Chinese Road Trip, Part 4
The tale of my summer adventure in the Chinese countryside continues. And the trip jinx is thus given more opportunities for mischief. If you recall, we left off at the end of Day One, after climbing up and down Song Shan in one full, hot and humid, August day. Now, let Day Two commence…
But, also, be asking yourself if this story will be next year’s action movie. Are there any Hollywood scriptwriters - currently out on strike and thus with free time - seeking a new opportunity? Most importantly, which Hollywood icon would play my part in the movie which is surely destined to become a classic?
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The next morning, Jimmy and I were up and about by 7:30. A night’s rest had restored energy and good spirits… and appetites. We four met in the tiny lobby and checked out. Looking around outside, I could see that we were in a run-down, working class residential area. It wasn’t dangerous, only shabby and old. I am not sure why our new friends had chosen this particular hotel in this particular location but probably price considerations, i.e., student budgets, were a major factor.
Leaving the hotel, the four of us walked a short distance to a small neighborhood restaurant. Really, such a tiny establishment barely warranted that appellation. Located in the middle of a block-long, two story building that contained many different small businesses, this working class diner consisted of only a single, medium-sized room which served as both kitchen and dining room. Once inside, the entire dining area was only a handful of small, rickety wooden tables and unmatched wooden chairs and stools. The front door was propped open; flies and dust entered freely through the unscreened doorway. Since this was a breezy morning, there was more of the latter than the former. Curiously, I glanced around me. Except for a couple of other customers, obviously workmen, the room was empty.
In one corner, a large, friendly looking woman sat at a table next to the stove. She was apparently the owner, manager, and cook. Her kitchen facilities were minimal but included all the necessities. The small stovetop held several old pots and a bamboo steamer. On the table in front of her was a battered metal bowl full of the chopped food that was to be the filling for baozi, the steamed bun that was a close relative of the jiaozi, my favorite. (With baozi, the dumpling is cooked by steaming instead of being boiled like the jiaozi. Baozi are larger and the wrapper is thicker.) Her equipment inventory was meager: the pan for holding the filling, a short wooden plank that served as both work table and cutting board, a small wooden dowel for rolling the dough into circular wrappers, kuaizi (chopsticks), knives, a few spoons, and a cleaver. (No self-respecting Chinese kitchen would be considered fully operational without a cleaver.) With only these basic implements, she was producing a hearty, filling breakfast.
As we entered, she was already at work preparing the baozi. Beaming at us without rising, she continued rolling out circles of dough to be the wrappers for the next batch of baozi. She then filled and crimped them by hand and put the completed baozi in the steamer baskets. Other baskets, previously filled with the baozi, were stacked on the steamer, already cooking. We had only a short time to wait. As the steaming time was completed for each basket, a young daughter removed that basket from the stack and served us and the other customers who had come in. The equipment may have been minimal and the level of cleanliness somewhat disconcerting as even more dust was drifting in through the open door but the warm welcome in her smile was genuine and her deft movements and the complete lack of any wasted motion gave evidence that she had been making the breakfast baozi for years.
And the results were delicious. We enjoyed a simple peasant breakfast of baozi. In addition to the baozi, we each had a large bowl of the porridge which was a steaming combination of rice, beans, and peanuts – hot, simple, and frugal. Everything was priced and portioned for hungry working people… and touring college students. With such a filling meal to begin the day and a cool, windy, sunny morning promising slightly lower temperatures for the afternoon, we relaxed and any upsets from the previous day were forgotten.
By the time we finished breakfast, our new friends from the previous evening had phoned Jimmy. In a few minutes, they arrived in their van and were ready to be our guides. Through Jimmy, they told me that they would take us to two local sites, an ancient astronomical observatory and Nine Dragons Lake. Then they would get us to the bus stop to catch the bus back to Zhengzhou. I was assured that I would sleep in my own bed in Apartment 302 tonight. With this basic plan in mind, we set out to see what new adventures awaited.
So far this fine morning, there was no sign of our trip jinx from yesterday. Perhaps today would go smoothly and as planned. Nonetheless, we were in rural China where many millions of country people still live uncomplicated lives with minimum planning. A life of hard manual labor, following the cycle of the seasons and containing few options and little variety, may not be an easy life, but it is certainly simple. With few choices or decisions to be made about the day’s work, detailed, advanced planning was not essential for most country people. Additionally, our new friends from the previous evening were obviously individuals who lived in the present and didn’t worry much about the future. With such a lifestyle, many events begin with only the most general outline of a plan. Once underway, changing moods, unexpected encounters, and shifting priorities determine each succeeding step. Not surprisingly, under such conditions, nothing ever seems to go as originally planned.
I visualized Henry David Thoreau, living his simple life alone in the small cabin he built near Walden Pond and scorning those who lived more complex social lives in the towns and cities. His life was intentionally reduced to the barest elements of planting, tending, and harvesting his rows of beans.
Thoreau had wanted simplicity also, paring away life’s activities until only the fundamentals remained. The downside of such a lifestyle is that a life limited to the basic necessities also means living without the creature comforts we come to expect. That seems to be the tradeoff. One can have simplicity or one can choose conveniences, efficiency, comforts, variety, and pleasures. The more we choose of the latter, the further we shift from pure simplicity. I recalled my house in America, completely filled with wonderful possessions, the same possessions which had come to possess me.
Putting aside my musings, I joined the others as we left the restaurant, got into the van and set off. Once rolling, however, our first change of plan immediately developed. I wondered if our trip jinx was reappearing. Before we could proceed to our own destination, father explained, we had to divert a short distance to pick up someone. Meeting the first person, however, was then followed by driving him to his destination and dropping him off. Once there, however, someone else needed a ride so that one joined us in the back of the van and we made yet another detour to take them on some unknown errand. At each of the several subsequent stops, we once again furnished transportation for friends and neighbors. I was unable to determine if this was a normal day for people in a rural area with few vehicles. Perhaps father’s van was virtually a community resource. Or perhaps everyone was simply making up excuses to ride with us so they could later tell of their adventure with the foreigner.
Thus, much of the morning was spent bouncing and jolting around the countryside, on secondary roads that were far inferior to the interstate-quality highways I had come to expect in and around Zhengzhou. I was in rural China now and this was how millions of Chinese still lived in the countryside. The noisy, bustling cities I had seen were in no way representative of how country people existed.
Finally, we had dropped off everyone. I have no idea what ever became of the “astronomical observatory” that was supposed to be our first stop but, around 11:00, we arrived at a very small, remote village at the base of another mountain. Here, we would see Nine Dragons Lake, father told us.
From inside the van, I could see a clear mountain stream flowing past us. I also saw where it became a milky green color as it swept through the village. The largest business of the small community was a concrete plant and that plant was discharging its wastes directly into the stream. Obviously, this concrete plant was the biggest employer in town. It provided jobs for the local people in this small village and, without it, the poor village might have been even more destitute. Under such circumstances, the polluting of the stream was understandably overlooked. Given a choice between employment and clear water, employment had won out. Above the confluence, I could see the village women squatting at the edge of the stream, washing clothes while children played and splashed around them. Below, mixed with the murky green waste, the stream water was ruined, unusable until the precipitates had time to dissipate downstream.
It seemed that the highway we had arrived on was also the main street of the small village so we simply parked on the side of the road, got out, and began walking. As a foreigner, I was attracting a great deal of attention. As always, the innate Henanese politeness kept people from crowding or intruding but word of the arrival of a foreigner swept through the tiny community. Within minutes, I felt as if I were leading a parade. But this was a parade without a route. Directed by our local guides whom father had selected upon arrival, we simply walked down unpaved alleys and weaved between houses, sheds, fenced chicken runs, and barnyards. Within minutes, we left the village behind and began climbing a path to see Nine Dragons Lake.
With some alarm, I realized that I had been maneuvered into climbing another mountain. It seemed that we had committed to climbing a mountain to see Nine Dragons Lake and there was no easy way for me to get out of it. Yet perhaps there was no intentional deception. None of the local people seemed to regard climbing a mountain as anything special. For them, this was a casual stroll. Everyone was smiling and chattering and pointing out items of interest or asking questions which Jimmy translated as we walked.
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And, for those of you who were moved to make a small contribution to my Buy Me A Coffee account, I thank you. And for those who have not yet been so inclined, I will remind you that parsimony is a virtue… and that virtues, like all qualities, can be taken to extremes. Once again, here is your chance for a micro redistribution of the wealth, your wealth: