I first came to China in 2005 with a study abroad program. Nineteen of our thirty days were spent in Guilin – a picturesque tourist town in Southern China. Some of the lessons I learned there took a while to sink in but my stay there taught me a lot.

1) All mountains, stalactites, any and every rock formation or natural structure, resemble lions. Tour guide after tour guide would, via megaphone, quiz us on what this karst hill or that drippy stalactite looked like. The answer is almost always a lion (go ahead and Google “guilin lion”. If it’s not a lion than it’s definitely a dragon. If you try to hedge your bets by answering ‘drion’ or ‘lagon’ you will receive nothing but disappointed looks from your tour professional.

Karst hills on the Li River

In all of Guilin there was only one exception to the rule – a stalactite in Reed Flue Cave that, according to our ebullient but apparently totally serious tour guide, looked like Osama Bin Laden. While OBL may have been holed up in caves so long that he’s petrified, it’s unlikely that cave is in southern China. On the other hand, maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong caves.

2) Don’t mess with your Chinese teacher. Since I considered spending two weeks taking early morning Chinese classes a waste of time, I complained endlessly about how I was never going to learn Chinese and could be doing much better things with my oh so precious time in China. During class I behaved like a petulant child and threw little tantrums when the boys lost every single one of the daily “boy vs. girl” competitions our teacher engineered.

My cunning teacher retaliated by naming me Wu Yun (巫云 | Wū Yún). This was a masterstroke on her part, although I doubt she realized how long the joke go on. Although she told me that the name means ‘black cloud’ – which is sort of what my huge mess of hair resembled at the time – and the pronunciation and tones are the same, the characters for that would have been 乌云.

Rainclouds and mountains, oh my!

Despite my nonstop complaining, I returned home and promptly signed up for Chinese classes. A year and a half after that first trip I was back in China studying Chinese full time. I quickly came to dread introducing myself because no sooner had my Chinese name left my lips than people would blush and giggle.

Finally, after much prodding, my tingli teacher admitted to me that my name was a little sexier than I’d thought.

This Google translation of the meaning of the original poem sheds a little light on the matter: “The former refers to the ancient myths and legends Xingyun rainfall Wushan Goddess thing Huan said,” it starts off innocently enough, “after the men and women combined.” Whoo!

Reed Flute Cave

Lest you think this is some esoteric reference only scholars understand I must disabuse you of that notion – Chinese students memorize the poem in school and I’ve yet to find someone who can’t quote this verse about postcoital rainfall at will.

Although I flirted with changing it I ultimately decided enough damage had been done and there was no point becoming another Mai Ke (Michael). The biggest advantage to my name is that no one ever forgets it.

There were other notable lessons from my time in Guilin – how to find your way home when you have no idea where home is, no card with the address, and no time to spare before the mandatory graduation ceremony; or ways to keep one’s scalp together after wiping out during a rooftop rave in the middle of a sub-tropical rainstorm. China is always an education - even if some of the lessons are more easily and commonly applied than others.

Related Links
Guilin Scenic Spots
Where to Learn Chinese? University vs. Private Language Center
What to do with 48 Hours in Guilin

 

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