Schell of a Man

The first day started out fairly normal, visit a factory, meet with the general manager, tour the plant, and lunch in a four star hotel. I wasn’t in the best mood after discovering I was being kidnapped for three days but I was able to get over it as the day went on. In the afternoon we went in Jack’s car to the city of Linglong, a distance suburb of Hangzhou, about three hours away from Ningbo. We took an abbreviated tour of a factory then were taken to the Hand-in-Hand Inns to have a rest.

I should take a moment here to mention that when I say “we” I am referring to myself and Eric Wang, my assistant. I actually know him as Pioneer as that was his English name back when I met him In Shaoxing University, but now that he’s in the business world he needed a more professional name. I actually like Pioneer more, especially since it is a direct translation of his Chinese name, Xianfeng. As a student, Eric worked for the Foreign Affairs Department for a year helping the foreign teachers with everything from paying electric bills to coordinating major trips. He was so good at it that after he stopped working for the office teachers stopped going to the FA Dept for help and instead went straight to him. He worked as travel agent and interpreter for me several times. He graduated over a year ago and worked for Swedish and Portuguese companies before I stole him back. He has been a lifesaver several times in the past month.

We checked into our rooms and had an hour to relax before Jack came back with his wife to take us to dinner. Apparently Jack’s wife was from Linglong and lived there, while Jack was from Ningbo and lived there. They took us to a restaurant called “The Tortoise” that sat just above a mountain lake. Most of the food they served came from the lake or the hills around it. We were joined at the meal by Mr. Song, an engineer at the company, his wife and daughter, none of whom could speak English but Eric did a good job as my interpreter and representative. Dinner started with cold tea that was famous in that region and was supposed to have a cooling effect. The name of the tea is translated as “Snow in June.”

Nearly true to the name of the restaurant, one of the first dishes that came out was soft-shell turtle soup. The best pieces, part of the soft shell and a full leg (complete with claws and all) were promptly placed in my bowl. I was a little nervous about eating turtle after how sick I it made me following the Christmas Eve dinner a few years ago, but fortunately there was no repeat of that this time. I made the mistake of telling Jack’s wife that my favorite Chinese food came from Sichuan and Hunan, both known for their spicy dishes. She immediately started ordering the hottest dishes the restaurant had, one being just a bowl of chopped up hot red peppers. Each one was placed right in front of me and I was told to “Eat, eat” while everyone watched if I actually would.

After dinner we were given the choice of going to a KTV (karaoke) or for a foot massage. We opted for the foot massage. I’ve only had one other foot massage, while I was in Chengdu, and it was one of the more painful experiences I’ve had. My feet were left swollen and bruised and I had trouble walking for a couple of days afterwards. Again, there was not a repeat of that. Jack, his wife, Eric and I all sat in the same room and were served tea and watermelon. The foot massage included a pedicure as well as a complete back and leg massage. It was a fun, relaxing night especially because the masseuses were so fascinated to have a foreigner there. They spent most of the time laughing at me and plucking hair in amazement from my arms.

The next day was mostly spent at a factory working out the details of this or that product, and confirming and reconfirming this number or that. For lunch Jack and Mr. Song took us to a Sichuan restaurant where we had the spiciest hotpot they had. Along with the fiery soup we were served chickens' feet pickled in hot peppers and lamb kabobs buried under a mountain of dried red peppers and chili oil. The problem with hotpot is you eat way more than you want but you can’t stop, especially when your host won’t stop filling your bowl with the best pieces. By the time we left the restaurant my head was light, my mouth was on fire and my stomach was about to burst. I still had another four hours of meetings ahead of me. After battling through more numbers and specifications I was taken back to the same restaurant which I had just left hours earlier for yet another meal. It was the same group as the night before along with the addition of Mr. Wang, another engineer, his wife and twin daughters. I guess I was there to finish what I had started that afternoon since they served me the rest of the chicken (head and all). I could barely eat as I was still full from lunch but did a good job keeping food in my bowl and looking like I was chewing on something.

Following dinner we were drove out of the city and into the hills. We chased the tail end of a thunderstorm into the mountains, with flashes of lightening illuminating the hills and rain turning to steam on the hot asphalt. We drove up into TianMuShan, Heaven’s Eye Mountain (my own rough translation) and checked into a hotel that overlooked a small reservoir and dam. The air was cool and fresh, unlike the heavy blanket that sits over the rest of Zhejiang province most of the summer. So we just grabbed some chairs from the hotel restaurant and sat outside drinking more Snow in June tea. It was incredibly peaceful and a nice change from the city.

The next day we drove to a small temple and hiked up into the mountains behind it. Of course it was a very modern Chinese hike, on a paved road with a car honking its way up the mountain every four or five minutes. Ah, the sounds of nature. From there we went to Mr. Wang’s mother’s house for lunch. She lived in a small village on the same mountain.

I had seen Mr. Wang’s twin daughters, who were nine years old, at the dinner the night before but they had been too shy to talk to me. However, as I spent the next five hours at their grandmother's house eating and sitting around drinking tea, I slowly enticed them with my digital camera, taking pictures and showing them, then letting them take pictures with it. By the end of the day we had taken over 150 photos. After that we were good friends. Before I left some more neighbors came over including a little boy. One of the twins grabbed him and pulled him over to where I was sitting. She threw her arm around my shoulder and said, “This is an American,” and then said something else, which Eric translated for me as meaning “He’s my buddy.” (I’ve posted some more photos in my Gmail photo gallery http://picasaweb.google.com/schelljp/TianMuShan).

Before we left we had to wait as the Jack and the entire group of family, friends and neighbors went to Mr. Wang’s father’s grave. Mr. Wang’s father had died three weeks earlier and it is tradition to have a memorial ceremony every week for the first seven weeks after someone dies. So Eric and I waited in the car as everyone else climbed up the mountain to a grave site to burn paper money, light candles and set off fireworks. It’s now illegal to bury people in China but small villages still have cemeteries where families have plots to keep the ashes of the deceased. They are generally found on hillsides. I’m not sure if this has anything to do with the belief that ghosts travel a hundred feet off the ground.

After the ceremony it was a four-hour drive home (with a couple small detours) and one more dinner in Ningbo before Jack returned me to my home. Even though I was exhausted by the end of the trip, it had been a surprisingly good time. It was yet another example of how I normally have no idea what is going on, but as long as I stay relaxed and patient things tend to work out alright. That’s the China Machine.

# posted by JP @ 9:52 AM