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I can’t go anywhere in China (outside of Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong) without running into people who want to talk to me. This has been a blessing and a curse. Naturally, some are more serious and want to spend more time with me than others. Many just yell “Hello!” or “Hello?” at me in their loudest, highest pitch speak-to-the-foreigner voice, or ask about my height, “Whoa!!! You must be about 2 meters tall! How tall are you?”  I’m in fact 1.98 meters tall (that’s 6ft 7in for those Americans who haven’t yet converted to the much easier and more logical Metric system) so I spend a lot of time saying this in Chinese, “Yi mi jiu ba” “1 meter 98.” This is certainly my #1 conversation starter with strangers in China. Americans also occasionally comment on my height, but nearly all of them will catch themselves either at the beginning or just after saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sure you get this all the time,” which is fitting because many Chinese have been telling me recently, “Americans are very polite, aren’t they?”

Perhaps this comes as a surprise. New Yorkers certainly don’t have that reputation, and even Minneapolis rush hour drivers would become embarrassed if they heard this while driving. However, I think the Chinese are on to something. I’ve begun to think that in general, Americans - though a far cry from the refined Japanese who are often mistaken to be basically the same as the Chinese in Western minds - are more polite than Chinese. Heck, even in Mandarin, after someone says “thank you” (”xie xie,” pronounced similarly to “she-a she-a”), the frequent response for “you’re welcome” translates into “don’t be polite” (”bu yong keqi”). Moreover, many of my Chinese student friends would tell me in English after I’d say “please” or “thank you to them, “We’re friends Peter, don’t be polite.” You see, to the Chinese, using these niceties that my mid-western Minnesota-nice parents raised me on puts a distance between people, a distance that has no business in a close friendship. I understand this, but I still say “Please” and “Thank you” a lot, even when receiving my change after buying anything although meeting awkward laughs of the check-out women.

But where the Chinese beat out America is in plain everyday hospitality (not everyone had the privilege of being influenced by St. Benedict =)).  In fact recently, I can’t get away from Chinese hospitality.

Li Chan Long was more serious in wanting to talk with me, though my fatigue at first didn’t allow me to fully appreciate him.  I was in a larger market town, Gaozhou 高州 western Guang Dong 广东 province China, Dec 14 2007, in the middle of a photo shoot on our rest day.  I was on a bridge, squatting down trying not to be obvious, hiding behind my camera, observing and snapping as people passed by.  My technique failed to keep young Chan Long from noticing me.  He stopped right by me, drawing more attention.  I ignored him until he spoke to me.  I answered a few of the regular, basic questions without stopping taking pictures, where are you from, what are you doing, etc.  He was impecibly patient.  He waited for 10 min until I was satisfied with some shots.  It was 2pm and I hadn’t eaten lunch.  He offered to take me to a cheap place across the bridge.  He’d already eaten, so he just sat at the table while I ate fried noodles (chao mian in Mandarin, chow mein in Cantonese).  We chatted.  He was growing on me.  I forgot how tired I was and how I’d rather have a break from talking to new people, and gave the Chinese conversation what ever energy I could muster.  He is a middle school student, and repeatedly said he was very happy to meet me because he’d never met a foreigner before, though his face rarely broke into a smile.

During our lunch conversation, he invited me to his home to meet some of his family.  His parents were out, but two of his sisters and one of their children were home.  His home was near the restaurant, and quite humble.  It was in the old courtyard style, one story, but not well kept.  It laid in the shadow of a newer highrise apartment building.  We drank tea, took a few photos together, and chatted.

“America is much better than here,” Chan Long said.  

“Although some things like the standard of living and general material wealth is higher in the US, the US also has its problems,” I told him. 

He, like most Chinese I talk to, was surprised to learn that there are poor people and even people without homes who sleep on the streets in the US. 

“I guess every country has homeless people,” Chan Long said. 

“Just about,” I said.

We continued to talk about the desparity and inequality of opportunity between American school districts based on different economic levels and property taxes of their residents, racial and economic conflicts, how money is king and the US government is becoming more and more controlled by big bussiness (and vice versa) which can sometimes hurt normal people, how many Americans have the money but not the vacation time to travel abroad, and as a result of the latter two, increasingly have a negative and fearful world view due to mistakenly projecting the violence and chaos of a few countries like Iraq, Afghanistan, and Somolia onto the whole world outside the US and Europe (there are in fact 194 countries in the world, with a generous majority free of major violent conflict). 

I had planned to meet with my fellow fueled-by-ricer’s, so I excused myself.  Chan Long insisted on walking me back to the dormitory we were staying at across the river.

A day later, one of the owners and cook at a small town restaurant took kindly to us during lunch, and invited us to stay at his home for free.  Again, I was tired after a morning of biking 50km and eating a big lunch, but when he aproached me smiling after we’d finished our meal, I found the energy to engage him in conversation.  He soon was inviting us to stay at his home for the evening. 

“But there are 5 of us.  We’ll be too much trouble for you,” I told him.

He insisted. “No problem.  You’re welcome to stay at my house.  I have alot of space.” 

He had recently built a large house, with his parents and several other family and friends living there.  An extra unfurnished room and lightly used living room were open to us.  It was a bit out of town, but it was a beautiful space to roll out some sleeping bags.  We arrived around 3pm, and after escorting us to his house and showing us around, he left again on personal business, telling us that we could come and go as we pleased, there was no need to lock the door because he had nothing worth stealing and the area was safe - very generous and trusting of him.  We met his wife and two children later, who befriended Adam.

The following day, (Dec 17th) we ate a late breakfast after riding 20km.  I went ahead as Jim stopped by the post office, and others were looking for more fruit and baozi but I wanted something of substance.  I found a typical breakfast noodle restaurant stall and asked what they had and how much a bowl of wide noodles (hefan) was.  The boss took great interest in me, and chatted with me while his wife prepared the noodles.  Drew also ordered some hefan after getting baozi (stuffed steamed buns) next door. 

When it came time to pay, the boss said, “My treat.  You don’t need to pay.”

“No really, I’m embarraced, we’ll pay,” I pleaded with him.

“No no no, don’t worry about it.  It’s free.”

That evening, in a small market town, Nalin 那林, Guangxi province 广西, I was walking around alone and again found a bridge to take some photos.  Passing children on their way home from school noticed me, laughing and talking loudly about the foreigner.  After 5 min or so, I got up to leave, and a man came out of a small restuarant and told me there was someone who wanted to buy me dinner.

“Oh, but I already have other pla…” I began to say.

“Come, come.  Here he is,” the man lead to me to another man sitting at a table.

He was a math teacher at the local middle school, and insisted on buying me something to eat.  He suggested a dish with meat and a soup.  I took his suggestion, though he told me I could order what I wanted from the owner’s shelves of vegetables and meat beside us.  It was a shorter dinner, but we had a pleasant chat for about a half hour.  He’d nearly finished his own dinner by the time I started.

The same night, 2 hours later, I was walking back to our hotel after some exploration, and I stopped at a food stall with out door seating to see what they had.  A man sitting down, got up and came over to greet me.  He then invited me to join him in eating shaokao (Chinese BBQ meat)  I reluctantly agreed, embarraced by all the hospitality I’d been experiencing lately.  He also wasn’t local, but had been temporarily living in Nalin for 3 years playing a role in the construction of a new and very nice concrete county road (that seemed much more like a provincial highway).  He was very eager to chat with me.  Apparently I was the first foreigner he’d met who could speak Chinese.  He said he’d seen foreign teachers in his home city of Yulin 玉林 (80km away) before, but had never spoken with them.

Amazing. 

A free breakfast, free dinners, and places to stay.  This certainly doesn’t happen every day, but much more frequent than I’ve ever experienced from strangers in the US.  In fact, I can’t recall ever having had the pleasure of being treated by a stranger in the US.  Unfortunately, I’ve realized that I’ve also never treated a stranger, let alone a foreign stranger, to dine. 

During my 3 years in China, during which time I’ve received a warm and enthusiastic welcome from people nearly everywhere I go (one of the guys at this internet cafe actually just bought Jim and I milk drinks!), I’ve often reflected on the sometimes drastic difference in the treatment of foreigners between the US and China.  During my early months in China, Jilin City in 2004, I was just learning Chinese and could barely get anything out.  To many people though, it didn’t seem to matter.  I’d say, “Ni hao,” (hello) and many would say, “Wow, your Chinese is so good!”  On the other hand, if someone in the US speaks less than perfect English, or with a heavy accent, the reception is often not so warm, sometimes even cold. 

Why is it that some Americans look down on foreigners or recent immigrants?  Is not nearly every American the offspring of an immigrant?  Is not the fact that the USA is a country of bold and courageous immigrants one of the key defining features of America’s identity and strength?

When it comes time to pay the bill, Chinese culture is never to split the bill.  One person pays for everyone, be that 2 people, or 10.  Not only that, but it is an honor (or “gives face”) to pay.  Whoever invites the others is expected to pay, but other times it’s not so clear who should pay.  This often results in friendly banter and fighting, sometimes involving physically pushing people away from the boss, to pay.  If one protests the other paying, the common response is, “Next time.”  It expresses that they want there to be a “next time,” that the relationship is sure to continue and grow.

When was the last time you took a foreign stranger out to eat or into your home?  The thought alone really pushes the average American’s comfort zone.  But for many Chinese, it’s as natural as using chop sticks.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 21st, 2007 at 9:41 am and is filed under Pete's Posts, Group Posts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.