Visiting the rural villages of China delighted me. The AnHui Province was a welcome break from the grey cities consumed by congestion, air pollution and steel and concrete. We boarded a train from Tianjin to Hefei, a ten hour train ride in our soft sleeper compartment. Kindly, Sophie’s uncle fetched us from the chaos of Hefei and we drove another three hours and reached the village shortly after dark.
Adjusting to the village consisted of tiptoeing through a myriad of tradition. Gift-giving, for instance, is highly specific. The village children each received a box of milk from Sophie and Kevin — my brother and sister-in-law. Three cartons of cigarettes for three uncles. A few trinkets and jewelry. Some candy. And me, I tried to buy Sophie’s dad a box of beer. But he caught me in the act and wouldn’t allow me to pay for the beer. Sophie’s dad is my new drinking buddy.
My Brother Kevin and me walked around the villages one afternoon. The village locals wondered if we came from another planet. Rumors flew around and once they discovered that we were of Sophie’s household, whispers made it from one village to the next into utter distortion of our actual purpose. They stared at me, pointed at me, whispered to each other. Giggles, gasps and screams.
Cigarettes in the village were given back and forth and back and forth. AnHui cigarettes are a delight. I am used to my favorite Chinese brands now. Double Happiness, probably just for the whimsical name. Chang Baishan. They remind me of Marbs. But the AnHui cigarettes carefully melted into strengthening flavor and aroma. They are subtle at first, and generously tingle me and buzz me and I enjoy gently puffing and slowly letting the smoke meander away. An elegant man smokes AnHui tobacco.
The food I will dearly miss. Pork and juicy chunks of pork fat soaking up seasonings and oils like a sponge awaiting my eager mouth with gushing flavors and spice. Ground beef meatballs wrapped in freshly made tofu. Duck soup, friend green beans, potatoes, fresh fruits, rice, as much as I could possibly eat. Every bit of it gathered from the village gardens and prepared fresh and tasty. The rice came from their rice paddies, the chicken from their chicken coop.
We walked down to Sophie’s old grade school. School is out for the summer now. But I had a chance to stare at the great building and daydream about what it would be like to spend my childhood in this village. The great concrete walls of the school, housing young children practicing their characters and learning the abc’s and pinyin. I thought of the building as a slumbering, great being. It wakes occasionally and murmurs, and it listens to a thousand voices and years of of days it remembers in its wide walls. A thousand children.
I am working on a video of our journey to AnHui villages but haven’t had time to spend slicing and stitching it together. In the mean time, I’m in Beijing. Keep an eye out for my thoughts on Wudaokou, BLCU, and I am going to start a little miniseries on Beijing Parks. Here’s a few pictures to wrap up my AnHui blog!
galensaid 