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So the other day I decide I should probably do a little Christmas shopping for my wife. My morning class was cancelled and so I thought I would get a little bit of an early start before things got too busy. (That’s a joke. Other than the weekends, every day seems pretty much the same here in terms of being busy or not busy.)

So I caught the 28 bus down to the Tibetan market. The first thing I noticed about the day was that it seemed as if my nose hairs were crystallizing in the sub-arctic temperatures. I kept wrapping my wool scarf around my face but it kept falling down as I walked. It was frigid outside.

The second thing I noticed was that businesses in Xining aren’t too concerned about the Christmas rush. There’s no 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. extended hours at the Tibetan market. In fact, hardly any of the stores I went to were even open by 9 a.m. So I went to Ching Bai (a supermarket) to thaw out for a while and come up with a better strategy.

After wasting 45 minutes or so, I walked back up the street to the Tibetan market area. As I was about to cross the street the following interaction occurred:

A Voice from Behind: O.K….Are you OK?

Me: (Turning to see if an actual person was speaking, I see two gentlemen. One looks like a Tibetan version of Joe Pesci if you can visualize that. The other looks a bit more stereotypical–i.e. long black hair, a trace of a goattee, ruddy cheeks.) …Yeah, I’m OK. (We cross the street at the same time.)

Joe Pesci Tibetan:  (Laughing)  OK.  Hallo.

Me: (Never quite knowing how to respond to these type of conversations…) Hello…

Joe Pesci Tibetan:  (Talks very fast.  I decide there’s no way he’s speaking Chinese!)

Me:  (Walking beside them wondering if I need to say anything.)

Joe Pesci Tibetan:  Name.  You name.

Me:  Wode Zhongguo mingzi?  (My Chinese name?)

Joe Pesci Tibetan:  Dui, Zhongguo mingzi. (Right, your Chinese name.)

Me:  Zhang Wen De.

Joe Pesci Tibetan: (Talks quickly to his friend in…my best guess…Tibetan? Then talks very quickly to me, this time in Chinese.) Blah, blah, blah de, blah de blah, blah.

Me: Duibuqi, ting bu dong. Wo zai Min Yuan xue Hanyu. (Sorry, I don’t understand. I am studying Chinese at the Minorities College.)

Joe Pesci Tibetan: Wo Zang zu (Yes! I know this phrase. He is speaking Chinese and telling me he is Tibetan. He pulls out a bunch of necklaces from under his shirt. I recognize the many Tibetan Buddhist symbols and artwork. One of the necklaces has a picture of the Dalai Lama.) Da-li La-ma.

Me:  Dui (right.)

Joe Pesci Tibetan:  Ni chi fan …blah, blah, blah, blah (He motions like he is scooping food into his mouth.  Charades on the street is fun.)

Me: (I’m pretty sure he is inviting me to eat breakfast, but wondering whether he might in FACT be expecting me to buy them breakfast.) Duibuqi, wo chi le zaofan. (Sorry, I ate breakfast.)

Joe Pesci Tibetan: Ni chi le fan. (He seems OK with this. After a few minutes he points to my backpack and then makes his hand into the shape of a square/rectangle and puts it up to his eye. More charades! Three syllables, sounds like "Gamera". A camera! He wants to take a picture with me. No, he wants me to take their picture.)

Me: Wo mai you. Zai jia li. (I don’t have –one is understood– It’s at my house.) Ni you? (Do you have one? I make the universal sign for camera that he just made with his hands.)

Joe Pesci Tibetan:  You. (I have one. He says this but he never produces one so I am confused. I let it slide. After a few minutes he produces a cell phone.) Blah, blah, blah, dianhua (phone number.)

Me:  (I’m thinking we can barely communicate with my little Chinese and your Tibetan Chinese and hand motions. What good would it do to give you my phone number? I wouldn’t even know it was you who was calling me? Plus, you look a bit like a Tibetan Joe Pesci; maybe you’re a gangster or something. I don’t say anything pulling out the often played dumb foreigner card. We continue down the street.)

We crossed the street then the two guys got ready to enter a restaurant. I extended my hand and shook theirs and said, "Zaijian" (Goodbye.)

I headed on to the market finding this conversation much less strange than I would have a few months ago.