Qingzhou ... a cultural lesson

Traditional Chinese Table

The first host sits opposite the door

The second host sits directly across the table

Guests of honor sit on either side of the first host

"Lesser" guests sit in the remaining seats

Scorpions for Lunch?

Arriving @ the Train Station

One of the tai tais @ my husband's company, when asked where her husband is that week, often responds, "Oh, you know, in one of the 'zhou's." China is full of 'zhou' (pronounced joe) cities: Hangzhou, Guangzhou, Jiaozhou and the one with which we're most familiar: Qingzhou.

To say its familiar is to say that it is the place where the guys disappear to several times a week or month, depending on their role in the company. This year, with the financials being what they are, Mr. Johnson is spending less time in Qingzhou and more time in the R & D center here in Qingdao, which is fine with all of us. But, when his parents were here, he thought it was high time we all joined him for a day trip to the city that hosts the factory that in some sense brought us to China in the first place.

We went by train. (Remember the pics a post or two ago?) We seemed to travel back in time on that 90 minute ride. Our modern city with imported cars and streamlined urban streets gave way to rural and whilst in Qingzhou we saw more bicycles, mo-peds, and three wheeled trucks than we usually see in QD.

We were met @ the train station by staff from the factory. Mr. Johnson and his dad were whisked off to the factory in one van (to sort the high pressure registering on a machine which had been the catalyst for the trip.) I headed off in another with my mom-in-law and the three girlies who had tucked their blond locks into hats to stand out a little less in a city unaccustomed to seeing foreigners.

We were put under the care of two twenty-something female engineers who were more than eager to spend a sweaty July day outside of the steamy factory. Our "tour guides" took us the Qingzhou Municipal Museum (more on this bo wu guan and it's significant archaeological artifacts in a separate post) for the morning, before we met up with the guys, and no less than three upper managers for a traditional round table Chinese lunch in which each of the three hosts, gave the requisite three toasts (each) and expected a true dry glass after each shout out of gan bei (a rough equivalent to "Cheers" in English!) Never mind that it was barely noon, and that several of them got back into their own cars to drive back to work afterwards.

The food options were interesting (locusts and scorpions were among the choices although we settled on the more tame: spicy pork, pork stuffed eggplant, and obligatory end-of-the-meal jiao zi - pork filled dumplings-- our Muslim friends have commented what a difficult culture this is to eat in... not only is beer not really considered alcohol, but almost everything contains pork!).

But despite the menu, the local beer free flowing, and the restaurant which was little more than a steamy greenhouse with bamboo plants swaying and small "streams" running along the walkways it felt right that we had come. The kids quickly and quietly excused themselves after politely fielding questions in Chinese and even coming up with some humorous quips that seemed to please our increasingly red faced hosts. There were genuine comments of thankfulness for the teaching Mr. Johnson had done in hydraulics, and they thoughtfully suggested that Mr. Johnson's father was a clever engineer in his own right, since he seemed to also understand all about the high pressure readings that had left them baffled. They sweetly offered gifts to Mr. Johnson's parents and we all posed together behind the unfurled 30 foot reproduction scroll that they have given their foreign guests.

Our afternoon included a nail-biting trip up a nearish-by mountain (which always seemed to be about 30 minutes away, every time we asked!) The mountain top proved cool and refreshing, but we all opted to hike back down rather than endure the risky ride. Our twenty-something tour guides gamely joined us, despite wearing high heeled sandals with anklets (for a great description on this Chinese fashion trend, visit the blog of my cyber friend global gal.)

When were deposited back at the train station, we endured another cultural phenomenon: being stared at like were perhaps the only Westerners some of the rural riders had ever seen. It wasn't the usual, pull out the camera and take pictures, or the childish squeals and flimsy English, "you so lovely," (when they clearly mean the children and not Mr. Johnson or myself!) It was uncomfortable, jaw dropping stares... terrified children hiding behind equally uncomfortable, dark skinned parents. "Now you know how Michael Jackson felt," Mr. Johnson quipped when we realized all eyes were trained on us. Only 90 minutes from here, but it felt a world away!