A Remarkably Ordinary Chinese Town

Earlier this year, I was invited to Inner Mongolia (which, by the way, is part of China, and not a separate country, as I originally thought) to a 4-day English camp, called “Crazy English.” I landed early in the morning in Baotou, a town few foreigners have even heard of, was picked up at the airport, and within 10 minutes of sitting down in the auditorium, was told to come onto the stage and “do something.” “Sure,” I told them, not sure at all what they wanted me to do. I walked onto the stage, grinning stupidly, looked onto the crowd of 300 eight to ten-year-olds, and began to try to carry on some kind of dialogue with them. After a minute of this, I sensed that I was boring them and I had vague premonitions that I would be fired before I even began. So I went to Plan B: I sang and danced the hokey-pokey. They got a real kick out of that.

Although initially it took my by surprise, but snack time eventually became one of my favorite parts of the day, during which time my boss requested that I go from classroom to classroom and shake each of the kids’ hands. The reason? My boss said, “They want to feel friendly with you.” So, I did go around and shake hands with the youngsters and, with the brave and affectionate, gave hugs. It was very sweet, and we all did feel a little friendlier afterwards. (Why don’t we try something like this in American classrooms?)

Coming on this trip allowed me to see a very average Chinese city, which I previously had not done, nor even thought to do. There is very little reason for a foreigner to come to Baotou, Inner Mongolia. Yet, it was a reminder to me that Beijing is as representative of Chinese society as New York is of American. Instead of headquartering multinational corporations, a handful of small to medium-sized Chinese companies operate in Baotou; the city is not the seat of national Communist Party officials but of local officials sprinkled within their own communities; in contrast to the congested Beijing roads of cars, buses, and bicycles, Baotou’s streets were remarkably clean, benign, and empty; lacking the glamour and vitality of a thriving arts and cultural scene, the Baotou’s citizens made up for it with plain friendliness and charm. The students were adorable and the teachers inspiring in their commitment, and yet most of these people would most likely not venture outside the city limits of a place I had previously not noticed the existence of. The whole scene moved me, and, in the end, I found it hard to say goodbye.

Ode to Green Tea

Here along the waters of West Lake
Much adored by poets of dynasties hence
Comes the equally praiseworthy Dragon Well tea.

Green, supple leaves, almost magical in my mind
to make such a simple and delicate drink.
We shouldn’t be surprised that this unassuming shrub
chooses such a delicate region as its hub.

This warm, soothing beverage
Rich with antioxidants
Gives off just enough caffeine
No, not too much
like that jittery beverage from the tropics
But just enough
For a midday pick-me-up.

Immediately one can hear the sound of the guqin and the bawu
And see the willows swaying in the gentle breeze
Not to mention the craggy mountains behind.
Those scholars of yore took it upon themselves
To sip tea while discussing Confucius and literature
Don’t picture the aloof philosopher, the snobby aesthete
This is serious business, with tea in hand they meet.

I love to watch the green leaves dance in the simmering water.
I won’t stop you if you really want to add milk, sugar, and all the rest
But, as for me, no additives please.
I am content with these unadorned and unfermented leaves.

Hangzhou and the West Lake

“Above there is heaven, below there are Suzhou and Hangzhou.” -a Chinese proverb

I had heard about the virtues of Hangzhou and the West Lake, but I was not prepared for the town’s utter tranquility and beauty of poetic proportions. Perhaps a few years living in a landlocked Chinese metropolis, interspersed with occasional family visits to the hard-nosed capitalist enclave of Hong Kong, hardened me to the possibility that such a peaceful city exists in China. I am happy to report, though, that it does!

While there, I also had the opportunity to visit the renowned Dragon Well tea plants, one of the most well-loved green teas in China, that grow along the legendary West Lake. Poets through the ages have compared West Lake to beautiful women, and beautiful women to West Lake. I wish I had not lost my camera and could show you some photos, but, alas, you will have to use your imagination. I also took a visit to the National Tea Museum, which helped me appreciate more one of China’s gifts to the world. This visit to the source of one of my favorite beverages inspired a poem (see above).

A New Year's Day Feast

[My grandmother is third from the right on the bottom row.]

My grandmother is essentially the matriarch, the eldest of the family on both her side and my grandfather’s side of the family, so, traditionally, all of the relatives would come to visit her house on New Year’s Day. However, in true Hong Kong fashion, she has in recent years invited the relatives to 喝茶 (drink tea) and eat 点心 (dim sum) with her at a restaurant. I saw a lot of relatives I have not seen for a long time, and, in a few cases, never. My uncle very helpfully drew a family tree for me on the back of a menu, which clarified our rather large and complicated family (my grandfather has eight siblings).

The food at the restaurant was exquisite. I personally am not picky about food – especially compared to some of my friends who always strike me as having highly cultivated taste buds – and, except most kinds of meat, am content to eat almost anything. Yet, as I write this, I find myself craving more shrimp dumplings, sautéed Chinese broccoli, stuffed tofu, seafood porridge, cold mango soup, and dozens of other culinary delights I scarcely have the vocabulary to describe. The sheer variety of dim sum food not only boggles my mind but also awakens my underdeveloped taste buds.

Another quintessential part of New Year’s Day is the giving of 红包 (lucky red envelopes stuffed with money). Traditionally, the older generation gives 红包 to the younger, unmarried generation. And not just family members but, at least in the case of my grandmother, everyone she has social contact with: the storekeepers, fruit vendors, etc. When we first arrived at the restaurant, waitresses came from all directions and sometimes, it seemed, from completely separate rooms to wish my grandmother 恭喜发财 (good fortune) and 身体健康 (good health), and she obliged by handing out the traditional 红包. Though she carefully prepared her supply of 红包 the night before, the trip to the restaurant must have emptied her. Upon arriving at her apartment, she greeted the security guard but, reaching into her purse, produced a couple HK $100 bills, sans envelope.

The New Year in Hong Kong

The time has come where millions of Chinese take to the trains make the annual trek to their 老家, their hometown and ancestral homeland, and reunite with family members for a time of feasting and celebration. In keeping with this tradition, I have come to my 老家, Hong Kong, to celebrate with my relatives. The celebration of the lunar new year in China, roughly speaking, is equivalent to Christmas in America. However, instead of having explicitly religious origins, Spring Festival has roots in this traditionally agricultural society, where the lunar new year and the coming spring mark the beginning of a new season of planting and growth and a renewal of life all around.

Though many in the U.S. have images of lion dances and dragon parades in the streets, these are essentially Chinese-American creations. The tradition within China is to reunite with family and have a big feast. Friends in Beijing have told me that, when they were young and their families were poor, Spring Festival was the only occasion to eat meat.

Spring Festival is also the occasion for firecrackers. The Chinese, of course, invented firecrackers (and gunpowder), and the evidence is plain to see (and hear) during this time of year. Beijing feels like a war zone: not only are the streets relatively deserted but also deafening explosions can occur, without warning, around every street corner, and remnants of smoke hang in the air long afterwards. I have realized that I can only take so much of this and am happy to report that Hong Kong so far seems more regulated.

As I left to catch my plane to Hong Kong, my housemates sent me off somewhat ceremoniously by lighting a long string of fireworks. Imagine a machine gun shooting a round of bullets 200 times, and then amplify the volume fourfold, and you can begin to imagine this particular firecracker. I guess they do serve their supposed function of scaring evil spirits away; if I were an evil spirit, I would certainly find another place to go.

(I lost my camera on the train back to Beijing, so, sadly, most of the photos I took on this trip I cannot share.)

A Hike Up Emei Mountain

[the trailhead, clearly marked]

Around this time last year, I hiked Emei Mountain in Sichuan province, one of the four holy mountains in China. Over three-thousand meters of untouched natural preserve—not even the Cultural Revolution touched it—and away from any hint of the hustle and bustle of ordinary life, the mountain did have a sacred feeling. The lush, snowy silence was interrupted only by the occasional chanting and rising incense from ancient monasteries that dotted the ascent, from Crouching Tiger monastery to the one I eventually slept at Immortal Peak. After several hours of hiking, nothing tasted better than hot, fresh monastery food.

[the best meal $2 can buy]

Perhaps because of the cold weather, there was not much competition for the rooms at night. In fact, except for the few nuns and monks in the living quarters, I had the whole Immortal Peak monastery to myself at night, alone, that is, with the various gods and statues. There was no fire to heat my room, so at night they brought me an enormous thermos, triple insulated, which did the trick and lasted through the night, and even in the morning I was able to pour myself a hot cup of tea. I was also grateful for the blankets, which were as thick as the bed mattress itself.

As all the locals warned, halfway up the mountain lived a group of Tibetan Macaque monkeys. The prospect of encountering wild monkeys both delighted me but also somewhat frightened me, so I came prepared: I found a big stick, and I was not afraid to use it. As it turned out, they were smaller, cuter, and pudgier than I had imagined and only “attacked” if they saw a snack they liked. I saw one monkey snatch a sandwich straight from the hand of a 10-year-old girl, and then proceeded to munch on it in front of her, as if it was rightfully his.

The foliage, the wildlife, the emerald lakes, and the age-old monasteries all contributed to make the hike up Emei Mountain very memorable. One of the trail signs said it well: the trees and grass do “entertain you to joy and happiness.”

Snapshots Up Emei Mountain

[Who knew you could buy these?]

[I love reading these kinds of signs] [Yes, even monasteries use modern technology]