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"Red Heart Moon" a WEST MEETS EAST China Weblog -- by Kevin Hart
Cross-cultural musings about life straddling the Pacific.
last modified Jun 16, 2004 at 17:43
Here are a few of the unusual quieries and amusing comments by tourists in Chongqing that I have heard over the years:
1. We came here to see the "real Chinatown".
2. What day does the cruise ship arrive in Guilin?
3. We heard that the terracotta soldiers of Xian will be flooded after the 3 Gorges Dam is built.
4. In which zoo can we see a dragon?
5. Do we get to see where Chairman Mao lives?
I can't blame them for the misinformation and mistaken notions. I remember that before coming to Asia, I had it in my mind that Taiwan was a part of Thailand!
The blazing sun of the torrid summer months has risen above us once again, and with them come the countless brave souls who are taking the plunge in the Jialing River to beat the heat. The Yangtze flow is just too strong at this time of year to risk being swept away or run over in the constant barrage of barges, cruise ships, and passenger ferries heading downstream to Yichang, Wuhan, and beyond.
There are no beaches anywhere, so swimmers must gingerly pick their way through the rocks and keep an eye out for the smaller ships that ply the tributary in no small numbers. Most dippers dart about the docks, swimming under and around the thick steel cables that secure them to the shore, and some even venture out into the middle of the river when the coast is clear, then head back to safety when a boat passes. Nearby, I can see raw sewage and industrial waste spewing straight into the river, and I wonder how many get rashes, eye infections, or stomach problems from accidently ingesting the murky liquid. The scene is in great contrast with the beautiful and unspoiled lake in Ontario where I spent my youth, where to this day you can drink and swim at the same time. There are no such pristine natural surroundings in this highly industrialized city. Tickets for the few pools in town are rather expensive considering the average income of the locals, and swimming, which is so taken for granted back home, is still considered a luxury here.
A while back, I did immerse myself in the water flowing past the “Little Three Gorges” near Wushan on the Daning River, a popular scenic spot on the Yangtze Gorges tour. This was before they began backing up the reservoir behind the 3 Gorges Dam, and the water at that time was crystal clear and very clean. When I unexpectedly stripped down to my swim trunks and jumped in, the local guide and boatmen all thought I had fallen in, and were beside themselves with concern for my safety. I apologized for not telling them beforehand what I had in mind, but they were determined to fish me out before I sunk or was swept away into the stronger currents downstream. It would have been a much more pleasant experience had they not shouted at me to get out of the water and that unauthorized swimming was not allowed, and that I should never pull a stunt like that again.
At our apartment complex near the city centre, we enjoy a small pool that gets a lot of use from the over 400 families that live above it. If it opens for the summer season a day later than other pools in the area, the tenants get up in arms, accuse the management of laziness, and sometimes even refuse to pay their monthly maintenance fee until they get their act together. While it is no substitute for the freshwater lake of my boyhood, it is for us and our neighbours a mini-oasis in the concrete jungle of Chongqing.
Western style sit-down toilets are still a relatively new phenomenon in China, but the locals are catching on fast. Many even prefer them now to the older and simpler squat-style, but the transition from eastern to western practices is not transpiring without its hitches.
A Chinese-style toilet is a simple hole in the ground usually fitted with porcelain. The out-house style is still prevalent in the countryside, and some of the rancid bog holes I have unfortunately had to use are not even partitioned off, so you could be answering nature’s call right just a metre or two from someone else who could not wait to have the latrine facilities to himself. In any case, you have to be careful not to soil your clothes (in winter it can be especially challenging), keep from toppling over, and aim accurately over the proper target area. Many of us uninitiated struggle with the balance and coordination required to go about taking care of business. Does it matter if I face the wall or away from it? Is there something to hang on to? What do I do after I have been caught without paper? How does the flushing mechanism work? It could be a button, lever, pull rope, hose, or plain bucket and/or dipper that spews the water which in turn coaxes the floatsam down the drain. Squatting is a national pastime, where, in a country of 1.3 billion people and little in the way of public benches, people squat and smoke, squat and chat, squat and wait for the bus. So the physical action is second nature, and their hips, knees, and ankle joints work in unison to keep them perched and comfortable for long periods. I have seen some even enjoying the morning newspaper and a cigarette while number twoing. The average tush-sitting North American can last about a minute in that position before the pins and needles set in big time.
When faced with a western toilet, protruding up out of the ground so far, some are at a loss as to how to use it, and assume that the proper procedure is to climb up and stand on either side of the bowl before squatting over the water. Some hotels and restaurants attach directions on the wall showing the correct and incorrect techniques, and the illustrations can be hilarious. Many Chinese feel it it is unhygenic to park their rear-ends where others have parked before, and will purposely stand on the toilet seat to avoid contact with the contaminated seat. That leaves dirty foot prints all over, and this must drive the janitors crazy to have to clean them constantly and repair them when the plastic fixtures snap under the hard-soled shoes and full weight of the suspended crouchers. Some establishments like airports and larger restaurants are even beginning to dispense paper toilet seat covers to protect patrons’ posteriors in an effort to encourage proper usage.
While more and more Western style WC’s are being introduced, the traditional hole in the ground type is here to stay. They are easier to build and maintain, use less water, and are much more cost efficient overall. Along with the big urine troughs in hospitals and public pay toilets, the key is functionality and optimum use of space as opposed to comfort and aesthetics.
ESL stands for English as a Second Language, and is quite an institution in Asia. For westerners, it is very easy to get a job teaching in China, all that is most often required is that you are a native speaker of English, and many schools will hire you right online, without even an interview. Colleges, universities, private schools, and now many high schools are looking to hire “conversation” teachers for their classrooms. While the overworked students get more than their fair share of grammar drills and written exercises, their exposure to the language in verbal form is extremely limited. Thus the interest in importing Canucks, Yankees, Brits, Aussies, or Kiwis to try and develop their conversation skills.
While I have quite a history of ESL instruction myself, I have become rather cynical in my old age about the whole process. Most public schools, while they offer up to 2 hours a day of English instruction with the local teacher (many of whom have little training themselves to begin with), are only able to provide one hour a week of class with the foreign teacher (if they are lucky enough to have one). While the average westerner gets a meagre salary by North American standards, it can be a king’s randsom in the eyes of the underfunded schools and low paid local staff. One foreign teacher may be in charge of up to 20 different classes a week, and with numbers ranging between 30 and 50 per class, how much can an individual student try out what he has learned on paper?
The craze of cram schools so popular in Taiwan is now catching on here too, with many kids supplementing their day school studies with evening English classes with foreigners. However, this once again is limited in effectiveness, as actual direct contact is at a minimum in most establishments. Having the white faced teacher pointing at the while board and telling jokes is the main selling point for many of them, and this leads to what I refer to as the “Happy Bunny Syndrome”. The children go home after class and their parents ask, “Did you learn lots today”? Children always equate having fun with learning a lot, usually enjoy the free-wheeling, spontaneous teaching styles of the foreigners, and tend to respond in the positive. So they keep attending, unaware that their family’s hard-earned money may be best used elsewhere to further their academic goals.
A few summers back, I helped out at an English “Summer Camp” at the Number Two Foreign Language School in south Chongqing. It was a tough audience, as many came from rich families and were spoiled rotten. I had to temporarily confiscate cell phones every day that were being used to play electronic games and for text messaging with their other bored friends right beside them. The only reason they were there was because their parents told them they had to go. Teaching them was like the pulling of the proverbial teeth. What inevitably happened was that I ended up concentrating on those few keeners who were motivated and enthusiastic, and spent little time or effort to reach the reticent. I had half a mind to just ask those bad apples to go home and not waste everyone’s time, but that would have caused too much trouble in explaining it to the parents, having the school that hired me refund money, and there would have been considerable loss of face. Everyone, even the brightest kids, looked forward to the fourth hour of the morning lesson (three hours is already pushing it) as we were permitted to go outdoors, play basketball, soccer, ping pong, or just chat on our own terms with the students. I was very surprised at the unhindered attitude of the students there and was amazed at the amount of freedom they enjoyed going to a privileged school and being so wealthy compared to their peers in regular schools. I learned that many high school kids there were already involved in physical relationships, a real no-no and grounds for dismissal in the mainstream education system. One 16 year-old admitted matter-of-factly that she did not date high school boys anymore because they were too young and “tasteless”. This is certainly the exception and not the norm, as student life in China is very disciplined and competitive overall. English is one of the country’s core subjects now, and there is tremendous interest in getting ahead, starting English classes at a younger and younger age, and paying a higher and higher premium to benefit from the exposure to native speakers of English.
It is unfortunate that this Happy Bunny element is still so prevalent, because schools are often not interested in hiring native speakers of English who don’t “look” western (Canadians of Asian heritage for example), and the quality of the material taught classes is often secondary to maximizing profit. Sometimes, foreign teachers are literally thrown into the lion’s den with no teaching material ready at all, and have to make up lessons right there on the spot! It will take a number of years before the ESL market matures here, for proper credentials to be required by the teachers (many of whom just stay a few months before seeking greener pastures), and more attention being paid to the long term benefit of the student.
While it is beyond the means of most Chinese families, the single best way to improve a student’s English ability is to have a competent private tutor work with them on an on-going basis. Both parties can set goals, modify the focus and intensity of the lessons, and the teacher can pay specific attention to the student’s needs. I have done long-term, one-on-one lessons with a few enthusiastic students, and it has been tremendously rewarding for both of us. Witnessing their thirst for knowledge and rapid progress is reward in itself.
Some of China’s favourite jokes revolve around hen-pecked husbands. While in English there are some not-so-flattering expressions to describe these rather gentle men, in Chinese they have a couple of cute sayings and light-hearted double-entendres. Especially in the Chongqing area, land of the “Spicy Girl”, it is not uncommon for the man to play number two fiddle to his wife, acquiescing to her on most issues. While my wife Jennifer likes to keep control of most aspects of family life, our relationship is not disproportionate either way, and I am happy to report that I do not fall in this unfortunate category of husbands. However, one of my foreign friends who also married a local girl is the constant target of ribbing, because while he is the primary bread-winner in the family, she hoards his earnings, and allows him only a few RMB when he goes out. He has often had to sheepishly borrow money when his meagre allowance runs out, then must explain to his missus why he “overspent”. The most common expression is “Qi Guan Yan” (pronounced Chee Gwan Yen), which is a play on words. The original meaning is “tracheitis” (respiratory tract inflammation), but when the tone is slightly modified, it means “the wife manages strictly”.
The sign of a truly domineering spouse is her penchant to inflict corporal punishment (most often by nasty pinches) to express her displeasure. Hence, another saying is that a subservient husband is “afraid for his ears”. The latest saying I have heard is a play on the word for bedside cupboard – “chuang tou gui”. Gui means cupboard, but another Chinese character with the same tone and pronunciation is “kneel”. So a submissive husband pleading his case is often “kneeling at the bedside cupboard”, and thus earns this nickname from his peers.
Coming from a linguist’s background, I always get a kick out of some of the strange names the Chinese dub their foods. Certainly, similar to restaurants such as the “Anonymous Coffee Shop”, “Bald Guy’s Roasted Duck Emporium” (my favourite), and the “August 32nd Night Club”, these are gimmicks to capture people’s attention and appeal to their sense of curiosity.
In the Shanghai area, two popular dishes are “Gobuli” (Dogs Ignore It) and Huzi Gutou Tang (Beard and Bone Soup). The former is a fatty type of steamed dumplings where the meat is cooked right inside the bun. The grease creates a mini pool inside, and when you break it with your chopsticks, it comes rushing out. If you feed it to dogs (and some unsuspecting people), they don’t know enough not to put the whole bun in their mouths and take a big bite. The hot oil is enough to leave a pretty nasty burn. Hence, dogs learn their lesson and ignore it the second time. The Beard and Bone soup I had to try, it is yummy inspite of its is appelation, and is simply made up of an oxtail broth (the bone), along with rice noodles (the beard).
In Chongqing, a popular dish is Kou Shui Ji (Saliva Chicken), the reasoning being that just thinking about it is enough to get your juices flowing. Euphemisms abound too, and my favourite (to say, not to eat) has to be “Phoenix Claws” (Chicken feet).
For the most part China is a very safe place to travel and to live, and that not only goes for foreigners but for locals as well. Sure, crime exists where ever people do, but for the huge population of this country, acts of violent crime are few and far between. It is surprising how safe China is as a whole, and not just for foreigners but for the common common citizen, who can walk pretty much anywhere at any time in the country and not have to worry about being mugged. I wish that could be said about Canada as there are places in Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver that I would not dare venture into at night. However, what the average Zhou has to be careful of here is break & enter and pickpockets.
In my 10 years in Greater China, I have only been unlucky thrice. The first time was losing my new pair of adidas runners to some ingenious thieves. Many apartment dwellers put extra shoes, umbrellas, boxes, and other small items in the space provided by the barred bay windows. At my mother-in-law’s house, it triples as a window, a place to hang laundry, and a mini-closet. I placed my shoes on the window sill along with Jennifer’s, and the next morning they had “flown away without wings”, as the Chinese are fond of saying when things go missing. We did some detective work, and were amazed at the physics and engineering skills necessary for the big score. Someone had literally fished them out of their resting place. The window and its contents are only accessible from a public corridor 10 feet away, so someone must have used a long pole with an attached hook to snag them, slide them through the bars, and into their waiting hands. We blamed ourselves in part for not securing them better, but had to “hand it to them”, it was a clever piece of work. We were doubly surprised when a couple days later we found Jennifer’s pair lying in the hall outside the apartment! Whomever make off with them actually returned Jennifer’s pair! Either they must not have fitted or they were unhappy they were not a famous brand that they could easily resell.
One summer we went to visit Jennifer’s music teacher in Chengdu, capital of Sichuan province. We rented bicycles from the “Traffic Hotel” where we were staying, and pedalled the 20 minutes to the Music Academy. I locked the bikes to the tree outside Professor Chen’s flat, and we had a wonderful time visiting with him over the next two hours. When we came out, the bikes were gone, lock and all. Back at the hotel, the bike people said “Tisk, tisk, you should have been more careful”. That meant we should have found a way to enclose them indoors as obviously, simply locking them was not enough. We lost our deposit but refused to pay any additional charges.
Later, we felt very duped to find out that it may well have been the hotel staff themselves who followed us, and with their spare keys simply reclaimed the merchandise. Apparently, it had not been the first time that oddities like that had occurred at that establishment. But where is the proof? I wonder if they are still running that scam in 2004.
On the very same afternoon, Jennifer and I were walking down the main shopping boulevard and taking in the sights. I was carrying a small daypack and we had bought a couple T-shirts to take back to Chongqing. Suddenly, Jennifer started screaming in Sichuan dialect. Someone had been deftly undoing the zipper on my pack without our knowledge. She had caught him red-appendanged with his hand right there in the cookie jar, and let him have it with a barrage of verbal abuse that was shocking coming from someone usually so quiet. The culprit took a few steps off to the said and gave us a look as if to say “Yeah so I am a thief, what are you going to do about it?” There was little point in trying to find the police (he would be long gone by the time we alerted the authorities) or play hero by wrestling him to the ground (was it worth it to risk being stabbed if he had a knife?), so we just recomposed ourselves and proceeded onward.
TV news stations have recorded footage of nimble fingers at work at bus and train stations where crowds are thickest. No wonder the word for pickpocket translates back to English as “Raking Hands”.
In relatively underdeveloped Chongqing City, ambulant vendors are very common, and crowd the streets hawking a myriad of goods. They sell many clothing and hardware items including but not limited to elastic bands of all sizes and colours, hair and nail implements, shoe insoles, sacrificial money to be burned as offerings to the dearly departed, cell phone cases, and underwear with built-in zippers. Few have licences, so the minute word gets around that cops are coming, everyone snatches up all their goodies in one well-rehearsed move and disappear into the masses, only to set up shop again a few minutes later when the coast is clear.
Vying for space with other vendors on overpasses, near outdoor markets, bus stops, and everywhere else foot traffic is heavy, they crowd each side, creating a narrow passage through which everyone must navigate. On wider streets and sidewalks, they still encroach on the middle, forcing people through the narrow walkway in close proximity to their goods. At places like this, I always take the back road behind their displays and save mounds of time not being forced to jostle with other pedestrians. I don’t mind the street vendors so much, as they are just trying to make a living like anyone else, and like so many other aspects of life in China, it is just something one gets used to over time.
However, it is unlikely that I will ever get used to the “Yeller Sellers” that circulate all day around older housing complexes in the city. The parade of vendors begins just after dawn and continues until dusk. Their at times booming, at times screeching voices holler out rhythmic sales pitches, and the most common are, “Furniture Repairs Done Here!”, “Fridge and Air Con Maintainance!” “I Have Fresh Milk!”, and “Sharpen Your Knives!”, to name a few. The worst are those that have recorded messages screeching out over modified bull horns. Because of the constant noise, this practice has been outlawed in many cities including Shanghai and Chengdu, but I suppose that because of Chongqing’s relative poverty, the government still tolerates it in many areas.
When Jennifer and I still lived with her mother, it was a constant source of irritation to be unwilling subjected to their advertising all day. The residential area is known as “Quiet Garden”, what a misnomer that was! Their voices spiraled upward through the courtyard and it sounded like they were just outside the window, even on the 17th floor. Sooner or later, as complaints from the growing middle class continue to rise, they will no doubt ban it here too, and vendors will scramble to look for other ways to get their advertising messages across.
When I was living in the foreign students dorm at the SW China Normal University north of Chongqing, my mail was often opened when I received it. I still wonder why. Were the authorities worried I was a spy or a charismatic evangelist? Where they looking for cheques or money to pilfer? Did they just want to improve their English by reading what my mom had to say? (Granted, her handwriting is eye-catching!) Or was it a subtle message from the administration that they had their eye on me, and for me not to overstep my boundaries as a student. Maybe it was a combination of all of the above.
Nowadays, I live in a private complex, but have still experienced a few misadventures being on the receiving end. Once it makes it to the building, the service is actually quite good, and the apartment management sees to it that everyone gets everything in a timely and professional manner. The problems we have had I believe are deep within the post office itself. Perhaps because it is still a state-owned enterprise, the quality and professionalism often leaves a lot to be desired.
Last fall, we were expecting six parcels from friends and family and received zero. I went to the post office to inquire (or complain, but complaining rarely gets you anywhere, so you have to be diplomatic inspite of your frustration and anger). The manager of the international parcel service was very friendly and assured me that the parcels had never arrived otherwise of course they would be delivered as addressed. I made my case: previous to September I had received everything on time, and had a list of what was sent, what was received, and what was missing. When the post office wants to make a delivery and you were unfortunate enough not to be home, they leave a note for you to come pick it up, but getting it in your hands can be a challenge. You have to go to the office, show your notice to the security guards at the gate, then take a long windy road down into the bowels of the postal complex to find your way to the international parcel pick up room. This is the Central Post Office and it serves the entire downtown Chongqing area (population 6 million). The first time I had to claim my mail there, I could immediately see how problems so easily occurred. What a zoo!! Boxes fill every shelf and are stacked haphazardly on the floor. Cardboard, tape, newspapers, string, and a myriad of labels liter the open spaces. When presented with the notice, the workers say, “I just saw that a few minutes ago, now, where has it gone off to?” It is a wonder that they do not misplace a lot more, and I marvel at how much more efficient the whole system could be if they cleaned up their act.
Anyway, the office manager interjected that the parcels must have been addressed wrong. I said they were addressed correctly, and most of the items were from my family who had successfully sent me things before. She politely denied the possibility that they were lost or that anyone in the receiving department would deliberately not deliver them or steal anything, but it was the only conclusion that I could draw. She said that she would conduct an investigation. I allowed her another month to look into it, but when I followed up, she said she had not discovered anything out of the ordinary. Still, she was at a loss to explain what had occurred, and I had no further recourse.
Tellingly enough, the next time I was expecting a parcel, it arrived intact and on time. Was someone behind the scenes tampering with the foreigner’s mail? Were they caught? Did they get reprimanded or even fired? I wish I knew what had transpired behind the scenes.
After so many years in China, one would think I should have a pretty good handle on getting things mailed. I wish it were so!
Each time I offer up a letter to the counter, something is invariably wrong with the envelope or how it is addressed. Am I wrong, or do some attendants revel in pointing out, “You need to use a postal code-friendly envelope!” “The addresses are written in the wrong place!” “The stamps shouldn’t be pasted there!”? I am still hearing new transgressions all the time.
The biggest factor in governing official post regulations seems to be regional in nature. Blank business size western envelopes for domestic mail are a no-no now all over ( but were OK in China before I went back to Canada last time and bought a big box full of them!). The senders address should be smaller on the bottom part of the envelope in Chongqing, but on the back in some other provinces. They ask me to place the stamps on the rear of the envelope in some places as well. Nowhere do the envelopes or stamps have that adhesive strip on them that you just lick and stick. I have to bring your stamps and envelope over to the glue station, a desk off to the side where a monstrous blue (they are always pale blue, everywhere) glue dispenser looks to stick it to anyone foolish enough to approach. There are awkward little wheels that need to be rotated to suck up some glue juice from beneath, so inevitably it gets on every appendage that it comes into contact with. Messier still are the “old fashioned” glue bottles with the five-years-old-and-never-been-cleaned brush ready to muck up the next user. Some smaller offices still use that but hope to upgrade to the blue glue machine in the near future. Then if you want it sent registered mail, it has to be weighed and tagged which means another wait in the line up. Due to simple goof-ups or lack of proper material, it may require queuing up two or three times for one simple letter. In short, thank the Patron Saints of Convenience for having helped invent electronic mail!
Try sending a parcel. If you wrap it first, you are asking for trouble, as again, there is bound to be something awry with your handiwork. The material is not regulation, the addresses are not right, etc. etc. and you have to start from scratch. The do not have protective bubble manila envelopes for things like CDs, so everything must go in thick tan boxes. There are only a few sizes, so often they stuff it full of shredded waste paper to prevent it from clunking around inside too much. How hard is it to make the plastic bubble sheets we have been enjoying in North America for 30 years? Back home, ours all probably comes from here anyway, so what gives? Another of life’s profound mysteries. Wrapping, taping, stringing, addressing, stamping, and registring must all be carefully coordinated to create a proper yin & yang like balance between of all of the above. Heaven forbid a mistake is made somewhere along the line, because the line may have to be endured once yet again on the quest for packaging perfection.
Our national holiday is July 1st, but in Chongqing, owing to its small Canadian presence and everyone’s busy schedules, it rarely gets celebrated on that day. This year it was commemorate a full two weeks later.
The very first Canadian Embassy in China was established in 1945 and was not in Beijing as one might expect, but right here in the Mountain City, as it became for a few brief years, the war-time capital of China. Later, after everything moved back to the North Capital, Chongqing fell off the map for a while, and it has only been in recent years that the city has started finding its way back on. In 1997 it was granted special status as a “direct municipality”, the fourth in China after Beijing, Tianjin, and Shanghai. What this means in a nutshell is that it gets direct government funding from the central government and is no longer a part of Sichuan Province. With the close ties between the two countries, Canada decided to open a consulate here, and was the first western country to do so. The Japanese and British Consulates now also have representative offices downtown.
Every year, the consulate puts on a little soiree for those who have ties with Canada; business types, scholars, exchange students, and the couple dozen Canucks like me, most of whom are English teachers. This year, it was held at the Continental Hotel in north Chongqing, a large, 4-star facility on the highway between the city and the airport. I was invited to co-host the event, and brought along my wife Jennifer and daughter Perin, who was one of the big attractions of the evening. “There she is, the Western Doll!”
The new consul, a new and good friend of mine, travels a great deal, and with my tight agenda as well, we don’t get a chance to meet up as much as we would like. Therefore, the evening’s festivities were especially enjoyable. He addressed the 200 strong crowd in English, French, and Chinese, and presented a scholarship award for a local professor heading to the Great White North for research. I enjoy singing Chinese songs, but admit to being a bit nervous when it came my turn to belt one out, and while I was so concerned about not forgetting the lyrics, I don’t think I may have been off key for the whole song. Still, the great thing about foreigners singing Chinese songs is that the worse you are, the louder they applaud (either to drown you out, or comfort you, or both).
After the ceremonies, performances, and a rendition of “O, CANADA” that almost no one knew the words to (of course I still do, even in French!), everyone enjoyed an outdoor feast next to the expansive swimming pool, a buffet of some excellent Chinese and Western dishes. I was introduced to the new president of the school where I studied in town, the SW China Normal University. Hobnobbing can be very enjoyable I find, as long as I manage to avoid the drinking and smoking scene. It was a hectic day from start to finish, but very enjoyable, and makes me think how fortunate I am to have a consulate of my own country near where I live and to be able to enjoy the friendship of the people who work there.
It saddens me to see how many young lasses in China are disfiguring their otherwise captivating countenances with plastic surgery. More and more are happy to chopstick over big sums of cash for an operation to create a new fold in their eyelids which will switch them from “single” to “double”. Many Chinese do consider double eyelids to be more attractive, but when it means going under the knife to create them artificially, I think most young ladies would be better off staying as they were. It is easy to spot someone who has had the procedure. It tends to look unnatural, just like a bad hair transplant for balding men. For “singlers” the skin of the eyelid tends to be much thicker than those “doublers” that have the natural fold. When an artificial crease is introduced, the skin is still very dense, and appears very deep and pronounced. A poorly done operation can also leave the crease far too high up on the eyelid which can make the poor girl look positively freakish, and worse yet is if left and right are not absolutely symmetrical. Botched procedures are not uncommon, and there is no going back.
Well, I guess the whole quest to seek beauty through surgery is nothing new, (nowadays, I am sure plastic surgeons on both sides of the Great Pond make more than their average GP counterparts), and here is just one of countless other manifestations of globalization and China’s ever increasing affluence.
The whole concept of gaining, saving, or losing face in China shares many similarities with the idea of being made to look good or bad in front of others in western culture. Occasionally, however, I have noticed how some Chinese are willing to go extra kilometres to preserve their dignity if they feel it has been slighted.
During my very first week in China, I saw an astounding incident that clearly illustrated this cultural phenomenon. I had been exploring one Beijing’s many “hutongs” (old, narrow lanes behind the major streets) and looking for a dumpling shop to try out for lunch. I happened to spot a middle aged man and a 30-something woman absentmindedly riding their bikes and about to converge at an intersection. At the last second, they saw each other, but each thinking the other would give way, they both continued in the same direction. Sure enough, a little bipedal fender-bender ensued. The woman shouted at the man to look where he was going, and the man shot back that it was her fault for causing the accident. Neither was physically hurt, and their bikes looked undamaged, but suddenly it became ugly as pride and self-dignity were at stake. They stood almost toe to toe and the verbal sparring quickly escalated. After a few minutes of heated debate, it became obvious that neither wanted to back down as whomever did might be perceived as the loser in the eyes of the quickly growing crowd. This kind of uproar is sure to draw gawking spectators, and their numbers jumped to about one hundred I estimated, after only 10 minutes. I reflected how in Canada, a finger might be heaved, an insult hurled, but it would be very unlikely for either party to waste their time or energy in such a loss-loss situation. I quickly became bored with it all, and found my way into a nearby noodle shop, promptly forgetting about the hullaballoo going on outside.
After a very satisfying lunch of some of Beijing’s finest, I hauled my stuffed stomach out on the street again. I was dumbfounded – a full half an hour later, they were still at it, making a spectacle of themselves, and the mob must have grown five-fold. I didn’t have the patience to stick around to see how it ended up, but just had to shake my head in disbelief. I have since learned that this was an extreme display and certainly not the norm, but it certainly did impress upon me to what lengths people go at times, even willing to lose face to save face, if that makes any sense at all.
The world of international online dating is very touch and go if you ask me, and while there are some earnest spouse seekers out there, it always begs the question, why can’t they find a decent partner in their own locale? Many are divorced and disillusioned with life and the opposite sex back home. Some men maintain that there is a dirth of quality women their places of residence like like Alaska or the prairie regions. No small number are just interested in getting some action with some cool Asian chicks, then flying the coop. How many cases of STD have been attributed to online dating worldwide in 2004? Finally, there are those who stereotype Chinese women as being quiet, graceful, and obedient. Hello, I have news for you! Chinese women sometimes mistakenly believe that all western men are romantic, generous, thoughtful, and wealthy, while Chinese men are insensitive and uncaring. It is not an overstatement to say that many of these women are gold diggers and/or just want to live abroad. So men seeking Chinese women beware – the best of the bunch will not be advertising on the internet. If you really want to seek companionship here, yes, China is prime wife hunting ground, but you have to spend the time here on your own to find someone with whom you can have a relationship based on love, trust, and respect. To Chinese women I also give warning, some of the hard-up foreigners may be damaged goods themselves. These combined factors make for a very low success rate for on-line love seekers, and make it all the more amazing when a decent couple from different cultures actually does fall in love, tie the knot, and have a mutually satisfying long term matrimony after having “met” on the Net.
A few of my buddies back home have told me how much they would like to find a Chinese wife too, and many local women are envious of Jennifer for having married a westerner. While many cross-cultural marriages are very successful, I believe it takes two particularly understanding, flexible, and sensitive people to make it work long term. Communication is key in any relationship, but when a couple comes from a completely different culture, it is triply crucial. The fact that I already understood her language and country helped us a lot in the initial stages getting to know each other, and aided immensely through the unavoidable rough spots early in our relationship. The fact that she has an artist’s soul, and that she already had a basic understanding of the western mind through her professional contacts, also paid dividends right from day one.
It is a huge challenge for two people from very contrasting societies with little mutual comprehension to overcome the obvious differences in expectations, not to mention linguistic barriers and ways of expressing oneself that can lead to problematic misunderstandings. I am not saying it cannot be done, but the odds are very much stacked against a couple from different countries that has met over the internet, communicated through a translator, and are meeting for the first time.
An interesting 21st century phenomenon in China is the advent of “International Marriage Consulting Services”. While technically illegal here, it does not stop some from recruiting eager local girls, submitting their information online, advertising to lonely western men, and overseeing the responses and ensuing relationships from first contact to first meeting, to, hopefully, joining in legal matrimony. Our friend Xiao Wei manages a matchmaking business catering to those who believe the grass is always greener on the other side of the Pacific, and it is thriving. A graduate of a local foreign language school, her English is competent, much better than most of the female clientele who seek her services. She charges a sign up fee, then a monthly fee which includes translating and writing of all correspondence, and for arranging the all-important step of meeting the prospect in person. If escorting and translation are required for this meeting, there is an additional daily rate. With over 20 women under her wing, she is glued to the computer screen for many hours of the day, gossiping on the phone for a couple more, and out wining and dining on occasion when a prospective male makes the 20-odd hour trip from North America to Chongqing.
Jennifer marvels at her enthusiasm and energy, and said that her head would explode if she had to spend so much time socializing all day. Ditto for me too! We feel so blessed to have all of the guessing and uncertainty of the dating world behind us.
After going to the tropics in the spring for part one of our honeymoon, we had the time and the inclination to explore some of the famed Silk Road in Northwest China. It was October, the last month we were to spend in China before heading home to Canada.
We flew from Chongqing to Urumuqi, the capital of Xinjiang Autonomous Region, and planned to take the train slowly back to Eastern China. To me, Urumuqi looked very much like any other northern Chinese city, sunny, dusty, and surrounded by desert. We did not see as many Uyghur Minority people as we expected in the city, and in retrospect, we should have made the effort to go to Kashgar even further west with its traditional minority flavour and relative lack of Han Chinese influence. The only noticeable difference was the Uyghur script written on most public signs along with the Chinese characters.
Jennifer and I both like to eat lamb, and we sure got our fill during those two weeks. It was hard to find a decent vegetable dish, and we often remarked how fortunate we were to live in Chongqing with its abundance of fresh produce and ways of serving up vegetables. One of our most lasting impressions of northerners, especially Beijingers, is how many men like to hike up their T-shirts and pant legs in the hot summer months, and allow the whole world to see their sometimes bony rib cages, sometimes well-nurtured rotund beer bellies. At an outdoor barbeque, we almost gagged at the sight of a similarly exposed, expansively waist lined gentleman gnawing on a leg of rare mutton. He was yakking animatedly with his friends and family and did not mind one bit that the blood and grease was dripping off his chin onto his chest and belly. NOT what you would call eye candy. We both thought it amusing that the local media would try to discourage such behaviour by putting pictures of unsuspecting offenders in the newspaper.
Tianchi (“Heaven Pond”) is a famous sky blue lake nestled in the mountains in the outskirts of Urumuqi, and we took a 2 hr. bus ride to make the ascent to see it. We were concerned about the age and condition of the bus we were on, and sure enough, about half the way up, it collapsed under the strain and “dropped anchor” (the Chinese expression for a break down). Every seat was taken, and when the bus grinded to a smoky halt on the side of the road, everyone started yelling at the driver simultaneously to get out and fix it, and other explicatives in the local dialect we could not understand but which must have been very descriptive. The driver got out, and had a look at the overtaxed engine, gave everyone a look of helplessness, and made it clear it could not be fixed. We were first off the bus, and seeing that I was a foreigner, he gave me half the ticket price back, saying we had made it about half way. I thought, “Sometimes, it is good to be a foreigner”. He ignored everyone else and promptly started running down the hill to avoid further confrontations. So everyone was stuck on the side of the road, hoping to flag down another bus that could take them to the top. We knew it might take a while, so started walking down the mountain to get ahead of the others and hopefully be first to hail new transportation. About 30 minutes later, another crowded bus did pull over to squeeze the two of us in, and we patted ourselves on the back because a few minutes later we passed the lifeless bus and its unfortunate cargo still milling around the side of the road. There were too many of them, and our new driver just sped past.
The postcard scenery at Tianchi is more like some mountainous regions of North America than anywhere in China, with its snowcapped peaks, evergreen forests, and deep cold water filling the valley. We were approached by a local Kazak man of about 25 a self-employed tour guide who rented out his horses and took people through the various trails around the lake. He seemed friendly enough and we agreed to a two hour tour along with one of his horses for Jennifer, as I had decided to hike it along with him. Our conversation proved more interesting than the scenery, and I learned a lot about life there for the locals in a very short time. He was very surprised that I had married a Han Chinese woman. For the Kazaks in that area, this would be unheard of, as the two ethnicities do not get along well, he told me. Although most of the local population was Kazak, they had little say in government, the police force was all Han Chinese, and the successful business community was all controlled by easterners who had moved out in recent years. A mixed marriage would be frowned upon and likely punished in the tightly knit Kazak community.
Turpan was the most ararbesque community we visited on our trip. The mosques, middle eastern architecture, and healthy Uyghur population made for a fascinating cultural experience. We stayed one night in a small hotel that was more like a family-run pension, a 3 story house with many rooms they rent out to overnighters. The accomodations were simple but tasteful, very white, and very clean. It reminded me a bit of some places I had stayed in my younger days traveling around Tunisia in North Africa.
Xinjiang is famous for its grape harvesting festival in August, and that is when most visitors arrive. We were over a month late, and all the grapes had turned to raisins. They were everywhere, and farmers with large wooden carts mounted on the backs of reinforced bicycles sold them on nearly every street. It is amazing how things can grow at all in such an arrid climate, and we were was fascinating to see the underground waterways that crisscrossed beneath the sand, giving life to every plant, animal, and human in an otherwise uninhabitable wilderness.
And dry it is. After several days in this parched climate, our faces started to feel like raisins themselves, and not the plump grapes we were so accustomed to seeing in the mirror in humid Chongqing. Jennifer especially reacted badly, all the skin on her face had contracted somehow, making her eyes, mouth and nostrils seem exaggerated. We had to run out and get some moisturizer ASAP, and applied it before any permanent damage was inflicted.
One place we were happy to see was Dunhuang. There was a long, bumpy bus ride across the rocky desert to get there, but what waited was a quaint town that had a lot to offer the sightseer. On one end of town there is a sand dune region that you actually have to pay an admission fee to access. People were crawling all over the hills, taking photos with the camels, and marveling at the fact that a mini oasis called “crescent spring”. Not far from the city centre was a reconstruction of an ancient walled city, nowadays used for shooting period movies. Jennifer and I took lots of pictures The biggest attraction of the area is the Mogao Buddist Caves, a spectacular series of honeycomb-like manmade caves in the soft hills outside Dunhuang. All of varying sizes and produced over several centuries, the well-preserved caves are world famous for the incredible artistry of the religious carvings and paintings.
Our last stop on our Silk Road journey was another important historical city, Xian (“West Peace”). It is home to the even more famous Terracotta Army carved for the first Emperor of China. We could easily see why it is considered one of the greatest archaelogical finds in human history. It is amazing to think that there are other treasures in the area lying beneath the soil that have yet to be discovered or excavated. We heard that scientist already suspect where they might be, but are unwilling as of yet to undertake large scale diggings until they have a better idea of what may still be buried. Cultural treasures have to be unearthed with extreme caution.
The last noteworthy anecdote on this trip was our attempt to secure train tickets from Xian to Beijing. Witnessing the line-ups trying to get tickets during busy season and the mob mentality that ensues is quite an experience. For each little hole carved in the bullet-proof window for the would-be travelers to holler their destinations into, there can often be a queue of hundreds. The line up we saw had a life of its own, everyone clinging to ther person in front of them in fear of losing their place or someone trying to butt in ahead of them. Shouting and shoving matches were breaking out where it was not clear who was standing where. One nonchalant guard sitting at the guard rail near the front of the line was laughing while chatting with his colleagues in front of other lines, the whole time ignoring the blatant infractions of line-up etiquette that were occuring right in front of him. I was far to intimidated to join the fray, and even stealy Jennifer was put off by the sweat, odors, and long wait. We were ectatic to find a “Overseas Guest Ticketing Office” off to the side. After so much traveling on bumpy buses in hard-sleep train compartments, we decided to go in style, booking a soft-sleeper which houses 4 to a private compartment. One of the best features of those berths is the ability to actually turn off the incessant music, chatter of comedy routines, and public announcements that blare out throughout the rest of the train.
All in all, Xinjiang and Northwest was a nice place to visit, but I would not want to live there. Hainan Island is a better place to visit, and I would love to live there.
Jennifer and I were able to enjoy not one but two honeymoons in 1997. While dating, we always had to stay in separate rooms in hotels and school dorms because we were not married, as they did not allow single couples to stay together. After making it official, we were looking forward to showing off our freshly printed marriage licence to the front desk clerks on our nuptual odysseys.
We took a train and headed south in the spring of that year, and our first stop was Guiyang, the unsightly capital of Guizhou province just below Chongqing. It was five degrees cooler there and we had brought no warm clothes because we were heading to the tropical beach areas further south. While waiting for our next train, we headed to a local hotel and feasted on “Swishing Mutton”, a shabushabu like dish of boiled lamb and vegetables. That kept us warm for the brief layover.
Our next stop was in a city called Beihai, pretty much the closest you can get to the equator on the mainland. The beaches are not conducive to developing much of a resort industry, but the climate is comfortable, seafood succulent, and it’s worth a stay of a day or two if for nothing else than to just escape crowded city life for a while. We stayed at the Furayama Hotel, a waterfront property with a cozy atmosphere and polite staff. We were hoping to flash our badges, but they showed no interest in whether we were married or not and quickly checked us in. Our marriage licences stayed hidden in our document pouches. In fact, in none of the tourist areas to follow did they care one iota about our legal status as a couple or lack thereof.
Haikou, the capital of Hainan and its largest city, certainly has its charms, but had a reputation as being a haven for the criminal element. Perhaps due to its status as a major port for Southeast Asian trade and its large transient population, we heard many stories of robbery, break and enter, and fraud. We did not experience anything of the like, but were especially vigilant when walking the streets.
We were invited to stay with a friend we had met in Chongqing who had a large apartment in the city with an extra guestroom. We graciously accepted, and were taken to an area in the suburbs that seemed to have been built all in the last few months. Countless six-story concrete apartment complexes were erected with little planning or thought for aesthetics, and the roads crisscrossing through them had not even been paved yet.
Ms. Zhu, a nightclub owner, told us she had just bought the entire 3rd floor of one of the buildings, and planned to move in later that year. She opened the big iron gate and led us upstairs. No one else inhabited the building. In her apartment, there was just a bed two pillows, a toilet, a couple of towels, and a single naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the living room to illuminate the whole apartment. Proper flooring had not even been put in, and there were no sheets on the bed. She apologized for the spartan conditions, and we said that was OK, we were used to roughing it, and that we would sleep well because it was so quiet there and we were very tired because of the long day of traveling. She left us there to return to her bar, and we did our best to get comfortable.
Shortly after turning off the light, we started to be the target of countless dive-bombing mosquitos that began seeking their evening meal. Jennifer and I are both very sensitive to that high pitched buzzing, and no matter how we tried to cover up our exposed skin and ignore them, we knew we were fighting a losing battle. We got out of bed, and went to see if we could find a store that sold some repellent or better yet, a mosquito net we could drape over the bed. We found a store that sold mosquito coils but no nets. We lit them in the bedroom and the mosquitos were held at bay, but we started to feel nauseous because of the heavy fumes the coils were producing. That would not work either. Our only course of action had to be to check into a climate controlled, insect-free hotel. We called Ms. Zhu to explain the situation, and she came to pick us up. Very embarassed and apologetic, she took us to the nearby Holiday Inn where we had a much savoured bath, and then passed out at 2 am.
We were giddy with enthusiasm arriving at our final destination of Sanya two days later. The promote it as the “Hawaii of China”, and although I had heard it was a popular tropical destination for domestic tourists, I had no inkling of what a great place it turned out to be. Foreigners visiting the country rarely go there, as there are warm climates and beaches in other countries closer to where they live, but for the expat living in China long term, Sanya is a must at some point. It is completely unlike the China foreigners expect with its clean air, crystal waters, endless beaches, perpetual sunshine, and intriguing minority culture.
We purposely avoided going during Chinese New Year vacation, when the beaches are overrun by Chinese snowbirds, and just one week after the exodus of domestic pleasure seekers, great bargains can be had on accomodations. At that time, the South China Hotel was the poshest place going, and we stayed there the first two nights to truly celebrate our honeymoon in style. We negociated with the front desk manager to give us half off the quoted price, and got it when we threatened to leave and seek accomodation elsewhere. This is a benefit of showing up in person – they inevitably will sell the room at any price within reason as opposed to letting it go uninhabited.
On subsequent nights we stayed in the downtown area, and at the famous “Deer Looking Back” Hotel with its quiet garden-like courtyard and pebble beaches. Jennifer ate seafood to her heart’s content, while I got tired of it after the second day and wanted to try out some of the interesting local dishes. We swam, worked out in the hotel gyms, munched on fresh sugar cane at the waterfront, sunned ourselves, went for evening strolls along the beach and canal area downtown, and had a glorious time.
To this day, I have not been anywhere in China that rivals Sanya for climate, clean air, and variety of interesting places to explore. Many have opened since we visited and we are raring for another trip to the so-called "End of Heaven and Corner of the Sea" . I would seriously consider retiring to the beachside lifestyle it offers should we decide to stay indefinitely in the Middle Kingdom.
Like most places in Asia, hitting the pavement in China can be a harrowing experience. You need to be very attuned to what is going on around you, as drivers pilot their vehicles with little regard for others. This gives a whole new meaning to the axiom they teach us in driver’s ed: “See the Big Picture”.
In more modern cities like Beijing and Shanghai, people tend to drive a bit more conscientiously than in less developed areas. In Chongqing, there are no “ring roads” to zoom around the city on, just narrow, windy lanes where the list of implicit driving conduct is as follows: 1). Wherever there is an opening ahead, that is where you drive. A four lane road often sees 5 or even six rows of cars vying for the same space. 2). Whomever gets there first goes first. If you are trying to turn left into traffic, you have to nose your way into the oncoming cars and eventually cut someone off so you can merge. If you wait for a break in traffic as we do in North America, you might have to wait until after midnight. 3). Smaller passenger vehicles give way to larger vehicles when they arrive at the same time at any given space. This is not always adhered to however. So aggressive driving is not the exception here but the norm. Surprisingly, there is little in the way of “road rage” here. Even when drivers are laying on the horn incessantly or breaking even the simplest of traffic rules (like staying on your own side of the road!), everyone understands it is a waste of time and energy to get overly upset at other’s atrocious driving (but still, like in North America of course, it is always the other guy in the wrong!). Verbal spats or outright fisticuffs are a rarity here, everyone is just too busy trying to get somewhere.
Also rare are traffic accidents. I know they happen a lot, but most experienced drivers instincts are very good at avoiding crashes. I can imagine how many people die in traffic accidents here because of poor road conditions, lack of signage, disregard of rules, and sheer number of vehicles, but I am still surprised I don’t see more. I guess it’s in part that in urban areas there often is gridlock or slow flow, so driving speed is naturally kept in check.
On many of the newly paved highways, you would swear you are in any western country except for the road signs and advertising in Chinese dotting the countryside. In heavily populated areas however it can still be an obstacle course. In the twisting speedway between Chongqing and Chengdu, rural dwellers and their domestic animals are constantly crossing the fences and taking their chances darting between speeding cars. What percentage of those brave souls don’t make it across safely? Put me on an airplane any day of the week!
Some of my foreign friends think nothing of driving here, and I have bow to their bravado, they are far daring than I. With taxis so inexpensive and with the little interest I have in exploring the surrounding areas of Chongqing, I prefer to stay close to home and avoid the hassle of maintaining my own wheels. Except at rush hour before dinner, it is easy to hail one of the ubiquitous yellow sedans, and a trip to anywhere in the downtown core costs no more than two or three bucks US.
I also know which public transport to take and which to avoid as well, as they are not all created or driven equal. The best are the big, new, clean, attractive, well-built buses that travel on a fixed schedule and have uniformed hostesses aboard selling tickets and announcing each stop. The worst are the so-called “send away your life” buses that are privately driven. These smaller mini-buses are out make as much revenue as possible by cramming as many bodies into their weak frames as possible. The 181 route in Chongqing must get first prize for notoriety. It is a popular route through the downtown area, and an empty bus leaves the terminus every five minutes or so. What drivers often do is try to surpass other buses and even other 181’s in order to get to the next stop a few minutes faster than their competitors. They make more money this way, but their reckless driving often put their passengers in danger. My mother-in-law is still recovering from a hip injury she sustained last year after a fall on a 181 which slammed on the breaks to avoid being hit by another of its own kind.
The fourth unwritten rule of the road is to do one’s best to not be caught by traffic authorities. I often think that with the blatant disregard for many traffic rules, the municipal government could make a fortune in no time collecting fines from violators. They do it on a small scale, and on occasion I see a taxi being pinched for picking up someone at a spot not designated for stopping, but they could literally park someone at any intersection and stop half of the vehicles for some infraction or another. Maybe they just don’t have the manpower, but wouldn’t the revenue end up paying the traffic cops salaries long term, not to mention making the streets more civilized? I just don’t get it sometimes.
For good reason, there are very few bicycles on the roads here. It is very hilly, and I would hate to think of those unprotected cyclists being sidestepped and occasionally clipped like pylons on the streets of Chonqing.
On the small bright side, they are putting up on stilts broad new boulevards with bike lanes just above the Yangtze and Jialing Rivers. Biking enthusiasts can now peddle to their heart’s content right in the city centre. And, what excites me greatly, is the advent of light rail transportation, Chongqing’s very own sky train. The first train will roll in October this year. The local stop is just a 3 minute walk from the bottom of our apartment complex, and will cut travel time to the Liberation Monument right in the city centre from 20 minutes by taxi to 10 minutes. It will be cheaper, safer, cleaner, and a lot more fun.
This dusty industrial city is showing signs of growing up! I just wish the drivers of those 181 buses would too.
One of the definite perks of residing in China is that the cost of living is so much less than that in North America. One of the very best ways to relax and unwind is to go for a massage. The average going rate is about $5 US for 90 minutes, and while I don’t know how much it is back home, but I can imagine you need to relinquish a limb to pay for having it massaged.
It can be an exercise in trial and error in finding a competent masseur or masseuse in a reputable massage parlor. Many of these establishments cater primarily to male clientele, the kind that are looking for “special services”. If they do offer regular massage at these shady institutions, then their skill level is often sub-standard. In places like that, the girls can be less than enthusiastic because their cut of the profits is lower than that for servicing the release of pent-up testosterone. The colloquial euphemism for this is to “ride an airplane”, (you understand the innuendo). Are these shady institutions legal? It is certainly a grey area, and officially perhaps yes they are illegal, but these laws are not enforced very vigorously in most parts of the country.
Local people usually know where legitimate massage can be enjoyed, and the most skillful and experienced practitioners are blind. They have vocational schools nationwide specifically for visually impaired students, and they most often turn out earnest and enthusiastic masseurs who sincerely care about doing a good job. I can understand other foreigners’ occasional reluctance to be kneeded, pinched, slapped, and caressed by a disabled person, but I have personally never had a negative experience with them. When done well, it is a delightfully divine experience, no matter who is on the giving end. It has helped my digestion, I always sleep better afterwards, and I have felt definite chiropractic benefits in relaxing tense muscles and realigning skewed bones. A talented masseuse knows where all the pressure points in the body lie, and how to manipulate them to maximize stress and muscular relief. I have become a big believer in traditional Chinese medicine for many ailments with its seemingly esoteric diagnosis methods and holistic healing therapies. 1.3 billion people and 5,000 years of history cannot all be written off as hocus pocus mumbo jumbo! After a professionally done session, I feel like eight million, two hundred and sixty thousand RMB.
On the other hand, when done poorly, it is a waste of time and money. I have got up after five minutes (that is usually how long it takes to figure out if the masseuse knows what she is doing, or is just faking it) and told them I did not want an amateur, and if they did not have anyone better I would just leave without paying. If a Chinese person tried that I can imagine the arguments that would ensue, but I rarely meet up with any resistance when this happens. Often, it is good to be a foreigner. Ability aside, most will try to do a passable job as they hope to ensure repeat customers and future business. Like well-frequented restaurants, good massage parlors enjoy healthy patronage.
People often comment at how white I am, with reason. With my Nordic ancestry, I most often have the skin tone of fine porcelain, and need to catch some serious rays to put a little colour in my cheeks. In Chongqing, sunshine is a rare commodity, so most of my time here I very much live up to the title “White Ghost”. When someone comments about my waxy apearance, I sometimes counter by mentioning how yellow they are. Good-natured ribbing often goes like this, “Well, I am Yellow. We Chinese people are all yellow. The cradle of our civilization is the Yellow River. Many people even have the surname Yellow in China.” “Yeah, us too. Many westerners are white (and brown, and black), and many people have the name White (and Brown, and Black) too. So our countries are not so different.”
In old China, the colour white was associated with death, and still is the colour worn at traditional funerals. So in weddings today, many brides still tend to shy away from pure white as a choice for their bridal gowns.
In English, the secondary meaning of yellow is chicken, in the sense of cowardly, but in Chinese, it can also mean pornographic. When I was studying in Taiwan, I was surprised to learn of YTV’s (Yellow TV), where which people could rent XXX movies and screen them right there in the privacy of a discrete mini-theatre. On the mainland the police often go out on “Yellow Sweeps” to try root out offensive AV material and prostitution. “Hua” is the Chinese word for flower and when used as an adjective means colourful. In slang terms, it is another expression that describes a person with a high libido. The word for horny is simply “se” which means colour, and a playboy is often called a “colour wolf”. I have heard foreigners use these plays on words, suggesting that the reason China’s population is over a billion is that its citizens are so very “flowery”.
It is interesting how two commonly white foods are associated with cavorting with the opposite sex. They are tofu and ice cream. As best as I can understand, “eating someone’s ice cream” means checking them out, sizing them up, giving them they eye. “Eating their tofu” means acting on one’s impulses. Who or where these expressions were invented I haven’t a clue, but Chinese sure is full of these double entendres and can sure lead to some colouful conversation. Once, a smirking student asked his American teacher if he liked to eat tofu. He said of course. Then when he found out its other meaning, he refused to eat the real thing ever again because he did not want to appear unfaithful to his wife!
Some ABC’s and CBC’s (American and Canadian-Born Chinese) jest that they are bananas, yellow on the outside and white on the inside. As for me, I like to kid that I have become half Chinese, so just call me an egg.
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