I first went to China in 1988 and went from place to place saying, “Hi, I’d like to teach English.” I found a job teaching English in a tourism school in Hangzhou. I was their first foreign teacher. In return for my teaching, I got free room and board, and occasional trips to scenic spots in Zhejiang Province. This describes my first trip to Thousand Islands Lake in 1988 with some of my students, and three young friends who cherished each moment as perhaps their first and last opportunity to be tourists.
These last three days have given me many highs and rushes of happiness. I was able to invite Richard, Russell, and Bill to come with us to Thousand Islands Lake. The school paid for me, but asked such a reasonable sum for the three of them to come along that I was thrilled to pay it.
Their individual personalities are becoming more distinct as I get to know them. Richard is the ebullient one who freely expresses his enthusiasm. On Friday, as we neared the power station, he became more and more excited. Russell is much more reserved, but his excitement began peeking through. He said to me a few times that this was a new world to him, and one he never thought he would see. His English vocabulary is quite extensive, and I could tell he kept trying out more difficult and sophisticated words.
Bill is the most silent one, but his excitement was obvious many times. I had a couple of good conversations just with Bill. He thinks I’m very brave to travel around the world alone. He also told me he gets depressed about his future, and confided to me that he quarrels a lot with his parents although he can tell they’re very proud of him for being the first college graduate in the family. When we were up on a mountain, his eyes glistened and gleamed as I tried to describe what camping was like in the U.S. parks.
Each of them was very thoughtful toward me in his own way. And each of them expressed sadness that the trip would end. I tried to emphasize that it was all locked into their minds to take with them forever.
I had the honor of being allowed to sit on the deck of the little boat on the return trip. My caretaker, Elizabeth, made sure I was treated like an Empress. Everyone else had to sit in a stuffy, smoke-filled cabin that allowed little of the magnificent view to filter in. But, of course, I could not be outside without a companion, so they took turns being out there with me.
When Russell was with me, he told me something about his family. He really disagreed with his parents on many things, but because he didn’t want to hurt them, he pretended to agree with them. What a tremendous generation gap there must be between illiterate peasants, and a college educated, knowledgeable, bright son.
Each of these boys has the typical young 20’s zest for life and desire to imagine all sorts of wonderful things that will happen in their lives. The gloominess and lack of choices in the reality of Chinese life weighs heavily on them.
I can only adjust so much to another culture. At other times, I’m just me. While returning on the boat to the hotel, there was a great stir of excitement when a swimming wild pig was caught and killed. Everyone on the boat was so excited. Only I felt sorry for the pig. It was hard for the others to understand my feelings about the pig.
When they dragged the pig into the cabin, I went outside. Russell knew I was upset and followed me. He must have told the others because soon Richard, Bill, and Elizabeth came to join me. They were all freezing, not having the benefit I did of a down jacket, but they all sat with me to comfort me. I felt bad they were enduring the cold for my sake, but I did not want to be in there with the poor dead wild pig that had been so free and alive only minutes earlier.
I got to see an example of “losing face” later that evening. “Face” — losing it, gaining it, giving it — is a very complicated part of Chinese culture that I doubt westerners ever clearly grasp. That evening we all went to a local disco in the small town we were visiting. I was surprised that the music and dances were mostly ones I remembered from when I was in my 20’s over 20 years ago.
The boys danced very well. I’m not a good dancer, but I surprised myself by keeping up with them and had fun. After awhile, the boys understood something that I didn’t. They didn’t want to tell me either. Apparently, the locals in the disco wanted to fight because they had lost face. How? Our group had better dancers! It did not end violently, but as the boys quickly ushered me out, I got beer thrown on my head. That lead to a discussion with the boys in which I stressed that I prefer directness and openness and that they shouldn’t try to protect me by not telling me things.
I must mention the beautiful places we saw. There was Monkey Island, Snake Island where I at long last had the chance to hold a boa constrictor, a temple built as a memorial to Hari who had been a benevolent ruler of the people and had even dared to criticize the Emperor. Then there were the fall-decorated mountains where I taught the boys the term “hairpin turns” and a newly opened Stone Forest that is probably similar to the famous one in Kunming, minus the crowds of people.
The lake and islands were like Puget Sound in Washington, Norway, Switzerland, but I’ve never seen such a clean, clear lake outside the brooks and streams of the Sierra Mountains or the Cascades. The lake is totally man-made — “all Chinese made” Russell proudly told me, in 1964. The islands are actually mountaintops. The depth and dimension of rows and rows of mountains reminded me of the Sinai area in Egypt I had hiked in. The water looked so wonderful, I would have gone for a swim if it hadn’t been November.
The clear water also yielded an amazing array of fish. We had fantastic fish feasts. All different kinds of fish were cooked in various ways. I tried my best to make my mouth dance around the fish bones and spit them out. Chinese people can do that much more efficiently than westerners. Every fish was yummy. But the best part was watching the Chinese enjoying their food with much shoveling and slurping and concentration and intensity. And how Richard can crunch those fish heads, relish the fish eyes, and then spit out the bones on the table or floor.
As the guest of honor, each dish was presented to me first as it was put on the table. Russell told me I was supposed to take the first piece before the others could eat it. It was hard for me to keep up. There are also parts of the fish that are thought to be more of a delicacy, and people kept putting these “best pieces” directly on my plate.
The bus rides were also Chinese adventures. It is amazing how those old wrecks of buses keep going. And it was much like Mr. Toad’s rides with great speed and constant honking and beeping, and of course, continually passing whatever appears in front of it. Actually, it’s not too unlike Israel, only worse roads and more reckless.
