Chinese Hospitality

The one thing that I wanted to do in my year in Beijing but never had a chance to do was going to a local’s home and experience Chinese hospitality. I heard stories about how hospitable the Chinese are when guests arrive and all the good food they cook but never had the chance to actually experience it myself. But luckily enough, the second time around in China, in a rural villages near my school, I’ve not only experienced it once, but several times now. This is the real China that I wanted to learn and see. Interacting with real people and experiencing all the real subtleties about this culture and people that make living in China so exciting.

This weekend, my immediate co-worker and fellow English teacher, Wang Lingling, took me to her village, about 45 minutes away from the school, and a 20 minute walk to one of the popular mountains, Mt. Qiyun. After getting on a small bus, we took a paved asphalt road that was full of bumps and potholes but Chinese style – big and everywhere! It was pretty much like riding a very uncomfortable rollercoaster. The first thing I noticed about her village was the openness and serenity of it. There were rows of fields with cabbages and other vegetables, all growing peacefully in the foreground of small lush mountains. Chickens, both regular and all white feathered, were roaming the streets pecking for food. Houses had the typical Huizhou style of black tiles, inclined roof sections, and white walls, spaced around the crops and away from the side streets. And Fall was definitely in the air. The mountains were specked with colors of brown, red, and green, and the fruits of the persimmon tree glowed like bunches of beautiful small round orange lanterns.

We had dinner at her Aunt’s place the first day. Wang Lingling, her grandmother and grandfather, uncles, cousin and parents, and me all had dinner on a small square wooden table in the main room. The eight of us, two on each side of the table, all sat on benches. Although the kitchen was dark, smoky (no gas only timber), and small, the food that her mom made was so tasty. There were fish, braised pork, and various self-grown, freshly-picked stir fried vegetable dishes. They began eating only after they told me, the guest, to first grab some food. I felt hesitant because the cook, Wang Lingling’s mom, was still in the kitchen. But the Chinese want to make sure the guest is happy and not hungry, so they insisted we start eating. Baijiu, the Chinese gasoline-like rice alcohol, was also poured for me by her uncle, even though I didn’t want to drink it (I’ve had my fair share of experiences drinking baijiu). But since refusing would be impolite, I had a glass with her uncle and often between bites of food, he would toast with me. I mainly talked with her uncle because he was so talkative and cheerful. He kept on saying how fate brought me and him together to share a meal in his house. While eating, I would comment on how great the food was, and they would just tell me to keep eating more. If there were no more food left, that would make her mom happy because it would mean she was able to cook it well. The food was so awesome and flavorful, I was indeed the last one to stop eating. After everybody was done eating the main dishes and all the alcohol was drank, rice was finally served, a tradition I’ve noticed here even in restaurants. I think this is because rice is seemed as inferior to the main dishes, so the host wants the guest to get filled on the good stuff, not the rice. Even her mom after she finally joined us, ate little of the main dishes, and instead only ate off her rice bowl. After asking me if I had enough to eat a hundred times, they poured me more tea and offered peanuts and sunflower seeds. When they started to take the plates away, I tried to help, but they forced me sit back down. It was a great night and I walked away full and happy. Just another great experience I have had here of Chinese hospitality.