I wanted to shoot Shamian Island in Guangzhou. I’d been there before, briefly, at night. Guangzhou, capital of Guangdong Province, China, is only 90 minutes from my place in Shenzhen – a quick trip.

Usually, I take the first bus to Guangzhou, leaving at 6:30 and arriving at 8:00. There’s still a little bit of morning light to play with. I hummed and hawed that morning and didn’t leave until 7:45. By the time I arrived in the former-Canton it was hot:  I-think-I-may-melt sort of hot.

I jumped on the Guangzhou Metro and got off at the Huangsha stop. After navigating a construction zone and an overpass I crossed the fabled bridge onto the former French and British concession.

I walked the narrow streets, sweating, and looked at the manses and the people. Older folks moved with fluid slowness in a park by the Pearl River, doing their morning Tai Chi. Small groups of dancers practiced the Cha Cha as music played from boom boxes. Shamian Boulevard is the island’s main east-west thoroughfare. The road’s center strip changes over its length. Small parks, playground equipment, and fountains, can be found in the Boulevard center.

One block of Victorian buildings was being renovated. I drifted over, camera in hand. I knelt and captured a few images. I heard a voice while wiping the sweat from my face (and the back of my camera).

“Hello!”

The young man, in his 20s, was jacked. The first thing I noticed was his pecs. After a year of bench presses I was nowhere close to being that big.  I was envious, his physique was unusual for a Chinese male. He had put in some time at the gym. His entire upper body bulged with muscles. He was shirtless and sweatless.

The “hello” had been gruff, more of an order than a greeting. I took in his size, considered his voice, and wondered if I might be in trouble. No, not on Shamian Island. There were hundreds of people around, a tourist area. Notwithstanding, my hand held my Canon 40D a little tighter.

“I want to practice my English,” he said. It wasn’t a request but a command.

“Sure,” I replied, a nervous smile on my face.

“I want to go to America and play basketball with American boys.”

“You like basketball?” Silly question. It may be genetic or an additive in the rice: All of China’s young men like basketball. The WWE is gaining a foothold in China but the likes of Triple-H and The Edge overtaking Kobe Bryant in popularity is a long way off.

“Yes. Where are you from?”

“Canada, near Toronto.”

“Raptors. Chris Bosh,” he said. There was a hint of a smile on his face, he wasn’t nearly as gruff.

I haven’t followed basketball since coming to China in 2005. Other than a few superstars I know few players in the NBA.

“I used to like Vince Carter,” I opined. I wiped my face again. I was sweating from the moist heat and nerves.

“That was long ago,” he said.

I nodded.

“Who do you like?” I asked.

He rhymed off players and teams. I nodded faux-wisely.

“My oral English is very poor since I finished college,” he said.

“No, it’s quite good.”

“I want to learn American English and slang. My college teacher was from the UK so I watched American movies and television shows. Prison Break.”

I explained I had been a teacher but now took photos. I pointed at the buildings. “When will you go to America,” I asked.

“When I save enough money,” he said.

The conversation fell into a lull. Despite the heat he was still dry. I looked as if I had been swimming in the nearby Pearl River. I made an excuse and my escape. He shook my wet hand and returned to the exercise equipment and his friends.

I breathed a sign of relief and went back to taking a visual inventory of Shamian Da Dao. The light had gone from passable to horrible. I would make mental notes and estimations, and come back another time.

A hint of scary, and random fun conversations: Such is my life in China.