女儿中国行回来后几乎天天和同学朋友聚会，玩得不亦乐乎，几乎忘记了答应说要写一篇旅游感想的文章。这很像我当年大学暑假回到老家，白天就在家吃饭睡觉，一到晚上就不着家边，一般都是和狐朋狗友玩到很晚甚至通宵来回来，妈妈常常唠叨说我把家当旅馆。好不容易前几天一个晚上她静下心来很快写下这篇旅游感想，我看了后感觉总体上还行，但是有很多去过的好地方和中国巨大变化的东西比如高铁地铁城市面貌等等没有包含进去，可能是太过匆忙完稿的原因吧。不管怎样，也算对这次中国快乐之旅有所总结了。

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 “……建于14世纪，作为军事防御系统。你看到那边的箭楼了吗？” 姑姑指着远处一座寺庙式的建筑问我。眯着眼看着渐渐褪色的日落，我心不在焉地点点头。当我们继续走在西安的城墙上的时候，她的声音渐渐地消失了。一条光滑的看上去是无穷无尽的石头路被红灯笼照亮，随着天空变暗，在前面慢慢地展开。此刻在我周围，情侣们手拉着手散步，朋友们在路上停下来自拍，家人们骑着出租来的自行车经过。就像一个小孩子，我在高墙的每一个缝隙之间停下来，向下窥视我的故乡。从高处往下，我看到街道上小小的行人熙熙攘攘，护城河上灯火通明的船只，以及街头各色小贩摊的彩色顶棚。我还听到出租车司机不耐烦的喇叭声，闻到汽油和油炸食品的混合味道，既令人闻着怪怪的又很美妙。片刻之间，我停下来观望，思绪突然集中起来，我不敢相信自己终于高中毕业了，我又一次回到了故乡，从外面的家来到了自己出生的地方。我充满了幻想、好奇、怀旧和熟悉感。这是我第一次登上故乡的城墙。

 

对这次的中国之行，我忍不住把它与我上次2009年回来的情况进行了比较。那年夏天，我带着美好的回忆回到故乡，在我出生的公寓里度过了温暖舒适的一些日子，还有难得的机会在成都抚摸了熊猫，在杂乱热闹的夜市买鱿鱼肉串。这一次，有些东西还是一样的，比如在兴庆功公园出售的泥人，下午非常拥挤的公交车。然而，许多变化，无论大小，都是非常深刻的。我曾经心爱的公寓早就出售了。现在的日常交易都是用智能手机支付的，很多地方不再接受现金。我每天早上买的含糖橙汁已经不卖了。

 

当然，从我上次回来到现在已经有九年了。从一个曾经瘦弱嶙峋的三年级学生开始，我现在(危险地)即将成为一名大学生。这一次，我更加意识到我周围的文化差异。我在北京下了飞机，就急不可耐地安装一个新的VPN应用程序，以便保持snapchat上朋友们的联系。我一直以保留我的中文能力为荣，但当我跟不上导游关于兵马俑为什么被创造的快速讲解时，我感到惊讶。在点饮料之前，当我姑姑为我大声朗读菜单时，收银员好奇的眼神让我感到尴尬。

 

从外表上看，我和穿过繁忙街道的任何行人完美地融合在一起，但是我还是不自觉得感到自己像一个局外人，穿着伪装并笨拙地试图理解一个既亲切又陌生的地方。

 

这次旅行中我最喜欢的记忆来自于一些小小的片刻瞬间。在街上从一位微笑的老太太手中买了一串用绳子串在一起的芬香白兰花。再一次品尝热闹嘈杂大街上的老北京冰棒，以及那种瞬间舌头快被冰块刺穿了感觉。乘坐地铁真是太拥挤了，挣扎着上车的人有一半又被挤了出去(这种折磨让我忍不住觉得很中国化)。当然，更大的事件也铭记在心。面对着两百多英尺高的乐山大佛时我屏息凝神。第还一次见到我五岁的表弟。长途跋涉后登上长城，又坐四轮踏板车从长城上滑下。
 

在这两周多的时间里，我不知不觉地浸入了中国的历史和文化海洋之中。在杭州西湖游玩的时候，我坐在船上，迷迷糊糊地听着导游叙说白蛇传，一个发生在湖对岸断桥上的悲惨爱情故事。在成都的宽窄巷胡同，我呷了口绿茶，看着传统的变脸表演，和其他观众一起搞不明白，表演者怎么能那么快地换好面具。

 

局外人的感觉依然挥之不去，但我开始意识到这并不一定是坏事。我用它来引导我，好让我充满好奇心，去学习并去体验外面的世界。然后，经过三十多个时的艰苦返程之旅，我终于回到德克萨斯州的家。这次旅行我感觉自己长进了洞察力，也很快乐，就像多年前那次访问中国后回来的感觉一样。

 

---- Thoughts from China Trip ----

“…built in the 14th century, as a military defense system. Do you see the Archery Tower over there?” my aunt points to a temple-styled building in the far distance. Squinting against the fading sunset, I nod absently. Her voice drifts off as we continue to walk along the Xi’an City wall. It’s seemingly endless, a smooth stone road illuminated by red lanterns that slowly turn on as the sky darkens. Around me, couples walk by hand-in-hand, friends stop along the way to take selfies, and families ride by on rental bikes. Like a little kid, I stop between each gap of the tall walls to peek down at my hometown below. From up high, I see miniature people walking along the brightly lit ships and the colorful tops of different street vendors, hear impatient honks from taxi drivers, and smell a mix of gasoline and fried food that’s both unpleasant and wonderful. For quick moments, I stop and take it all in, unable to believe that I’ve finally graduated high school and that I’m here, once again, in my hometown across the world from home. I’m filled with a sense of wonder and curiosity, nostalgia and familiarity. This is my first time on the City Wall.

Throughout my recent trip to China, I can’t help but compare it to the last time I was back, in 2009. I came home that summer full of fond memories: warm, lazy days spent in the house I was born in, having the rare opportunity of petting a panda in Chengdu, buying squid kabobs in infamous night markets. This time around, some things are still the same, like the clay figurines sold at Xingqinggong Park and the crowded afternoon busses. However, the changes, big and small, are stark. The house that I fondly loved has long been sold. Transactions are paid by smartphone so often now that many places no longer accept cash. The sugary orange juice I used to buy every morning is no longer being sold.

And, of course, nine years have passed since I last came back. From a scrawny third grader, I’m now (dangerously) approaching being a college student. This time around, I’m much more aware of the cultural differences I see around me. I get off the plane in Beijing, desperately trying to install a new VPN app so that I can keep up my snapchat streaks. Having always prided myself on retaining my Chinese abilities, I’m surprised when I can’t understand the tour guide’s rapid speech on why the Terracotta Warriors were created. Before ordering a drink, I’m embarrassed by the cashier’s curious glances as my aunt reads the menu aloud for me.

Though by appearance, I blend in perfectly with any pedestrian crossing the busy street, I can’t help but feel like an outsider, dressed in disguise and clumsily trying understand a place that’s both dear to my heart and very foreign.

Many of my favorite memories on this trip come from small moments. Buying flowers strung dedicating by a string from a smiling old lady on the street. Tasting once again the infamous Old Beijing Popsicle only to have ice shards pierce my tongue a second later. Riding a metro so crowded half of the people struggling to get on were only pushed back out again (an ordeal that I can’t help but feel is very Chinese). Of course, bigger events have captured by heart as well. Having my breath taken away at the over 200 feet tall Buddha nestled in the heart of Le Mountain. Meeting my five-year-old cousin for the first time. Sliding down the Great Wall on a four-wheel scooter after a long hike.

And, throughout the course of two weeks, I’ve unknowingly dipped my toes into an ocean of Chinese history and culture. While visiting Westlake in Hangzhou, I sit in a boat and listen sleepily as the guide tells the Legend of the White Snake, a tragic love story that occurred on the Broken Bridge across the lake. In Chengdu’s Kuanzhai Alley, I sip on  green tea and watch the traditional Bian Lian, pondering with the rest of the audience how the performers are able to change their masks so instantaneously.

The outsider feeling still lingers, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve used it to guide me instead, to be curious, to learn, and to experience. After a rough 30 hour trip, I make it home to Texas feeling slightly more insightful, and just as happy as I was after visiting China all those years ago.