Road Tripping: You Say Party

“I was traveling China on tour with You Say Party! as their manager, in May 2008. We played Beijing twice, flew to Shanghai, took the ‘mag-lev’ train to Nanjing and then the overnight traditional rail to Hong Kong. This story takes place in Nanjing, a two-hour ‘magnetic levitation’ train ride away from Hong Kong.
These trains travel something ridiculous, like 250km an hour, past buildings in all states of repair and disrepair. Our translator pointed out an area where construction of whole neighborhoods had begun but never been finished. They had no windows or doors, but people were living in them nonetheless. We passed farmers with oxen plows, people weeding their fields by hand, but never did we see a stretch of wilderness. 

Upon arrival in Nanjing, it was immediately obvious how much greener it was compared to Beijing or Shanghai. After we loaded into the venue and did sound check, a couple of us wandered around and checked out the parks before dinner. A member of two of the bands that had played with YSP! in Beijing (I think Carsick Cars was the name of one of them), and apparently one of the most famous indie rockers in China, happened to be in town because his family was from Nanjing. He was kind enough to take us out for traditional Nanjing fare and Bai Jo. If you’ve never heard of Bai Jo, it’s basically rocket fuel made of rice. And unsurprisingly, it gets you from zero to right silly in no time.

And so, the debauchery began. Becky Ninkovic (vocals) and I loved how hilarious the Bai Jo made us and promptly bought a couple bottles from the restaurant, for something like 40 cents each, to sip as we got ready for the show. Krista Loewen (keys) and Becky let me do their makeup for the night, as had begun to be tradition on the trip, and the laughter coming from the dressing room could be heard by fans waiting in line for the loo. Becky spent much of that night’s performance in what appeared to be bliss, with a finale that included writhing around on the floor. The performance was outstanding! At least through my blurry-eyes it was. 

After the show, Derek Adams (guitars), Devon Clifford (drums), and I stayed to hang out with some of the expat local journalists. At this point things get even blurrier. I think Derek split and went back to the hostel, leaving just me, Devon, and a room - half full of Chinese people, half a mix of other cultures. Two Chinese men approached us and motioned us to sit at their table. We sat, and they ordered a six-pack of beer and a 26oz bottle of whiskey. This bar didn’t sell individual drinks, they came by the bottle.

Then they whipped out some dice and cups, and apparently we were going to play a game. The more outgoing of the two Chinese men shook the dice, slapped them down, then poured a shot of whiskey for Devon and shoved it in his face. This process repeated five or six times. It was clear by this point that the men didn’t speak a lick of English. We were trying to find out what the rules were, as over and over, it was Devon who had to drink. I found myself drinking when it wasn’t my turn, just so that I might join in the fun. 

This process, honestly, was getting kind of boring. With Devon becoming extremely intoxicated (to put it politely), I decided to ask around the bar for someone who spoke both English and Mandarin. I found a tall Nigerian man who spoke a handful of languages and asked him to translate. He approached our table and attempted to engage the men. He asked them a question in Mandarin, they answered. He consulted his friend in French, then relayed to us in English, that the men weren’t actually saying anything. I didn’t understand. Several languages swirled through the air until the Nigerian man finally told us that this apparent ‘game’ we were playing didn’t actually have any rules. My understandable confusion ensued, until my Nigerian friend explained, “My guess is they’re trying to get your friend drunk so they might take you home afterward.” Right.

A cue to leave if I’ve ever heard one. As we were leaving, the determined Chinese man handed me his phone number and said some things in Mandarin that I’m glad I didn’t understand. Devon and I hailed a cab and passed the driver our note paper with the address to the hostel on it. The cab driver then proceeded to drive us around for an hour. We had to call our translator and wake him up so he could yell at the cabbie to get us home on time.

We ended the night with another, totally unnecessary, drink at the hostel bar. And, of course, woke up to a massive hangover, and a bunny in a cage at the end of the driveway. Don’t ask me what that has to do with anything because I couldn’t tell you.