connie's space

            The quiet, narrow side street that hugs my apartment complex is like many hundreds in the city.  Despite its semi-secluded location, it touts three roadside medical and physical therapy (massage) clinics, an Internet bar, a vegetable market,  flower shop,  hair salon, clothes shop, dry cleaners and even several family-run convenience stores.

            This side street appears quite normal aside from a strange sprinkling of closed businesses that are interspersed between the regular stores.  These one-room shops are all  alike.  They have a thick glass storefront with heavy curtains drawn, making it impossible to see inside.  Heavy padlocks tightly secure the outside door handles shut.

             In the daytime, one hardly notices them while walking down the sidewalk.  But when 11 p.m. arrives, a stroll down our side street invites you into a quaint little red light district.

            Prostitution is supposedly illegal in China, yet hundreds of these areas can be found throughout the city.  I can only speak from familiarity with this particular area but from what I see, unlike America, our neighborhood’s red light district is a clean, well-kept place.  The streets are neatly swept.  Shopkeepers take pride in their businesses, despite where they happen to be, and make sure their tidy displays present a pleasant sight for passersby. Children race excitedly through on their way home from school.  The elderly chatter away along the sidewalks after finishing their exercise sessions in the nearby park. Residents sit outside on stools, enjoying the cool of June before the summer heat hits hard.  And safety is never an issue, even in the wee hours of the morning.  Average Chinese are always present, either playing mahjong, buying snacks from the still-open convenience stores and fruit cart sellers, or partaking of midnight meals sold by tiny restaurants and street venders.

               The set-up of our tiny red light district is a bit different from that in my home country.   Around 8 p.m., a few call girls will appear here and there to attract customers. They emerge from the curtained, padlocked shops, opened by a man or woman standing on the curbside, and hover at the corner of the street that empties into an obscure alleyway.  They dress in high heeled shoes or thigh-length boots which compliment their provocative clothing.  Make-up is thick with plenty of eye shadow and eyeliner to accentuate their eyes. Their purpose is to entice drivers to partake in their business rather than a competitor’s.  It’s also obvious that those cruising slowly by, all men in shiny dark cars, are here for their services and not just out for a leisurely ride around the city.

            The men or women on the street are in charge of handling the payment. They have purses slung over their shoulders where the money is kept and are the ones to talk directly to the client.  Once the amount is determined, the curtained storefront is unlocked and a girl comes out.  Hotels just a block away can be used at a  rate of $7 per 3 hours or the driver might take the girl home.  Later, the girls are dropped off and  rejoin their companions inside the locked store. 

            The interesting thing about the hotels in the area is that they are quite nice. One would think they’d be dingy, dark, sinister and filthy but that’s not the case at all. During the past weekend, I booked my Chinese friend from Inner Mongolia, “Richard” Wei, into one of these hotels for his first visit to Chengdu.  It was only $10 a night for a single room, had fresh clean linens and spotless tile floors, nice furniture, came with hot water and tea and had a large color TV.  The front desk ladies were very polite, the floor attendants quite attentive and nothing smelled rank or odd.

            Richard thoroughly enjoyed his stay here.  He did have to laugh a bit upon his late night arrivals back to his room after we’d had a full day of touring.  The desk girls looked at one another, whispering something to the effect that this guy didn’t need “other” services, just a good night’s sleep.   

            Both of us had at one time spotted in the lobby some beautiful-figured girls in mega-short, clinging tube dresses.  We figured they were there for those wishing for a bit of excitement in the night. Their eyes followed Richard when he entered the hotel but quickly dismissed him an an unlikely candidate.  For Richard, touring Chengdu with his foreign girl friend was excitement enough.   

            The sizzling heat of the Sichuan summer has not yet reached us  but when it does, these brothel storefronts will open to reveal what’s been hidden inside all year. Older teenagers to those in their twenties lounge on couches inside.  While dressed in sparkly, somewhat elegant tight-fitting attire, they are rather crude in their slouching posture and mannerisms of openly yawning or picking at their teeth and nails.  To pass the time, they watch TV while munching on snacks and slurping tea.  Their clientele are mostly businessmen who drive up in their privately owned cars, deal with the money handler in front and then off they go with one of the girls, either to a hotel or back to the man’s apartment.  From nearby business owners, I learned the cost is 50 to 200 yuan ($6.25 to $25) depending on the girl and services rendered. 

            My guess is that many of these women are from the countryside, uneducated and poor, who came to the city looking for work.    It is a sad reminder that the world is a hard place to live in, especially for women. 

            Currently, the shops are closed up tight but last August, when I first arrived in Chengdu, the stifling heat had the glass doors wide open with all the girls roasting hot inside. (No air-conditioner.)  Little Flower and I would take walks down that way and one particular shop took a shine to my dog.  LF was always invited into the open doors and fed anything from beef noodles to potato chips to peanuts. They anxiously awaited our walks.  When LF suddenly appeared in the entranceway, her tail wagging eagerly, they would call out, “Xiao Hua!  Xiao Hua! Guo lai!  Guo lai  (Little Flower! Little Flower!  Come here!  Come here!)”

            It was rather sweet to see their daily routine interrupted by something that brought a little heartfelt happiness into their lives.

            Of course,  LF was always eager to have their undivided attention.  She never judged these young women, like so many of us do. If nothing else, she reminded me that whatever age we are, or appearance we have, or social status we hold, we are all equally worthy of being noticed and loved, even if the work we have is frowned upon by society.

            In another month, I’ll change LF’s walking route and we’ll once again head down our quaint little red light district to visit the girls.  We haven’t seen them for almost a year.  Perhaps some have forgotten about the foreigner’s little dog who came to visit last summer, but I’m sure Little Flower hasn’t.  She always remembers everyone, especially those who once fed her potato chips and beef noodles.

            From Chengdu, here’s wishing you an evening’s “Ping An!”

            Chinese love openings of anything.  Crowds will gather  to await the grand opening of any department store, grocery, restaurant or even small snack shop along the street.  Everyone is afraid of missing out on the excitement of the rush to see what’s new and different, what’s cheaper and what’s not.

            Two weeks ago, one of our neighborhood shops finally closed up due to lack of business.  Within a day after removing all the items, workmen came in to gut the store and re-do it. Yesterday, I walked by to find construction still underway but this morning, huge flower baskets lined the entrance announcing opening day.  Shining glass was in place with banners and posters stuck up giving special discount prices for the grand occasion. Promotional pamphlets and company catalogs were being passed out by young people standing on the storefront’s steps.   A huge red sign announced in English “Ziyanfoods Chain-link”, above which read in Chinese "Ziyan’s Plain Chicken."  Already at 8:30, there was a long line of people waiting for the 9 a.m. opening. 

            The three-day special began today, 30% off all dishes, and everyone is taking advantage of it.

             This shop sells specially prepared cold roasted chicken.  You can buy a whole spicy Sichuan chicken or a non-spicy one, chicken legs and feet boiled in broth and brushed with sauce, or the all-time favorite which is chicken pieces (bones, skin, meat and all) stirred and tossed in your choice of condiments: soy sauce, spring onion, peanuts, sesame seeds, sesame oil, peanut oil, garlic, cilantro, salt, sugar and the list goes on. 

            According to the promotional flier, there are over 800 of these stores located in 20 cities around China.  Obviously, this fast-food take-out chain must be  well-known among the Chinese or they wouldn’t line up for hours to get it.

            One gentleman came away with 4 containers and he waited 50 minutes, spending 70 yuan ($10) instead of 100 ($14).  It’s a sizzling day today and without an umbrella for shade, standing in line must be mighty hot and sticky.  The man I talked to felt very pleased with his $4 savings so I guess for him, it was worth it. 

           Those getting their food now are the lucky ones, however, as they stood in line mid-day.  I’m just wondering what the rush will be like around 5 p.m. when people are coming home from work, hungry and thinking this is a good deal for a family dinner.

            I’m not sure how many Americans would wait in line so long, and under such conditions, for a mere take-out but I guess if the price is right, we might.

            As for me, I think I’d rather prepare my own dinner at home in the comfort of a cool apartment.  I like chicken, but not enough for a sweaty one or two hour wait in line, even if it’s for 30% off.

            From Chengdu, here’s wishing you “Ping An!”      

 REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS

             “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / gang aft a-gley /

              An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, / For promis’d joy!” 

                                                                                                 Robert Burns (from To a Mouse)

            The telephone rang late on Tuesday night. 

            I was lucky it was ringing at all.  Due to the earthquake, wires have been jiggled around to the extent that the phone sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t work.  At first, it was full of static but now, it cuts out on me at inappropriate times, won’t connect when I answer or  just won’t ring at all.

            But Tuesday night, it decided to allow a call to come through. 

            On the other end was Jason, his voice low and sad, obviously worried.  His 25-year-old sister, due for a heart operation this week, had gone home in tears.  The operation was postponed yet again, the doctors’ news was not good and his family was distraught.

            In summary of previous entries, Jason’s sister has been in need of an operation for several years due to a birth defect—a hole in the heart.  She had a small procedure done at one time but it was unsuccessful, thus for three years, the family has been saving and borrowing enough money for a more serious operation.  The needed 20,000 yuan ($2,857) had finally been collected when another blow:  this would cost an extra  30,000 yuan more ($4,285).  Once again, the family struggled to find people to help.  The money was almost there when the earthquake hit.  Hospitals filled with thousands and the operation was postponed.  Then last week, Jason’s sister finally entered the Sichuan Provincial Hospital with an O.K. for surgery.  I helped out with the additional funds needed and things looked good to go. . . . until Jason’s Tuesday night phone call.

            Because of the seriousness of the operation, the doctors needed some extra equipment which the hospital didn’t have.  They had to “book” it from another hospital and are waiting for its arrival.    They also informed the family that most individuals with this heart problem died very young but Jason’s sister was a miraculous exception.  They’d never performed this surgery on an adult before so it was risky. 

            Naturally, the family was upset, especially as she’d been staying in the hospital for over a week, being prepped and waiting for this to happen.  I mentioned that Chinese hospitals are pretty bare so there’s nothing to do.  No TV to watch or recreational and sitting rooms to visit.  Plus the family is in charge of taking care of the patient’s needs, such as food, clothing, washing and so forth.  Not to be in the comfort of one’s home, with good sleep, home-cooked meals and community support, was taking its toll on everyone.  Plus staying in the hospital costs money, even if it’s a shared communal room for $5.00 a day.  Thus the family decided it was best to leave rather than wait around another day.

            All this going on and Jason not in attendance.  Jason is  enrolled in Qing Hai University,  in the next province over.  In China, mid-July is university summer dismissal, so he is not able to be here physically to support the family.  The concern in his voice was all too apparent as he related to me his feelings of hopelessness.

            “You know, my sister is so upset.  This is worrying her.  It’s not making her any better,” he said.

            Then the phone cut off abruptly, leaving me angry and annoyed.  Nor was I able to call back because the line was dead.

            So many obstacles popping up again and again  for this poor family! Like the aftershocks of the earthquake, they never seemed to end.

            But that was Tuesday night, with promises that another day would be better.

            Sure enough, Jason’s email came to me bright and early this morning.  One of the doctors personally  telephoned his sister and parents to tell them everything would be fine.   The equipment would be there soon; the operation would be more successful than they originally anticipated.  She shouldn’t lose hope.  Everything would go well.  After the weekend, she should return and they would get this done right away.  Don’t worry!

            The relief in Jason’s email was as strongly felt as if he were talking to me on the phone.  He’d already spoken to his sister and parents to find their spirits had lifted. His as well, not to mention mine.

            And despite the Scot poet’s (Robert Burns), rather depressing outlook at our best laid plans, I think in this case, the pain and grief is just about ended and we’re on the pathway to a joyful outcome.

            Watch this space for upcoming reports on our Jason’s family and sister.

From Chengdu, as always, wishing you all  “Ping An!” (Peace)

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS

(Yes!  Money still needed for 5 million having nothing other than tents and donated supplies to live on.) 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

            Despite what people think, Chinese is a kind language. 

English is cluttered with articles, verb tenses, word derivations, idioms and a slew of  grammatical rules and regulations.  But Chinese has the ability to express one’s thoughts and feelings in succinct, well-placed words that take up little space yet convey great meaning. I sometimes think this is why Americans listening to Chinese, but not understanding it, feel people are always arguing or snapping at one another.  The word phrases are so short that they sound rude.  Add to this the 4 different intonations required to give a sound its meaning and, I agree, Chinese does appear to be a battleground of verbal abuse. 

But despite how you feel toward the language, today I give you Chinese at its best, my favorite phrase which I probably hear a dozen times a day.   It’s said by shopkeepers after I’ve purchased items, by taxi drivers when I open the car door to leave, even by the gate keeper when Little Flower and I exit the apartment complex. 

“Man zou!” they say kindly with a smile.

Man (mahn)  means “slowly.”   Zou  (z-oh) means “go / leave.”    “Slowly go,” or rather “go slowly,” for more accurate English word order.

What an interesting combination!  In English, a person would have a dozen similar phrases to choose from:  “Be careful as you go,”  “Take care,”  “Watch your step,” “Have a nice day,”  “Peace be with you,”  “Safe journey,” “Look after yourself,”—the list goes on.  But in Chinese, how simple and elegant to merely say, “Man zou (Go slowly)!” 

At first, I thought “go slowly” was only used by those dealing with customers.  I heard it from taxi drivers, market sellers, shop keepers, restaurant staff, and a wide range of others in the business sector.  Yet even in the church I attend, I am often told after services, “Man zou!” by our kind, elderly women ushers or parishioners who walk out with me.  Everyone is so happy to see a foreigner join them in worship.  Their sincerely said "man zou!" wish me safety and peace as I leave the sanctuary and head out into the busy city life.

My favorite and most touching man zou story is actually one that took place 7 years ago in Inner Mongolia.  I was teaching English in Hohhot, the capital city of the province, and had to pick up overseas’ boxes at the main post office.

Hohhot had one main post office where international boxes landed.  It was located about a 30-minute bike ride from my home.  I knew a package had arrived when a parcel slip came in the mail.  These I then signed and presented at the counter to collect my item. 

After waiting 2 months for my goodies from home, my package slip finally arrived. I excitedly hopped on my bicycle and headed out into a light drizzle.  It was wet and cold, but I wanted that package and I wasn’t about to wait another day to get it.

After making my way through traffic with thousands of other bicyclers, I arrived at my destination.  A very nice elderly bicycle attendant was there to help me neatly park my bike along with all the others.  I quickly went inside to collect my goods.   I thought this would be something that could easily fit into my basket or be tied on my bike’s back rack.  What I was presented with, however, were 3 huge boxes that I had no idea how I would get back across town.

I made 3 trips from the counter to the outside steps of the building where I piled these heavy carboard things.  The bicycle attendant was trying to be helpful.  Having nothing else to do, she was stacking these next to my bicycle while I went in to fetch another.

Then came the dilemma. 

Standing there in the drizzle, surrounded by these boxes and one bike, I just knew this was an impossible task to pedal them all home.  Although the attendant insisted this could be done, I really had no idea how. 

“I’ll take a taxi,” I told her.  “I’ll come back later for the bike.”

“No, no!” she said, adamantly shaking her head.  “Too expensive.  You take one box, I’ll watch the others and you can come back again.”

Three hours in total to come and go for boxes?!  And in the chilly rain?!

            To me, that really seemed a waste of time and energy, especially as a taxi would take 10 minutes and cost me only 8 yuan ($1.15).  But for my bicycle lady, so determined to be helpful, that was a lot of money.  No matter what I said, she vehemently objected  to that taxi.

            After about 10 minutes, my patience with this woman was wearing thin.  I wanted to get out of there, even if it meant hurting her feelings in the process.   And what’s more, I suddenly gained an eavesdropper I certainly didn’t want. 

            A rather disheveled old man with few teeth, in a long, filthy Russian army coat, suddenly stepped into our conversation circle.  I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture but this time, I found he actually had something useful to offer.

“I can do this for you,” he said.  “It’s very easy.”

I was still in favor of the taxi, but the attendant kept poking at me, urging me to give the man the two long cords the post office worker had passed to me before I had left her counter.  So, with nothing to lose, I handed it over to him. 

What proceeded next was an amazing feat.

In 5 minutes, all 3 heavy boxes were securely in place, balanced and strongly tied to my bicycle in an ingenious fashion. 

He stepped back and smiled at his work. 

The attendant looked smug.

 I was stunned.

“That’s great!” I told him.  “I really had no idea how to do that.  Thank you so much!”

He said it was nothing, although he was obviously pleased to have helped the clueless foreigner.

I quickly hopped on my bicycle.  He and the attendant gave my bike a gentle nudge to send me on my way.  I then waved and called out a final “Thank you!”  

And their reply? 

A very heartfelt, endearing,  "Man zou!"

From Chengdu, here’s wishing you all “Man zou (Go slowly)”, and and additional “Ping An!” (Peace), throughout your busy day.

              With the year 2008 came some interesting changes concerning holidays in China.          

              There used to be only 3 holidays in this country:  Spring Festival (Chinese New Year), which was during the school’s 5-week winter break but for businesses, was officially 3 days.   May 1st  holiday, which was for 3 days but with the weekend, it was counted as 5.  Lastly, October 1st National Day, which was 2 days but extended to 5 or 6 by including weekends and having school make-up days the following weekend. 

            In an attempt to spread out the holidays a bit more, the government decided to take away two days from the May 1st holiday and put these somewhere else.  Their decision was to choose two Chinese traditional festival days and make them into two new one-day holidays:  April 7^th, known as Qing Ming Jie (Tomb Sweeping Festival) and  Duan Wu Jie (Dragon Boat Festival).

            Tomb Sweeping Festival is a traditional day when families gather at the tombs of loved ones, clear the area of weeds and other debris accumulated over the years, and burn incense and paper money, which is supposedly sent to the dead in heaven to have spending money in the spirit world. 

            Dragon Boat Festival, however, has a bit more history behind it.  It’s always celebrated on the fifth month of the Chinese lunar calendar, which just happens to be today, June 8.  With the added holiday, however, Monday is the official day off.

             There are all sorts of theories as to the origin of this day but the most popular is the one that has to do with Qu Yuan (choo yu-ehn), a famous poet from the Chu state, who lived from 339 B.C. to 278 B.C.

            Qu Yuan served in the court of Emperor Huai during the Warring States period (475 – 221 BC). He was a wise and erudite man who fought against corrupt leaders in the emperor’s palace and realm.  Naturally, this antagonized quite a few court officials. They exerted their influence on the Emperor and convinced him that Qu Yuan was a dangerous person.   Emperor Huai dismissed Qu Yuan from his presence and eventually exiled him.

             During his exile, Qu Yuan traveled extensively, taught and wrote about his ideas. At this time, he composed many poetic masterpieces that have become invaluable for studying ancient Chinese culture.

            At this time away from court, Qu Yuan saw the gradual decline of his mother country, the Chu State.  Upon hearing that the Chu State was defeated by the Qin State, he was so distraught that he ended his life by flinging himself into the Miluo River.

            After people heard he drowned, they were greatly dismayed. Fishermen raced to the river’s spot in their boats to search for his body. Unable to find him, people threw zongzi (a special traditional food), eggs and other food into the river to feed the fish, who might nibble on his remains so that there would be nothing left of him for the afterlife.

            Since then, people started to commemorate Qu Yuan through dragon boat races, eating zongzi and other activities, on the anniversary of his death, the 5th of the fifth month.

            I’m sure many of you have seen the dragon boat races either in person in your area, on TV or read about them in newspaper articles.  But it’s the zongzi (zohng-zuh) that everyone in China really cares the most about, especially in areas where there are no dragon boat races taking place.

           Zongzi is the most popular food for this particular festival as it reminds people of the importance of loyalty (Qu Yuan’s principles) and commitment to community (his attempted rescue by the fishermen who threw zongzi into the river).

            Zongzi itself is made of special glutinous rice wrapped in bamboo leaves, tied tightly together and then boiled or steamed for many hours.   Wrapping and tying leaves takes a special skill, otherwise it opens up, the rice spills out, and you have a huge mess on your hands.

            I should know.  I tried making it only once.  My rice freed itself from my loosely wrapped bamboo leaves and stuck fast, along with the fillings, to the sides of the rice cooker.  It took me awhile to scrub the thing clean.  After that, I bought my zongzi from the experts.

              As the glutinous rice cooks, it congeals together and creates a sticky mass that adheres to the bamboo leaves.  Zongzi are triangular shaped, pyramidal or rectangular depending on the maker.  The most popular are the pyramidal, which are sold everywhere in China along streets and from small shops.     

            Inside the zongzi are popular fillings which differ from region to region.  On the mainland, people prefer several kinds:  the sweet red bean or the savory hunks of meat as well as egg yolk middles.  In Taiwan, however, we had many more varieties, such as nuts (peanuts and pine nuts), dates, lotus seeds, sweet red and white bean paste, chunky meat pieces or lumps of pork fat. 

            So where exactly can you buy zongzi?  At this time of year, it’s not difficult to find them, but where you choose most likely will depend on whether you like them or not.   Every major chain grocery store is now selling them.  They’ll either be frozen  by manufacturers or freshly made by grocery food staff.  Small convenience stores will carry them in freezers. 

            For the most part, store-bought zongzi are not so great.  They’re cheaply made, priced higher, smaller and don’t have that nice, fresh taste to them of those piping hot straight from the steamer. 

            For the best zongzi, it’s wise to check out China’s numerous back alleyways.  Many small shop owners or those selling snack foods from carts specialize in making zongzi only at this time of year.  The owners will prepare 100 to 200 a day, selling them for 1.5 yuan each (20 cents) or give you a cheaper rate if you buy in bulk.  You can even order zongzi ahead of time in case you’re expecting to give away to friends, business colleagues, or family members.

            In all the cities I’ve lived in in China, I always knew the best zongzi places in town because people told me.  But I had to search a bit around my  Chengdu neighborhood since I wasn’t here last year to know where to go.  I tried out those made in mass at the Trustmart, a frozen variety from a convenience store, a snack seller’s offerings and finally a family-owned traditional Chinese steamed food shop.

             I think you can guess which turned out to be the best:  definitely the traditional steamed food shop.   The couple there has had plenty of experience in wrapping and cooking zongzi.  I could tell they were well-known because as soon as they piled their bamboo containers high with their wrapped specialty items, people flocked around and bought them out in a matter of minutes.  I was lucky enough to get some of the last ones before they sold out for the day.

            If you’re an adventurous soul who likes trying something unique, you’d probably like chewy, sticky zongzi.  It has a very distinct, different flavor from anything you’ve had in the States. 

            For me, a big one or 2 small ones are enough for a meal as they’re quite filling.  The Chinese, however, eat them as a snack food.   For Dragon Boat Festival, you rarely see people eating only zongzi but instead supplementing the meal with regular stir-fried dishes.

            Millions of zongzi are bought all over China for this festival, but it’s a bit like any other popular holiday food item.  It only tastes good during the season it’s meant to be eaten.  By Tuesday, none of us will want to see or eat another zongzi for as long as we live.

            Well, maybe not as long as we live, but at least until next year’s Dragon Boat Festival.  By then, our pallets will be ready for yet another savoring of this very special Chinese traditional food:  the zongzi.   

             Until next time, here’s wishing you a Happy Dragon Boat Festival and an additional "Ping An!" (Peace)