Chinese hospitality etiquette: 03 (Playing host and guest roles) (China)

Tuesday being the first day of Chinese New Year, I played a few Chinese word games with my Tuesday group students.

    One of them was a clue leading to a place name, which in this case was Changsha 长沙 / "long sand".  

    This then reminded me of a book I'd read in the 80s written by an American (Mark Salzman) who'd done his first degree in Chinese at Yale, no less.  He'd taught English in Changsha for two years but was mainly there because of his keen interest in kungfu, Changsha having a kungfu master he admires.  (For those who don't know but might be interested, Changsha has a political connection with Mao Zedong.)

    I told my students about his run-in with the concierge at the school where he was teaching English, but that will have to be recounted in a separate blog.

    Fired up by the memory, I went to YouTube to track down the film he'd subsequently made (and starred in), based on his book (Iron and Silk, also the name of the film).

    Fairly soon into the film, there's a scene where his (female) Chinese teacher arrives for his lesson in his room.

    (Below is my summary of the scene.)

    The teacher sits down.  The American is ready to start.  The teacher tells him that being the host (and the student in this case), he should begin by offering the teacher some tea.

    He fetches some tea, the teacher says no, he takes the tea back to the sideboard.  The teacher says that's not the right thing to do.  He says, "But you said no."  The teacher explains that the Chinese guest has to do that -- it's part of the ritual.

    This immediately got a bonus point from me (occupational hazard, teacher mode is never turned off):  one doesn't just learn the language, one has to learn about the history and cultural behaviour as well.  (In my teaching of the language, I distinguish between grammatical usage and cultural usage:  a sentence might be grammatically correct, but it might not really be how the Chinese would say it.)

    He then sits down again to start the lesson.  The teacher says he should offer her something to eat.  He fetches some sweets, the teacher says no, and the same thing happens again: he takes the sweets back to the sideboard.  The teacher launches another explanation about the host / guest routine.  Another bonus point from me.

    At the end of the lesson, the teacher gets up to leave.  He says goodbye to her at the door of his dormitory room.  The teacher tells him that as the host (and the student), he's supposed to walk her off the premises.  Another bonus point.

    Part of the way to the main entrance of the university compound, the teacher tells him that he doesn't have to go any further.  He starts to leave her there to make his way back to his room.  Again, the teacher explains what's expected of him.  It's another stage in the host / guest role-playing game.  (Reminds me of the oft-heard expression, in my younger days anyway, about women saying no but not really meaning it...)

    The above is my summary of the scene.  Some of the details might not match the original exactly, but you can watch the film for yourself.

    I've found it charming and fun to watch -- not just for the kungfu, which is a passion of mine as well, but more broadly for the social history.  It's a China that's not around anymore for the most part:  architecturally, people's attitude about foreigners, the way of life, the materialistic quality of life.  The teachers he was teaching English to remind me of the staff of China Airlines (the national carrier for the Republic of China) in Taipei that I used to teach on Saturdays:  their accents and their cultural behaviour.  

    A time warp watching this film.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOIbalP7dj8 (1:31:53)

(China, 1986)

Leaping to great heights

A Spanish friend sent a video featuring men jumping, from a standing still position at ground level, over high stacks of books.

    As a child, I used to see these people in kungfu (Chinese martial arts) films jumping onto garden walls and rooftops.  We'd say, "That's all special effects, tricks for the camera!"

    I was an athlete from age 8 to 18, competing in 100m and 200m sprint, 110m hurdles, and long jump.

    My father suggested I try this kind of training:

With one brick tied to the bottom of each foot,

    1. walk 

    2. then run 

    3. walk up stairs 

    4. run up stairs

    5. jump up onto a higher surface

Repeat above but with two bricks, and so on.

    If you can do the above with two or three bricks, once the weight is removed, your legs will feel ever so light without it, and you should be able to run faster, or jump higher — even to the top of a garden wall, or a rooftop, like those kungfu people.

    It makes sense that one should be able to do it.

    I didn't try the training, because I didn't want my calf muscles to look like a ballerina's.  (I was not that ambitious as an athlete, obviously.)

Stereo-typing: 2 (London)

Rob was refereeing a kungfu competition in Wapping, in the docklands of London, and invited me along to watch.

I got there late — as the docklands area was a bit of an alien territory in those days — so everyone was standing to attention, waiting for the signal for the competition to begin.  Rob and his two fellow male referees — both his disciples — were already seated on the stage set up for the judges.

When he spotted me, Rob waved me up to the stage, indicating the spare chair he’d reserved for me — next to him!

As I crossed the huge gym hall, and walked up to the stage to take the seat next to the three male referees (one black, two white), the whole hall went silent, with all eyes following my progress with awed reverence.  They must’ve thought I was the chief referee, being the only Oriental (and therefore the most likely person for kungfu!), and were probably also most impressed as I’m female!

(London, early 1990s)

Red Eyes in Red China (China)

On my 1988 film shoot in China, we arrived at Dengfeng in Henan Province in central China (where the Shaolin temples are, in Songshan nearby, famous for their kungfu) to find our hotel rooms had not been made up for our arrival.

When we first checked in, the room I was given still had a woman’s clothes, underwear and handbag in it.  So they had given me someone else’s room!

I called the attendant over to point this out, upon which she walked off to get me another room, simply leaving the door wide open, handbag in the room and all!

A pungent pong of damp and moulding carpet smell hit me in the face as I entered the newly assigned room.  

In the bathroom, the sink pipe was dripping water onto the floor, and the same dank smell and stinky humidity (from lack of ventilation) permeated the room.  There were wet, dripping, used towels on the rails, in the sink, on the floor.

The rest of the crew had exactly the same thing in their rooms. 

Change of towels later, the new lot was still damp and dank, and looked like mould was festering.

Chris the cameraman and I contracted pretty nasty “red eyes” (conjunctivitis) the next day — he in both eyes, me in one. 

We reckoned we’d been careless in having touched or wiped our hands on the towels — we certainly didn’t USE the towels.

Off we went to the nearest hospital. 

When it came to filling in the forms, the staff decided it was too much of an administrative problem to have Chris, the Westerner with a Western name, go on a form by himself.  As I have a Chinese name (which they can handle), they simply used one form under my name.

So, officially, I went on their records as having been treated for three eyes — on the same visit.

The following day, the film director also went down with one red eye.

Another trip to the same hospital.

Oh no, they thought, not ANOTHER Westerner with an impossible-to-write name!

Chris and I got seen to as well, since we were there, so they put all three of us on the same form, again under my name.

Officially, then, I was now being treated for four eyes — on the same visit.

(China, 1988)