Careful What You Wish For (Shanghai)

I had dreamed of going to China for as long as I can remember. I even dared to take a Chinese course while I was an exchange student in the U.S. Over the years, I had heard the names of many cities, but for no clear reason, Shanghai was always the one that pulled me in.

And then, in my mid-twenties, without really expecting it… I was there.

All my travels until that moment had been in Western countries, so going to China felt like stepping into a completely different world.

Shanghai felt modern, cool. The vibe shifted. It wasn’t just about cultural experiences anymore, it felt like we were about to have fun. The party boys of our group, Peter and Dallin, were already researching clubs and things to do at night. I secretly wondered how they would manage to get away from our professor and head into a club after curfew hours.

When we arrived at the fanciest hotel I had ever set foot in, I was still processing everything that was happening. All my adventurous travels until that moment had been on an extremely tight budget, and I had only stayed in a hotel once, when my bags got locked in a train station on France’s national holiday, and, not being able to sleep on the street, the cops, seeing me laying on a square bench, told me to choose between jail for the night or a hotel room. But more about that in another entry, haha.

Marble floors, high ceilings, the biggest chandelier I had ever seen, it all framed the grand entrance. Room assignments began, and I hoped to stay with Andrew. He was the only boy I had really connected with. But then Peter’s name came up.

We were paired together.

I froze.

Peter, from the beginning of the trip, had become popular with everyone, especially the girls, and the other “cool” guys who, just the day before at the Beijing night market, had made an unfortunate joke about me in front of everyone. 

He and Dallin weren’t just the “fun” ones, they were the ones who thought they were funny. Jokes about everything. Sometimes about others. Sometimes mean.

I didn’t hear exactly what the joke was, or maybe I chose not to. But I felt it. The laughs, the tone of their voices. It was the same energy I had felt from bullies all my life in school, and suddenly, I became that smaller version of myself again.

I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t ignore the embarrassment of being made fun of about something I had definitely said or done that hinted at my hidden sexuality.

Peter and I walked to the room. Without Dallin, he was quieter. Predictable. Boys like that are only confident when they have their group behind them. Alone, they are not bold enough to be mean, and they shrink next to the ones they bully.

We entered the room, and immediately there was tension. Still, even though I was upset at him, I couldn’t deny I was attracted to him.

After a few minutes of quiet, he asked,“What are you doing later?”

I told him Andrew and I were thinking of going to see the skyline and visit the night market.

“Sick, man,” he said in his “bro-ish” voice. “You gonna try more nasty foods? Haha, you’re sick.”

I didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult. I was becoming known in the group for being open to trying all the strange foods on the trip, and that was the only moment the other boys would actually “respect” me and see me as one of them.

Since the beginning of the trip, I went “all in” matcha flavored sweets, fried unknown things, like the famous scorpion. When I saw the stand selling them outside the Beijing palace, with no hesitation I ran toward it while some of the group called me crazy. 

The thrill of being the different one was more exciting than trying the food. And the comfort of being acknowledged by the boys gave me the fuel to keep trying those strange foods.

I knew night markets are where you find local cuisine. So, to avoid becoming the target again, I needed to keep impressing everyone with my adventurous side.

Peter said he would shower first. It suddenly hit me that sharing a room meant moments where one could see the other undressed. Even though I was nervous about being alone in his presence, I couldn’t deny my curiosity, attraction, and even desire to see him naked.

He walked into the bathroom fully dressed, and when he came out, he would be wearing underwear. He would not be naked in front of me, but he was clearly very comfortable just in his undergarments. It was like he didn’t want to show it all, but give me just a taste.

Part of me was annoyed, but also glad he never got fully naked. That avoided catching me looking at him, and who knows what he could say or do. But strangely, there was an energy between us I could not describe.

I showered and ran to meet Andrew at the lobby. He was ready, map in hand. He knew I'd be up to explore the city more and take the subway instead of Uber like the others.

The whole time, Andrew was flirting in his search for a Chinese girlfriend. His goal on this trip had been clear to all of us: he was looking out for his future wife. His obsession with Chinese girls was funny and a little strange to all of us.

When we got to the market, we saw the other students playing it safe with the food, ordering chicken barbecue, fruit bowls, and other familiar options. To maintain my status as “the boy who tried everything,” and hoping to continue gaining respect from the boys, and stopping any future bullying, I walked around looking for the unfamiliar.

I saw some pretty strange meat on a stick: octopus, duck, even whole frogs. But I still wanted something so unique, something I could only have in China.

Then Andrew stopped.

In front of us was a line of young, well-dressed, beautiful girls. I thought it was a fruit stand or yogurt.

Then I looked up.

“Stinky Tofu.”

A strange name for something attracting a line like that. I had never heard of it before, and the combination of the word “stinky” and a line of pretty local girls seemed odd enough to at least take a closer look.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We joined the line. There was the smell of fried food, and something else. Something… off.

I tried to see what was being made. The chef dropped tofu into oil, coating it until it turned dark and bubbled. He placed it in a cup, opened a large pot, and scooped a dark liquid over it. Cilantro on top. Done.

Each time he opened the pot, the smell drifted closer.

Strong.Very strong.

When it was my turn, he stopped. He looked at me.

“Are you sure?” he asked in broken English.

I smiled. “Yes.”

Looking back, it wasn’t a friendly smile he gave me. It was the kind that says: you’ll learn.

He handed me the cup. Andrew pulled out his phone to record.

I didn’t wait.

I took a big bite.

The moment my teeth broke through the crispy crust and hit the soft center, the liquid exploded in my mouth. My brain tried to process the texture while my nose connected the smell to the taste.

My eyes shot open.

For a split second, it felt like my entire life flashed before me.

It was the worst thing I had ever tasted.

A bite that lasted seconds felt like minutes.

A sewer came to mind, not one I had seen, but one from movies. Murky water. Floating garbage. That unbearable smell.

And somehow… that’s what was in my mouth.

My body reacted all at once, gagging, coughing, trying to yell.

I spat it out.

Then again.

And again.

Every trace had to go.

If my goal was to find something unforgettable, I had succeeded. Just not in the way I expected.

Andrew was laughing so hard he couldn’t film. But then, in the midst of all the nasty taste, blurry vision, and mental chaos, I looked across the street and saw the rest of the group watching.

Peter and Dallin came over. Somehow they knew about the dish. They congratulated me for such bravery, for eating something so nasty. I got two pats on the back. And a few handshakes. No joke was made.

As naive as I was back then, I still understood, they were not impressed enough to make me their friend, but at least enough to know that I could be a fun person to be around. Which later that same night would lead to an invitation to a very strange night (shared in the Shanghai Part 2 entry).

But first, I needed to get that taste out of my mouth with some chicken kebab and a fruit bowl. Because nothing really beats conquering the unfamiliar, and slightly traumatizing, with something safe.

At that moment, it wasn’t just about the taste. It was about relief, about stepping away from being the joke, from being watched, from needing to prove something.

Because trying that tofu was never really about being adventurous.It was about being accepted.

I didn’t know it yet, but it was never just about the food.