.

As we made our way back she tried to diffuse the situation by talking about how her hair looked: ‘The little girl in the shop was very nice, and it looks like it should.’

‘Hmmm’ I answered, still annoyed but amused at her attempts to make light of it.

As we passed the hairdresser, for a third time, she waved at the receptionist through the window shouting ‘I was sure I was going the right way!’

‘They have no idea what you’re saying grandma. And look- this is the road home, this is the correct way.’

‘Well… that’s where I went!’ She said indignantly.

‘That’s why you ended up in the exact opposite direction trying to cross that massive road. No getting out of this, I’m sorry grandma but you’re in trouble.’

After her ordeal, she stayed safely indoors for the rest of the afternoon as I did my homework. She was obviously exhausted from walking in the Shanghai heat and humidity but was still trying to hide it.

She pleaded innocence when my father came home: ‘I was trying to save time!’ but seemed to have recovered enough to try to use her adventure as an excuse to negotiate an extra gin & tonic that evening. ‘I need it for my nerves.’

‘Fine, as long as you don’t go wobbling down the streets, drunk!’ I said as I went to make her another drink.

‘I wouldn’t dreeeeeeeeeam of it.’ She said in a high pitched voice.

I laughed to myself and thought that this story would be a hit with the neighbours.

Every time she tells that story subsequently, she maintains to anyone who will listen that she was going the right way and would have found her way back eventually. 

The lesson here should be, don’t go wandering around Shanghai on your own in your eighties. But it seems to be, use these anecdotes to entertain all your friends, the butcher, all the taxi drivers, and even the odd window cleaner. Also, use scary situations to get what you want. If life gives you lemons, make a very strong Gin & Tonic.