I was up and about at 4am this morning. Not because I had anything in particular to do — my contracts seem like they’re either dormant or complete, and my flight to Hong Kong isn’t until 3pm — but because, for the first time during the four and a half months I’ve spent in China, I was actually afraid for my life.

Having been in China for this long, I have developed a slightly higher tolerance for risk than before. This took some time, and started innocuously enough. Staying at a youth hostel instead of a Marriott… ooh! Buying a hard sleeper train ticket instead of a soft sleeper… goodness!

Eventually I moved on to more moderate risks; say, crossing the street in Shanghai, where traffic signals are often taken as suggestions rather than actual rules, or having my breakfast scooped out of a wooden bucket by the side of the road by someone whose appearance could fairly be described as hag-like.

Finally, one proceeds to the final stages of risk adoption. This would involve things like crossing the street in Wuhan where, unlike Shanghai, everyone driving a motorized vehicle is determined to leave a tire track across the heel of your shoe. You also might, as I did in Fenghuang, conclude that the shady-looking guy at the bus stop who essentially says “Hey, you look like a wealthy out-of-towner. I know a good guesthouse; hop on the back of my scooter, and let me drive you through two miles of unlit, winding alleyways in the middle of the night to a nondescript doorway” has made some fairly persuasive arguments.

I’ve been through all of this and more without really having had my fear response triggered; even what I jokingly described as my crucible — having to use a squat toilet — was more of an annoyance than anything else.

But last night, the reason I got up at 4am and went down to the hostel common area to sleep, walked into my room.

Let’s call him Gigantor. Or, since I think he’s French, let’s call him Gigantois.

He is Caucasian, weighs somewhere in the vicinity of 300 pounds, and was accompanied by two friends. They were pushing even the fairly loose boundaries of common courtesy observed in China, talking, farting, and laughing at full volume at 3am, in a room where 3 people were already asleep, jumping on bunks and throwing their dirty clothes around the room as they stripped for bed. This in itself was annoying, but soon enough I knew they’d settle in for bed and I could get back to sleep.

Then, to my horror, my Gigantois started to climb up to the bunk directly above me. The whole structure leaned perilously over, then settled back with an ominous groan as he flopped over the railing into bed.

Given the questionable sturdiness of the hostel beds, I was already pretty worried. Couple that with the fact that, once established, Gigantois wouldn’t stop moving around. I won’t wonder why; in fact, I am actively trying to block any possibilities from my mind in order to protect the fragile shreds of sanity that still exist.

In the end, after suffering through a series of visions of being crushed by 400 pounds of bedding, gelatinous Frenchman, and body odor (trust me, it was a physical entity where he was concerned), I decided that this time — finally — China had me beat.

When I explained to Yu Fei, at the front desk, why I was up so early, he knew who I was talking about; he was just surprised it took me this long to come downstairs.