http://www.china.org.cn/business/2011-07/28/content_23089204.htm
Down the road in the city of Yongchuan (with a population of somewhere between 500,000 and 700,000) I have counted no less than four thus far. I suspect Chongqing has a few more hidden away.
Yesterday, in a slightly drunken haze, all I could think of was meat heavy with saturated fat, laced with dairy products, served in a way that does not require cutlery to consume. In this highly lactose intolerant nation with preference for white meat, these delicacies will not be easy to track down. Burgers, burritos, cheese, beer with an alcohol content higher than 3.3%, Guinness. All there things and more I desire, but currently they are out of reach. Self pity is not an option, as I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I opted to move to a small provincial city. The peculiar part of it is that these items (other than the booze) fairly rarely constitute a part of my daily diet.
The Chinese have a perception, gained form television and Hollywood I assume, that us Westerners survive on a diet of food that could have come straight from a McDonalds menu. I feel slightly guilty about lending some credence to this notion.
The next day, after a short flight I arrived at Chongqing Airport. Foreign Expert Liaison Officer, Cathy Wang, who has been my contact at the university, was there to meet me in person – a nice touch. Another hours travel via a sleek saloon car driven by a man with better skills on the road than most Chinese, and I arrived in my new home, Yongchuan city.
I had expected to be taken to my apartment to unpack and unwind after the long journey, but no! It was banquet time.
At an up market restaurant I met various members of the faculty including the boss of the foreign language department and my “counterpart” Frank. Frank is here to help me if I have any questions or run into any difficulties, of which I hope there will be few. The banquet itself was good, with copious amounts of wine drank, but I was very glad to have the night in Hong Kong breaking up the twenty four hours travel before plunging straight into a slap up meal consisting mainly of chilies and offal.
After we were fed and watered Frank and Mr Gao (a member of the faculty administration), took me to view my new apartment. It is significantly nicer than my last abode.
I woke the next day to a phone call from Frank asking if I would like a tour of the local area with himself and his wife. We took in the various shopping malls and supermarkets that it has to offer. Despite having been to China before I was amazed at the amount of small restaurants and street food stalls. Baring the malls, I’d estimate that serving hot food is the raison d'etere of 80% of the commercial establishments in the local area. The Chinese seem to really love their food, and the social aspect of dining, and who can blame them?
At this time I also became aware that Yongchuan is not the small town of around 20,000 people that I had been expecting, but much larger. I asked Frank how large, he replied, “500,000 to 700,000, no one really knows.”
Frank asked if he could buy me a foot massage. This is something he and his wife do on a weekly basis. Despite my reservations surrounding anything to do with feet I more or less happily took him up on his offer.
After settling in to the massage bed Frank informed that his was not a massage “for pleasure” and would be “very painful”. “Oh joy,” I thought. Frank proceeded to show me on a diagram posted on the wall how various pressure points on the feet are considered in Chinese medicine to connect to most parts of the body, and thus are extremely useful health wise. One of the other points appeared to be in the anus. I felt better about the foot massage.
First my feet were bathed in a gloopy liquid (which reminded me of aloe vera drink but not as tasty) for twenty minutes or so, before my masseuse arrived. “You very big,” she told me. “Yes,” I replied, unable to think of a more appropriate response. She proceeded with the massage, which was as painful as advertised, but thankfully with some nicer bits in between. Occasionally my masseuse would pipe up with a comment like, “You teach me English… come back here often, I take care of you.” “Ok,” I responded. I have yet to return.
Hobbling back to the university I thought the morning’s entertainment was over, but Frank had another ace up his sleeve. Chongqing is famous for its hot pot throughout China, and reported to be the spiciest in the world, and that was what was happening next.
To my disappointment Frank would not allow us to go for the nuclear option, fearing the laowai could not handle the local cuisine. This is something that I have encountered a lot, with the locals surprised that I have eaten spicy food before. Many are unaware that Chinese food (albeit a westernized version of mainly Cantonese cooking) is available back home. They are usually very proud to hear of its popularity.
We were seated around a small table with a gas stove suspended underneath a hole in the middle. A large dish containing a broth with thankfully what looked like a decent amount of chilies (and a smaller dish sans chillies) was placed above it. Frank and his wife reeled off some choices from the menu and shortly after the food started to arrive.
The food comes in bite sized portions which are placed in the boiling broth to cook. Some things were rather interesting.
The next few days were spent relaxing and ordering the same meal repeatedly as I couldn’t read any other characters on the restaurant menu. I’ve had my fill of noodle soup.
Friday evening I met Peter, James Bond and their mate whose name I keep forgetting. Peter’s English is excellent while the other two are a little shy about talking currently, I hope once our respective English and Chinese improves to communicate better. The next day they taught me a bit of Ma Jong, which is seemingly the national sport here and has rules similar to Rummy. With Peter’s help I kept winning, although I have little idea how.
Peter invited me down to Chongqing Water Resources where he studies to talk to some of the students, as they have no foreign teachers and thus no chance to practice their English with a native speaker. I arrived at the class room to loud applauds and a few cries of, “We love you Thomas!”
I had planned to show a few photographs and then have Peter ask me questions about things he thought would be interesting for the students, however his teacher stepped in at the last moment and insisted he not do this. I currently have know idea what is of interest to Chinese teenagers fresh out the countryside, and most of my interesting stories involve things I probably shouldn’t be telling them about. I dragged the photos out for as long and managed around twenty stuttering and rather painful minutes of talking about myself. We opened the floor up to questions, most regarded David Beckham or what I found attractive in Chinese women.
On my way home Peter and I stumbled across one of his teachers and two of her students. A quick chat descended into a five hour drinking session. I felt almost at home.
