The Day I Was (Briefly) Kidnapped in China

Because yes – this really happened.

I was recently asked about the story I mention on page 19 of my book Relentless Optimism & Other Life Goals – the day I was (very briefly) kidnapped in China.

Well … here it is.

Before I dive in, let me clarify: I’m here. I’m fine. And despite the headline, this story ends with a sigh of relief and a heck of a travel lesson – not a Netflix true crime series.

Years ago, I was planning a work event in Shanghai when a couple of colleagues and I decided to take a detour to explore Beijing on the way. Between us, we had quite a bit of travel experience, mostly in Europe. And while we knew Asia would be different, we felt confident in our traveler acumen. That combined with one perfect day in Beijing sealed the deal: we had a local guide who took us to the Great Wall (on the clearest blue-sky day imaginable), a jade factory, a silk shop, a traditional tea ceremony, and a long, lazy lunch. It was curated, comfortable and very safe.

The next day? We got bold. Or maybe just naive.

Armed with the confidence of people who’d just survived jet lag and a jam-packed itinerary – and not a single word of Mandarin or Cantonese between us – we decided to explore on our own. The hotel concierge dutifully handed us three business cards, each one with a different destination printed in both English and Mandarin, to help us communicate with taxi drivers and, more importantly, to get back. We pocketed them and set off.

Our first stop at the pearl market went well enough. We made it. We shopped. We survived. We were emboldened.

Then came the Summer Palace.

We flagged down a taxi and showed him the appropriate business card. He nodded, smiled and dropped us off. What he didn’t mention was that he left us at the exit — a long, winding walk from the actual entrance. A journey, we were told, only manageable on foot from inside the grounds. With no map, no language skills and no idea where to go, we were well and truly lost.

That’s when the rickshaw appeared.

A man pedaled up and offered to take us to the entrance for the equivalent of $50 USD. Not cheap, but we were grateful for the save. We climbed in.

And then, things went sideways.

A few minutes into the ride, two more rickshaws appeared. His “colleagues.” They separated us into different rickshaws and veered off the main road. They didn’t take us to the entrance. They took us down an alley.

Suddenly, we were surrounded by several men including an older, godfather-type figure who stood silently in the shadows, watching.

They didn’t hurt us. But they made the threat clear. They moved in close – too close – assertive and menacing. Their body language, their raised voices, the rapid-fire demands in a language we didn’t understand … it was intimidation, pure and simple. And it made things very clear: we were not in control.

The isolation. The language barrier. The sheer vulnerability of being women, tourists and so clearly lost – it amplified everything. A rush of disbelief, anger and rising fear tightened around us. We handed over our cash, desperate to de-escalate the situation. It was the only card we had to play.

Eventually, they let us go.

It was a very brief – and thankfully, very escapable – kidnapping. But it shook me. And it taught me something I hadn’t fully understood until that moment:

There’s being lost … and then there’s can’t-even-read-the-signs lost.

When you don’t speak the language, when even the alphabet is unfamiliar, you’re not just disoriented, you’re disempowered. You’re cut off from the basic tools of navigation, negotiation or escape.

And yet we made it out. We found our way back. We even (eventually) laughed about it.

I lost a little cash, a lot of overconfidence and maybe a bit of pride that day. But I gained a deep respect for the vulnerability of being a stranger in a strange land. For the power of communication. And for how quickly confidence can shift into survival mode.

Would I do it again? Absolutely not.

Would I change it? Also no.

Because here’s what I know now: sometimes getting lost is the beginning of the story.

But finding your way back?

That’s where the grit lives.

#StayRelentless