Men of China

Number zero five zero. In China you really are a number. Anytime someone helps you, be it in a grocery store, a museum, the airport or the hotel buffet, instead of “name tags” they have a number tag. In Guangzhou I am noticing number tags with American names like Tiffany, Milly, Coco below their numbers. In the previous provinces no one had a name-strictly numerical identification.
After what seemed like a long day of touring in Fuzhou, because of the heat and stagnet air, I decided rather spur of the moment to get a foot massage. Schell led us into a 6 story building to the “spa”, if you will. I was instructed to take off my shoes, put on some house flip flops and given a number bracelet to put on my wrist. This number corresponded to my cubicle. It was what I call, semi private. There were two wicker chaise lounges, a very large TV(all rooms have TV) and half walls. The doorway had no door, just open to the AC and hallway of one thousand visitors. I quickly had to get in the head space of the Chinese way. No soothing music or closed doors here. This is China-TV’s on, pop music playing, workers and clients alike puffing away, constant banter. I had a male masseuse who brought in a wooden bucket filled with herbal water that I soaked my feet in. I was also given green tea to drink and offered to have the TV on which I declined. He tried to converse with me in Chinese but quickly realized my vocabulary was extremely limited. Both of us wanted to have a conversation, but after many tries and me even busting out my Berlitz Chinese phrase book we were left to talk with sign language. I asked him his name and after repeating it about three times and me looking at him with puzzlement, he took off his pin and handed it to me #050. Hmmm...It makes me really love my name. Throughout the two hour foot massage (and only 40 yuan-$5.00!!!) employee after employee came by, the woman stopping to look at me, point, a quick Hah-low and a giggle giggle and then what seemed to be a little teasing with mr. 050, the men would stop to give me the up and down and take a few puffs. He seemed a bit nervous by all the attention he was getting massaging “the foreigner”. Just when I would think he was done, he would switch to the other foot. His pantomimed questions/statements that I think I understood, included “did I smoke?”, “was I American?”, “did I want head and neck massage? he is good.”, “go to sleep” “drink your tea” and the one that baffled me the most- “would I sing???”-probably lost in translation, however he did do a bit of singing as he massaged-maybe he thought I would like to go karaokeing? Two hours later I emerged with noodle like legs-shot into the suffocating heat of midday. I thought I would go again, hard to pass up such a deal, but I seem to have motivation problems-lazy girl.
Schell, our fabulous guide in Fuzhou with the Hollywood directors’ glasses. He made the trip. Very flexible and a good feel for what people liked and wanted to do. Not only does he speak English with a British accent, but also speaks French and Mandarin Chinese, listens to NPR and aspires to one day work for the UN. His humor is dry and odd and he was quite the story teller and teaser. He absolutely loves food and Loved showing me the best of his region. He grew up on an island in the China sea and so loves to eat all things from the sea, although as I said before, he is very careful because of the horribly polluted waters of China. He took us to the river walk in Fuzhou and said “this is the cleanest river in China,” and we think the Willamette is toxic-think stinky brown! He repeatedly told me how sad he was that Fujian province was the cleanest in China and “look at it-this is the cleanest?” His favorite seafood to eat were the snails. He says it is okay to eat about 10 in one sitting-no more- “it kills me” that being his favorite saying; be it about the heat, eating too much, the price of dinner, whatever. I ate about 6-they were simple and tasty. His other reply to many inquiries was “no-not in China” with a little laugh. The day of the great foot massage, he had taken us to a restaurant that specialized in sea worm which I had agreed to try. Unfortunately they were “running out”-which actually meant they were out. No sea worm but we got to touch live anemones and ate a delicious lunch of steamed whole squid and the other specialty of the house: yam dough stuffed buns. They looked like a yellow hom bao-thin dough encasing a mixture of mushrooms, spinach and fungus, dipped in soy and vinegar-a savory treat. Probably the most daring thing I ate was pig blood-looked like black tofu in broth, actually congealed pig blood with star anise flavoring-surprisingly delicious-really. He took me on tours of all the restaurants that had displays or “buffet lines”-counters that you could choose your starters or live seafood from and tell me what mystery lay in each pot or tank. Pig blood night he let me choose a whole bunch of starters including mutton with herbs, duck and shitake stew, papaya soup, fungus in broth, pork “apple” cake, roasted yams, & steamed fungus buns. At that restaurant they served the rice in adorable baskets. I inquired about buying some and he kept saying we’ll just put one in our bag-while giggling. I felt it was bad restaurant karma and didn’t want to, but in the end, he had taken one for me and put in my backpack. What an endearing man he is-I miss his humor, energy, excitement and intellect-we all had many a great laughs. We hope one day he will visit Portland and we can show him the treasures and cleanliness of the Northwest, which I truly miss as I write this.