I Must Arrest Your Cheese

In early August of 1998, my family and I entered into a year long adventure which involved leading a group of students from the college where I worked on an excursion to China. They would study Chinese, and I would teach English as a "foreign expert." I always wanted to be an expert about something... In order to grease the proverbial skids, we arrived a couple of weeks before the students. And so it begins.....

We exited the plane ramp to the densest sea of humanity I had ever seen. There must have been a thousand people jockeying in line to go through a set of doors which appeared to lead to freedom- or at least air. What passed for air where we stood, gawking, was really little more than a tepid stench of body odor and stale breath, the mix of which was truly almost nauseating. With my American confidence, I quickly sized up the situation and pronounced, "That line's moving the fastest- let's get in it!" Now that statement in and of itself was not accurate. First, there were no lines, at least no lines as a western person understood them. They were more like surging masses and undulating groups where neither origin nor destination was known. Secondly, the use of the word "fast" with any of these masses proved completely inappropriate. We five, my wife, myself, and our three children at the time, Elizabeth, 13; Joseph, 6; and Kathryn, 5, stood out like Hassidic Jews and an Oral Roberts revival meeting. The only Caucasians in the mass of masses, we had no idea where to go or where we wanted to go. The signs, in Chinese only, provided no hint or even niggle of a possible productive outcome.

So we joined the fluctuating mass which seemed to be moving "faster." We had just spent 24 hours on a plane, and the children in particular had reached the end of their tethers. We tried to offer comfort, as parents do, but, let's face it, we knew nothing. We didn't know where we were, where we were going, where we were supposed to go, or how to communicate with anyone. After standing and micro-shuffling for 30 minutes in our line, we realized that it was NOT headed out, but back to some other part of the airport. We regrouped and joined another undulating mass.

The children would sit or lay or collapse on their carry-ons while Sharlet and I tried to ascertain where we were headed and if we were in the correct line. The mass/line of choice proved to be a correct one, and after another 45 minutes we were allowed to exit to the baggage claim area.

Now, we were essentially moving to China for a year. The airlines allowed 2 suitcases per person and we needed a lot of stuff. So we had 10 of the largest suitcases and or tubs we could manage. It was quite a sight- this young family with THREE children trying to lug so many suitcases onto so many luggage carts. (Bear in mind China's one child policy) We learned quickly, as would be the case throughout our wonderful year, that it was truly impossible to hide. We stood out wherever we went. Most often we were the objects of affection- requests to stand in with a family picture became common place, and the children, the THREE children drew copious amounts of attention.

Joseph, our 5 year old at the time, is asthmatic. We had been instructed to take a year's supply of his medicine with us. This had to be kept cool, so we brought a small cooler and put his medicine in at as well as a couple of large blocks of cheese. We had heard the horror stories of trying to buy cheese in China. Where we were living it was practically unavailable and what was there was not of favorable taste. So we had brought a long a bit to tide us over.

So imagine what would be considered an insanely large family waiting with an insanely large mountain of suitcases. Near dead children flailed themselves across the tops of the suitcases trying to rest while parents searched for a knowing set of eyes to offer any sort of assistance. The spectacle was not in the making- it had already arrived!

The hawk-like policeman circled us several times; I wasn't sure if he had more doubts about us or his ability to communicate with us. Finally he gathered himself and approached, pointing at the cooler. "What is that?"

"My son is sick- his medicine."

"Please open."

I reluctantly opened the cooler to expose Joseph's medicine, and what I would later find out was approximately $100 dollars worth of fine American cheese. Keep in mind that in 1998 the average Chinese college professor made $100 a month!

"What is that?" I almost laughed, but held my "Duh!" and just allowed the gleam in my eye.

"Cheese."

The policeman pointed to what appeared to be a World War II billboard with a list of "Prohibitive Items." This would not be our last encounter with Chinese translations. Sure enough- there it was- Cheese

"I must arrest your cheese."

Now, the thought of our beautiful blocks of cheese rotting away in some rancid Chinese cheese prison almost broke my heart, but the immovable policeman would have none of it. How exactly DO you "arrest cheese" anyway?

Finally, I reluctantly surrendered our cheese, to the unworthy hands of one who does not appreciate a casserole with gooey yellow heaven or a grilled cheese sandwich where the cheese drips oh so slowly down the side. I handed it over, feeling like some busted drug lord of the cheese cartel. As I did, though, I tried to get the last word, "I hope you have a great dinner tonight," but my words fell on uncomprehending ears. He just smiled that blissful, smile and escorted our cheese away to the hoosegow. For all I know it might still be awaiting liberation in the Chinese Guantanamo Bay.

Yes, we never saw our cheese again, but after a couple of cheese-less months we found a store which sold Australian cheese. We cried. We grilled; we casseroled. It was, indeed, a beautiful thing. We sang as we ate, "Let my cheeses go...."