From a TV newsreader in Sydney to a hotelierâs wife in the heart of China â this is a true story of reinvention, love, and finding your home.
Nicole Webb and her husband, James, are always up for an adventure, so when James is offered a job in the ancient city of Xiâan in north-west China, they jump at the chance. Nicole, James and three-year-old Ava pack up their home in Hong Kong and fly into a world they know nothing about -- a place where they know no one.
Touching down in the jam-packed Arrivals hall, culture shock hits head on.
With honesty and humour, Nicole takes us on a journey of life in the Middle Kingdom at a time when the whole world is looking towards China.
We follow her search for friendship and acceptance where she discovers, no matter what your culture or background, weâre connected the world over by the common thread of humanity.
CHINA BLONDE gives us a very personal insight, told with a journalistâs eye view. Her experience will resonate with anyone whoâs ever built a life in a new home â be it across the city or across the world.
From a TV newsreader in Sydney to a hotelierâs wife in the heart of China â this is a true story of reinvention, love, and finding your home.
Nicole Webb and her husband, James, are always up for an adventure, so when James is offered a job in the ancient city of Xiâan in north-west China, they jump at the chance. Nicole, James and three-year-old Ava pack up their home in Hong Kong and fly into a world they know nothing about -- a place where they know no one.
Touching down in the jam-packed Arrivals hall, culture shock hits head on.
With honesty and humour, Nicole takes us on a journey of life in the Middle Kingdom at a time when the whole world is looking towards China.
We follow her search for friendship and acceptance where she discovers, no matter what your culture or background, weâre connected the world over by the common thread of humanity.
CHINA BLONDE gives us a very personal insight, told with a journalistâs eye view. Her experience will resonate with anyone whoâs ever built a life in a new home â be it across the city or across the world.
ĺ˝éŁĺ轏ĺćśďźćäşşç ĺ´ĺ˘ďźćäşşé éŁč˝Śă
DaĚng feĚngxiaĚng zhuaĚnbiaĚn shiĚ, yoĚu reĚn qiĚ weĚiqiaĚng, yoĚu reĚn zaĚo feĚngcheĚ. When the winds of change blow, some build walls, while others build windmills.
âProverb
A lot of people assume moving to mainland China was my husbandâs idea. And why not, I suppose; as a hotelier, for him the next gig is always a source of angst and uncertainty: when, where, what and how?
âWhereâ is always the most difficult one, though.
Four years earlier, weâd made the move to Hong Kong where life was sweeter than a glass of bubbly. Why in Godâs name we would want to put ourselves into the middle of China, where a glass of bubbly is nearly impossible to find, was a mystery I couldnât quite decipher.
But I was the one who eventually pushed the green button.
Weâd moved to The (other) City That Never Sleeps on a whim and lived a life that swung between luxurious indulgence and gritty adventure. To make the shift, Iâd quit my coveted job as a TV newsreader in Australia, giving up everything I was familiar with as a mostly single woman and swapping it for an unknown identity with my hotelier beau and our relatively new bump.
Fast-forward and our little family of three had thrived under the glittering lights of a city (and a baby) that never slept.
Truth is, weâd all become rather content in our forty-third floor apartment. We could easily have stayed wrapped in Hong Kongâs glow a little longer, if not forever. Despite its miniature size, we had everything we needed a swift shiny lift-ride away: a myriad of designer shops (including my favourites, H&M and Zara), a speedy train line, untold restaurants and bars, a movie theatre, a school, our work and good friends in the next tower. What more could we want?
Our family motto is âUs against the worldâ and in the intoxicating land of Hong Kong we were invincible. A move could have meant the undoing of our bulletproof trio, and we knew it.
But it was time.
As second in command at Hong Kongâs chic W Hotel, James, my hotelier husband, needed experience as Number One â a chance to be general manager of his own hotel.
China had shimmered in the back of our minds for months, teasing us mercilessly, for better or for worse. While dozens of potential cities were paraded before us like contestants in a beauty pageant, none seemed fit for the winning sash. We carried on in our beloved fragrant harbour city, but underneath our relaxed expat exterior, we lived a tumultuous year and a half filled with uncertainty. I couldnât commit to anything beyond a month for fear weâd be up and off at a momentâs notice, which is generally the case with hotel life. Once the company made the decision, weâd be given only a few weeks to collect our things and pass go.
But until we were paired with the right city, our life was on hold â indefinitely.
The wait, though, wasnât due to a shortage of hotel general manager jobs. They popped up in almost every city across the world, from Bangkok to Doha, Macau to Seoul, Sydney to Goa. And they almost
always
popped up late at night, just as we were about to turn the lights out and leave the day behind. Eventually, I pleaded with James to stop checking his emails so late. One last sneaky check and bam, our lives would be turned upside down and inside out for the next month:
Dear Mr Walkden, we have an opening at such and such, would you like to be considered for hotel GM? Oh, and please decide by tomorrow
.
Weâd lie there twitching, tossing and turning as storylines played out in our heads. Bali? Iâd imagine a life in bikinis and sarongs, wistfully looking out at the sparkling sea while I wrote my latest best seller. Or maybe it would be a life filled with curries and kaftans in Goa, or tuk tuks and endless foot massages in Bangkok.
By the time Iâd completed my google recce, the job had come and gone.
It was then that James would quietly volunteer, âWe could always go back to Australia, you know.â
But, in my heart, I wasnât ready to give it all up. I missed my family and desperately wanted Ava, our small person, to grow up closer to them, but something in me, in us, had shifted. It wasnât so much the indulgent expat life we were clinging to, but more that feeling of constantly being out on our own, surviving life in a country that wasnât ours. It had become surprisingly addictive.
And still, the beast that is mainland China refused to back down. With hundreds of hotels opening in the Middle Kingdom, it was becoming next to impossible to avoid. One night, amid the flurry of late-night emails, a general manager role came up in WuĚhaĚn in central China. We were given just days to decide if we wanted to take it.
We agreed that we needed to see this city (alarmingly nicknamed âThe Furnace of Asiaâ at the time) before making a decision, so we booked last-minute tickets and flew up for a weekendâs reconnaissance.
The drive from the airport seemed like an eternity. Our car manoeuvred its way through dusty streets and across giant tangles of motorways drenched with thick grey smog that seemed to reach all the way to the ground. We passed dilapidated buildings, many just empty shells resembling areas in a war-torn city.
I tried hard to keep an open mind. âThere are millions of people living here happily,â the little voice in my head said.
Right across China, ancient towns and districts were being turned into sprawling, up-and-coming cities as rural citizens and farmers were moving out of their familyâs villages. With a government desperately trying to keep up with this internal migration of so-called peasants to the city, labourers worked day and night to meet the need for housing, sewage, energy and transport. It was a case of China trying to create entire cities from the ground up in record time, and it meant construction sites were buzzing twenty-four seven.
This was WuĚhaĚn, where hundreds of sites were under redevelopment and a million cranes reached into the sky like giant storks.
Despite having a reputation as a developing city with a flourishing university system, we soon discovered there were no international hospitals and, so we were told, just one English-speaking doctor. But the hotel, set on the banks of the YaĚngziĚ River and our potential new home, exceeded our expectations.
We walked into a grand lobby filled with all the bling you could imagine â many Chinese people seem to love a chandelier and the one near the entrance was big enough to light a sports stadium. The lobby was stunning, if you ignored the people snoozing on the plush lounges while the current GM ranted at them to move on.
There were fine-dining restaurants, a lush day spa plus an indoor pool. Little to complain about, really.
The burning question, though, was how long could we take refuge in a hotel, even if it had five stars?
When the current GM handed me a flimsy brochure he called the âlocal newspaperâ, suggesting I could write for it â no doubt in a bid to inspire me and help him make his swift exit â my heart sank to my knees. Would this be what my career had come to?
âWe can make anywhere a home as long as weâve got each other, right?â I asked James, with more than a hint of desperation. He nodded, but the fear etched across his face mirrored my own feelings.
As we lay on the Westin HeavenlyÂŽ Bed that night, both of us staring out across the river bathed in grey, the sinking feeling that came over us was just too heavy to shift. We couldnât bring ourselves to say yes to WÇhĂ n.
Just a few months later, a place called HeĚfeĚi, also on the mainland, came up. Apprehensive after our WuĚhaĚn experience, I did the usual google. It was certainly no furnace, but was instead nicknamed âNowheresvilleâ.
It didnât look very âliveableâ, so we politely said no, acutely aware we were fast reaching the bottom of our bag full of noes.
Eventually, the general manager role at the Westin in XiĚâaĚn, Shaanxi Province (not to be confused with Shanxiâ or âShaĚnxiĚââProvince further north) became available. A quick search showed us that the city looked attractive, very pretty in an ancient Chinese sort of way.
âIt looks the most quintessential Chinese city of any Iâve seen,â I said excitedly to James. âIt has charm and character. Look at all those red lanterns!â
âDo you think?â he replied, clearly questioning my sanity.
I think we were both fed up with the constant uncertainty. We knew we just needed to get on with our new life. So, without seeing the city firsthand, we convinced ourselves XiĚâaĚn would be a reasonable place to call home.
When we told our Hong Kong friends, some were shocked.
âOh my God! Donât do it!â they exclaimed. âItâs the mainland! Itâs so different ... Youâll never survive!â Others, though, were a little more
encouraging. âYouâll be fine. Go for eighteen months, get it done.â
How hard could it be? I asked myself, trying to feel confident. But my body soon gave away my panic and my stomach became permanently clenched in knots.
One afternoon after the big decision, my good friend Lauren was
driving me through Hong Kongâs streets, which were pulsating with its awe-inspiring energy, when she said, âYou should stay here and have James come back to Hong Kong on weekends. Lots of women do it. One of my best friends does that, in fact.â
Considering she was born in China, her words rattled me. I fought back tears. What if sheâs right? Maybe Ava and I should just stay put.
Yeah, as if! I scoffed at the thought. I knew Iâd rather be somewhere I hated
with James than anywhere without him.
Five years earlier at thirty-five, Iâd almost convinced myself, that, along with finding a lifetime partner and having a baby of my own, living overseas was definitely off the agenda.
Iâd spent most of my twenties carving out my career. Iâd been too scared to leave Australian shores in case I lost my place in the line-up of eager journalism graduates. As a result, I felt Iâd missed my opportunity to live overseas. As for a husband and children ... well, after a number of difficult relationships, they just didnât seem to be part of the plan. Iâd even toyed with the idea of adopting as I started to come out the other side of thirty-five.
That was until I chanced upon the hotelier on a blind date. My friendâs friend pitched him to me as a Mr Darcy. I wasnât buying it, except for the fact that he was British.
It was a drizzly Sunday evening when we finally came face to face at a mangy old pub in Sydneyâs inner west. Prepared for the worst after a string of painful first dates, I arrived early, knocked back half a glass of courage-inducing chardonnay and waited.
When James came along, I was struck by his warm brown eyes and engaging smile. But it was his ânormal-nessâ that impressed me most of all. What is normal, anyway? To me, itâs the ability to have a conversation that cuts both ways, the ability to understand where a person is coming from and to be present in the moment willingly, which, back then, seemed hard to find.
Because I had a funeral to attend the next day, Iâd made sure to
text him before our date to make it clear that I didnât have much time; one drink and Iâd probably be out of there.
But on the night, James was so easy to be with that I stayed on to have two drinks and then dinner. We talked, his eyes twinkled as he spoke and he listened intently, politely. Even better, he seemed like he had it together, even though he was only thirty-three. There must be something wrong with him, I thought. I dug a little deeper but nothing surfaced.
Iâm not overly religious, but Iâd been praying for someone who was kind. Thatâs all Iâd asked for. Surely it wasnât too much, was it?
Right then, it seemed like just maybe it wasnât.
Driving back over the Sydney Harbour Bridge that night after heâd walked me to my car, I couldnât wipe the grin off my face.
It wasnât instant love, but something felt different.
For the previous ten years, Iâd been somewhat settled at Sky News Australia, a 24-hour news channel where I diligently worked my way up from being a freelance news producer to business producer, programs producer and health presenter, and eventually became one of the channelâs main news presenters. I was definitely in my comfort zone, roaring into the underground car park in my convertible MINI Cooper, and I could just about present a live news bulletin, technical glitches and all, with my eyes closed.
But it turned out that the year I turned thirty-five was to be a defining one.
Daring to do something for myself, I planned to volunteer at an orphanage in Africa for six weeks, hoping it would be the catalyst to release me from my tumultuous past â a chance to give back and change my path.
The trip was everything Iâd dreamed of and more. Africa stole my heart and opened my eyes. Not one to do things by halves, I also made a documentary detailing the plight of Kenya and the importance of volunteering which later aired on Sky News.
With a renewed thirst for adventure I returned home with a steely determination to chart my own course.
As luck would have it, Iâd met James a few weeks before my big journey began. Poor timing, but we stayed in touch and managed to reconnect on my return, albeit a little dubiously on my part. I was still scarred and suspicious of the unknown, but the new me stood firm. And with charm and staying power, James convinced me to see âwhat may comeâ.
Eleven months later we were engaged, and a year after that, married â restoring my faith in what will be, will be. For all those times Iâd craved a crystal ball, I finally realised I just needed to trust in the universe â with a little bit of preparation on my behalf.
As a Brit whoâd backpacked his way to Oz on the sheer weight of Home and Awayâs surf beaches, James was perfectly fine with staying put Down Under. About a year into our marriage, the W Hong Kong lit up our dashboard. James instantly dismissed it, but something in me had changed. Having lost my best friend â the bravest woman Iâve ever known â a few months earlier to cancer, I was never more conscious of how short life could be. If we stayed, there was no doubt in my mind I would be at Sky News a decade on, doing exactly the same thing.
Is that what I really wanted?
I was finally ready to go. For the first time in my life, it seemed like an acceptable possibility. Itâs been said that when you have someone in your life who supports you and has your back, you feel invincible, capable of anything. With James, it didnât take long for me to know he was that guy â that he would always have my back, no matter what. It was a given.
One night soon after, when James and I were in bed about to go to sleep, I sat up excitedly. âLetâs put our hand up for the Hong Kong job,â I said.
He nearly fell out of bed. âWhat? Are you kidding?â
âNo. Iâm not.â
So he threw his hat in ... and low and behold, he got the job.
And in the very same week, we found out we were pregnant.
I was thirty-eight years old and just eight weeks pregnant when we flew to Hong Kong to our new home to begin our new life.
With the wonder of hindsight, when you decide to leave your country and everything you know in your late thirties and have your first baby there, itâs not just a gap year, itâs a life-altering event. Living, working and forging a life in a country you barely know â and bringing up a child where English is not the first language and the culture is completely different â is a monumental undertaking for anyone, especially for relative newlyweds.
Four years later, here we were, ready to put everything on the line and do it all over again.
***
Looking at this book's front cover, I was thinking it would be a lighthearted read and somewhat fun; but, in reality, it was over-all serious, detailed, and somewhat dull. I began reading, questioning why any of what I was scanning mattered? Obviously, it mattered to the author; but, I was left wondering if this book would matter to a readership at large?
The answer came for me about three-fourths of the way through and it's a resounding, "Yes, it all matters!" What swayed me the most was its last line. After thinking back over all I had read, after looking into my own life of overseas missions, and moves across America that led me from the Mid-West to Alaska; it's the last five sentences that clinched it.
"We are all a contradiction of sorts" as seen within this author's extroverted-introverted self; which, as an introverted-extrovert I fully relate to! It's as this book ho-hummed along that it dropped the "ho" and just kept "humming". Like a constant noise in the background, you become immersed in Chinese culture and life. You hear the constant chatter you can't comprehend, the deluge of horns honking and street vendors calling, and see the signage you cannot read. It's all cacophony until it's not.
The highlights of this book were the parts in which I fully saw under the author's veneer to her heart. From belting out John Denver's "Country Roads" in the back seat of a car to a karaoke night where she had the time of her life. Music is a balm to ones soul as are nods to your country of origin, like Pizza Hut or Starbucks, when you're longing for something recognizable to ease your transition.
The interviews and talks that go deep with the Chinese people themselves is where this book takes root. We're all people, humanity as a whole, and to see another's humanness brings about harmony. My favorite interview? Feeling as though I was sitting at YĂŠye (Grandpa) and NÄinai's (Grandma's) house too. Enter a home of love and be blessed by its warmth.
I recommend this book for all ex-pats, specifically those living in China or for those individuals who are considering such a move. This book may save your life; or, at the very least, make your move and settling in an easier experience than if you didn't have it by your side.
I'm going to purchase a copy for a friend of mine who moved back to the States from China a few months back. She misses it: The country, the culture, the sites and sounds; but, most of all, the people. This book isn't going to help her miss China less but I do believe it will leave her smiling and feeling understood. A sense of friendship with the author and other ex-pats who have at one time or another, no matter how long or how brief, called China home too.
"Waving each other off, smiling, sad it's over but so grateful it happened."