If a Head Doesn't Nod in a Forest, is a Silent Connection Made?

One thing I've noticed during our three months in Beijing is that when a Westerner meets a Westerner, a-comin' through the rye, there is, more often than not, an explicit avoidance of connection.  What I mean by this, is that there is no silent nod, no tightened lips and raised eyebrows, certainly no overt gestures or even words, that would acknowledge a kinship of any kind.  I do realize that it's not quite the same thing as two guys, both wearing Bears' jerseys, high-fiving each other in the middle of Green Bay.  Or even a woman in an "Achiver" t-shirt smiling knowingly at a man in an "I'm a Lebowski; You're a Lebowski" t-shirt.  And I realize, or at least fear, that this observation smacks of a touch of xenophobia.

After all, why should two white guys feel any sort of connection just because they're suddenly strange faces in a city like Beijing?  What connection could a Seattlite and a Swede, or a Belgian and a Bostonian possibly have here?  (Although it's a well-known fact that Belgians are Yankee-lovers.)

I think that it's just these sorts of feelings that lead to that intentional avoidance of even a shared glance.  Part of it, anyway.  I certainly don't want to admit I get excited when I see another Westerner among the sea of Chinese faces.  Then again, I didn't like admitting that I got excited to see Illinois plates on the L.A. freeway.

And I think that's the bigger part of it: the feeling of separation, rather than togetherness.  That this is my adventure in a foreign place, that I'm the only Chicagoan who could possibly be living in Los Angeles, that certainly no other Westerner would dare to render my China adventure anything less than unique.

Of course, that's ridiculous.  As soon as I could find a group of fellow Bears-fans in L.A., I did everything I could to spend all autumn with them.  Actually, I spent nearly every day with them, because they gave me laughter and love.  And food.  You know who you are.

And here, too.  What little contact I've had with other Americans has been nothing short of pleasant, with a significant connection or without one.

So why is it that I so often encounter the overt dodging of eye-contact between pale-faced strangers here in Beijing?  Is it because of shame?  Are we ashamed that we excitedly made the eye-contact in the first place, only to realize that one of us could be from Lincoln, and the other from Luxembourg?  Or is it simply a realization that our difference alone, the fact that we each stand out in this crowd, doesn't mean we have anything more in common than I do with my hutong neighbors?

Less even.  At least those of us living on Jianchang Lane share part of an address.