Wednesday 18th Feb – still Chinese New Year and I’m still in Fenghua
Breakfast was not reheated pork and cold prawns but sweet noodles. As I slurped my way through that small soup bowl of sugary sweet noodles, I couldn’t help but think that this was intrinsically wrong. Sweet…noodles…perhaps the prawns would have been a better option?
My morning involved sitting in the garden with my host’s family drinking orange juice, including the peel, which was strangely quite enjoyable. My young friend and self-appointed guardian decided it was vital to give me an extensive tour of the back garden (cut out of the small mountain next to the property). It was a lovely garden and as my guide delicately gestured to the left and to the right with the hand action and grace of a ballroom dancer five times his age, I was treated to the perfect view, an entire juxtaposition of buildings and country which allowed for green sanctuary within the not too distant cosmos of the tall city hubbub.
After touring a while, my friend and I had a break and a sunbathe, my hands resting beneath my head – as I was instructed – and feet outstretched: most refreshing! We returned to the grown up table where he moved his chair next to mine. Brows furrowed on his forehead and the adult conversation did not last too long until he, not content at hiding my eyes with his hands and eyebrow raising manically to gain my attention, decided a tour of the house was also in order. Slippers were arranged for me (much to the amazement of his family), the direction pointed out and the tour commenced. Refusal whether politely proffered or adamantly stated was not to be tolerated and thus I was graciously shown about the house, pausing for a little longer at the play room than any of the others – we raced cars awhile.
Much of the day was violently punctuated with the panic stricken sinking feeling that tomorrow I was going to have to cook; in a kitchen that was not mine, on hobs that I was sharing, without an oven, having purchased the ingredients from a local Chinese supermarket where pictures on packages only proved to confuse even further and most of the produce was still alive! I was panicking majorly – as many of you will know, if I take something on, I take it on properly and I will complete it properly. Given the mammoth task before me, I wasn’t sure I could cope with myself, let alone the completion of my cooking challenge.
The rest of the day yielded much food consumption and many attempts at conversation which I struggled with – I was worried that my presence was becoming a difficulty until the feast this evening. We left the family home and ventured into a ballroomish hall; we ate a meal with even more family members and we drank, nodded and smiled through. I said Happy New Year and ‘ganbei-ed’ with the rest of them until I actually felt part of the family. Perhaps it was the protective way that they would glance over if a stranger approached or the way that parents would come to make their child say ‘hello’ in English, delighted when I smiled heartily and said hello back. I was at once an awkward shrinking sibling and a tool on to which basic English could be practiced but I was there and not planning the escape I had considered only hours before.
On returning to the house, I was sat in a chair and asked if I would like to make dumplings with my Chinese nan. Obviously, yes! Then low and behold if we did not laugh. Chinese nan is smashing and funny and a little bit scary but we seemed rather unified in that cold and funtioning living room. While the rest of the family pottered around or received red envelopes via wechat, Chinese Nan and I, in our cardigan clad gang of two, rolled, squidged and laughed our way to a full try of dumplings. I was chastised when I did it wrong, made to repeat then praised and became the winner of a precisely bestowed nod of approval when particularly noteworthy dumplings were produced.
I believe that it was potentially the skill I so evidently displayed that may have inspired C.N. to invite me to join her and the entire family at the temple the following morning – it was a tradition she, the matriarch, enforced every year and this year I was the special guest!
The morning started at 4.30am. I layered up. Stealthily, as if we were dawn raiders of some strange forgotten land, we piled in the car and as we drove silently. I reflected that I was with three generations of women from this Chinese family, driving in the dark to the ceremony only attended once a year. I would hide at the back, I would stand outside, I would not, I would NOT do anything stupid…
As we arrived, the corners of the temple sharp and dark against a darker sky, the monks had already started chanting.
She went to Shanghai 