52 Hours in Foshan: Lemon Tea Lies, Noodle Therapy, and the Auntie Who Tried to Rob Me With Tea

The final stop of a 9 city post-Covid tour of southern China

Let’s not lie to each other.

This wasn’t 52 hours.

This was five hours, max, and three of them were powered by sugar and delusion.

But I had to finish the tour somewhere.

So I picked Shunde —

close enough to Guangzhou, far enough to pretend it counted.

A finale.

A footnote.

A fever dream in lemon juice form.

—

Act 1: Local Subway & Delusional Lemon Therapy

🚇🍋🧃📱

I arrived in Daliang the way all lemon addicts do—on a local subway, holding onto hope and 2% battery.

Grabbed lemon tea from a street vendor with a loud sign and louder citrus.

Tasted like if Sprite had trauma.

I drank it anyway.

We call this: survival. 🍋😵‍💫

—

Act 2: Cold Noodles, Warm Regret

🍜💥🥒

Sat down at a small shop. Ordered 凉皮 (cold skin noodles).

They hit me with that classic combo:

🟤– crunchy peanuts

🟢– confused cucumber

🔴– sweet bean meat paste thing that always slaps but never explains itself

I stared into that plate like it held the answers.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

But I cleaned it anyway. With the desperation of a man who hasn’t tasted flavor since stop #6.

—

Act 3: Auntie Almost Force-Feeds Me Tea

🍵😳💸📉

Wandered into a down a walking street.

Auntie outside the shop gave me a look like I was already a customer.

Before I could blink—

she poured hot tea into a cup

and leaned forward like she was gonna pour it into my mouth directly. 🥴

I took it. I sipped it.

Then she smiled and pulled me into the shop

Then she pulled out a scoop.

Then another. And another.

She started filling a bag with tea leaves like she was mining for retirement.

The final scoop was practically a sack of gold.

Just when I was about to accept financial death—

A whisper.

“That tea is super overpriced.”

Said one of the little sisters part of group of little sisters.

Suddenly I saw clearly.

I raised my hand mid-scoop.

Told auntie, “Actually, take some out.”

She did.

Like I’d broken a centuries-old pact. 😬

I paid.

I left.

I clutched my overpriced leaf sack like it was bail money.

—

Act 4: Incense & Ancestors

🛕🔥🧠🫧

Found a temple. Burned incense.

Everyone else had reverence.

I had leftover bean paste breath and confusion.

But I watched anyway.

Because why not.

And maybe they’d been to overpriced tea shops too.

—

Act 5: Bruce Lee on Tile & The Tourist Death March

🎨🐉🥋🧍‍♂️

At the start of the pedestrian street—

a Bruce Lee mural, all sunglasses and fury, painted across a wall like a Cantonese final boss.

I nodded. He said nothing.

But I felt the energy.

Like he knew this was the end of my story.

And he did not approve.

—

Final Verdict: The Finale That Forgot to Be a Finale

🧋📉😵‍💫📵

There was no slow montage.

No deep reflection.

Just lemon tea, regret, and a whisper from a stranger that maybe… just maybe…

I was getting scammed again.

This wasn’t an ending.

It was a side quest that overstayed its welcome.

But I needed closure.

And this gave me… just enough.

—

This was Stop 9 of my post-COVID, 9-city sprint across China.

One city 🏙️. One story 📖. 52 hours ⏱️ at a time.

(Or five. Don’t sue me.)

Tour’s over.

Heart’s full.

Wallet empty.

🧋💸📴

Can’t wait for the next tour!