On the 1988 film shoot in China, following an American riding all the way from Shanghai to Pakistan, we came upon Fengyang in Anhui Province, famous for its Flower Drum Song.
The star of the travelogue was to be filmed going to the market to get a watermelon, so I was tasked with staying behind to guard the motorbike, a BMW — which was still a novelty at the time in China.
The star of the travelogue was to be filmed going to the market to get a watermelon, so I was tasked with staying behind to guard the motorbike, a BMW — which was still a novelty at the time in China.
I’d been commandeered earlier that day, by the multi-millionaire motorcyclist, to abandon my position in the mini bus, and ride pillion instead with him. This was so that he could ply me with questions about things he saw en route that took his interest, without having to resort to the cumbersome walkie-talkie communication method.
A huge crowd, of practically all men, very soon gathered around the motorbike, and they were not shy about fingering the bike. I tried to put them off as politely as possible, with things like, in Chinese, “Please don’t touch the bike because there are no spare parts to be found in China for this bike if you break anything.” To no avail.
They did seem surprised, however, to hear Chinese sounds coming out of my mouth, and asked me how it was that I knew how to speak the language. I suddenly realised they couldn’t see my face, as my head was encased in the tinted crash helmet I was still wearing. So they thought I was a Westerner as the motorcyclist and the film crew were all white.
My answer was a non-committal, “学啊! / Well, learn!”
They did seem surprised, however, to hear Chinese sounds coming out of my mouth, and asked me how it was that I knew how to speak the language. I suddenly realised they couldn’t see my face, as my head was encased in the tinted crash helmet I was still wearing. So they thought I was a Westerner as the motorcyclist and the film crew were all white.
My answer was a non-committal, “学啊! / Well, learn!”
That then gave me an idea for distracting them from the BMW, by asking them, in Chinese, about their town:
“This is the world famous Fengyang, is it not? The Fengyang of the world famous Flower Drum Song?”
Yes, that’s right, they replied, attention now diverted from the bike, rather pleased that this “foreigner” had heard of their town and their traditional folk song.
I continued, still in Chinese, “I remember learning the song. How does it go now? 说凤阳、道凤阳 / Speak about Fengyang, talk about Fengyang. Now, I can’t remember what’s next. Can you help me out and finish it off for me?”
“This is the world famous Fengyang, is it not? The Fengyang of the world famous Flower Drum Song?”
Yes, that’s right, they replied, attention now diverted from the bike, rather pleased that this “foreigner” had heard of their town and their traditional folk song.
I continued, still in Chinese, “I remember learning the song. How does it go now? 说凤阳、道凤阳 / Speak about Fengyang, talk about Fengyang. Now, I can’t remember what’s next. Can you help me out and finish it off for me?”
A young man in his mid-20s said, “Oh, we don’t sing it anymore. / 不唱了。”
Why not, I asked.
The young man said, “We have money now, that's why. / 有钱啊。”
What has having money got to do with singing, I asked.
He replied, “当然啦！没钱唱歌，有钱睡觉！/ Of course! No money, sing. Have money, sleep!”
Can't fault his logic there, haha.
Why not, I asked.
The young man said, “We have money now, that's why. / 有钱啊。”
What has having money got to do with singing, I asked.
He replied, “当然啦！没钱唱歌，有钱睡觉！/ Of course! No money, sing. Have money, sleep!”
Can't fault his logic there, haha.
(China, 1988)
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