Morning outside the market.

The food deliveries in China come each morning. Chinese Trucks, motorcycles, and trikes pull up in front of small markets. They dump their loads of fresh greens and the market staff goes to work. Sitting on small stools they sort, then package the fresh produce. Monday or Sunday, rain or shine, it’s always the same.

Happy Chinese Valentines Day! According to the lunar calendar and Chinese tradition, August 26, 2009 is Chinese Valentines Day for the Year of the Ox.

I mentioned I have two wedding anniversaries – one for the civil ceremony and one for the reception. My memory was betraying me, as it often does. There is a third wedding anniversary for me and Mrs. Stevo: Qi Xi – Chinese Valentines Day.

We were married on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, aka 7-7, aka Chinese Valentines Day (one of three, I believe), aka The Night of Sevens. It wasn’t planned. Our marriage was supposed to take place two or three days earlier, but I went to the wrong station, missed my train, and did not end up meeting the future Mrs. Stevo at the appointed time. We met, in her province, a few days later.

On the way to the station that fateful day in 2006, Mrs. Stevo mentioned it was 7-7. My knowledge of the lunar calendar was, and still is, limited. Lunar means moon, doesn’t it?  My understanding of this time system is that it wreaks havoc with holidays: Each year they are on a different day.

“It’s Chinese Valentines Day?” I asked.

“Yes, 7-7,” replied my almost-bride.

Some romantic chord resounded deep within me . We had to be married that day, The Fates were smiling blessings upon us. It was fortuitous; it was good luck, utter serendipity. I jogged through the station, Mrs. Stevo trailing in my determined wake. In the pitfalls that followed, a late train, less-than-knowledgably taxi drivers, and the summer heat that threatened to melt an unconditioned North American, I kept my eye on that prize. To be married on 7-7…

At the registry office, we said our vows, waited for the notarized “pink” wedding books, and then set off in search of a reasonable priced hotel.

“What is 7-7?” you wonder. What is Chinese Valentines Day? I’m glad you asked. Allow me to share…

Please note: There are many variations of this tale. I have combined some elements to make it comprehensible.

Once upon a time, there was a cowherder, named Nuilang (translated: Cowherder). He was a handsome orphaned lad that worked hard as a farmer. One day he spotted seven fairy sisters skinny-dipping in a lake. On the urgings of his mischievous ox, he stole their clothes and sat back to watch the show that would inevitably follow. The sisters selected the youngest and most beautiful among them, the seventh sister, Zhinu (translated: weaver girl), to retrieve their fairy garments.

Aside: The ox was an immortal from heaven, sent to earth in the form of an ox as punishment for his misdeeds in the heavenly realm.

Zhinu retrieved the clothing for her siblings and had Nuilang agree to marry her, as he has seen her unclothed.* The couple got along well, him a dutiful husband, and she a wonderful wife. They fell very much in love and had two children.

Zhinu’s mother, the Empress of Heaven, heard her daughter, the weaver of colorful clouds, had married a mortal. She was furious, as mothers sometimes are about what they perceive to be bad marriages.

She snatched Zhinu from earth and placed her back the heavens to resume her weaving. Niulang packed the kids in wicker baskets, and using the magically hide of his now dead, and formerly god-like ox, and gave chase. The Empress, using her hairpin, tore a river across the night sky (the milky way), separating the lovers forever.

Zhinu lives on the star Vega, and Nuilang on the other side of the night sky, lives on Altair, flanked by their children on the stars β and γ Aquilae.

In time, the Empress of Heaven was touched by their great love and took pity upon the couple. Once a year, the seventh night of the seventh month, she allowed all the world’s magpies to fly into the heavens. They formed a bridge over the river and allowed the lovers to reunite.

Qi Xi is also called The Festival to Plead for Skills (qǐ qiǎo jié), The Seventh Sister’s Birthday (qī jiě dàn), and The Night of Skills (qiǎo xī).

The Night of Sevens, Chinese Valentines Day, is celebrated by:

On Qi Xi, a festoon is placed in the yard and the single or newly married women in the household make an offering to Niulang and Zhinü consisting of fruit, flowers, tea, and facial powder (makeup). After finishing the offering, half of the facial powder is thrown on the roof and the other half divided among the young women. It is believed by doing this the women are bound in beauty with Zhinü.

Another tradition is for young girls to throw a sewing needle into a bowl full of water on the night of Qi Xi, Chinese Valentines Day, as a test of embroidery skills. If the needle floats on top of the water instead of sinking, it is believed to be an indication of the girl’s being a skilled embroideress.
Source: answers.com

Today, Chinese Valentines Day is one of matchmaking by parents and at speed dating parties. Astronomically, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month the milky way appears dimmer, supporting the idea of a bridge between the two stars.

Happy Qi Xi, Mrs. Stevo, happy anniversary (again).

* Mrs. Stevo tells me in traditional China that if a boy saw a girl’s naked feet (Mrs. Stevo’s term) they had to wed. I asked if desperate girls attempted this as a way of coercing men into marriage. She would not dignify my question with an answer.

It’s party time in the Middle Kingdom. Well, er, no actually. May 28 brings the calendar around to the yearly Dragon Boat Festival, or duānwǔ jié (端午節).

Many cities in North America celebrate the Dragon Boat Festival, or the Tuen Ng Festival, as it’s known in Cantonese. My former Canadian city held dragon boat races each June, in which drunken and out-of-shape businessmen raced big boats on a local river. None of them knew what the races represented, except a reason to be publicly intoxicated, and risk drowning hoping to win a trophy.

Like most folk festivals, the roots of the Dragon Boat Festival are not particularly pleasant. In the days of yor (or China’s Warring States Period), lived Qu Yuan, a government minister with the Chu regime. He was a good man that wanted to maintain Chu’s sovereignty in the face of the Qin dynasty’s advances (Did you see Hero, with Jet Li? Same time period.)

Qu Yuan was cast out of court by jealous and corrupt ministers. Depressed by thinking about the future, he wandered the countryside composing poems from folktales. His works are still considered classics in Chinese literature.

After the Chu capital was captured by Qin forces in 278 BC, Qu Yuan grabbed a rock and walked into a local river to commit suicide, a protest against the excesses and corruption of the new Qin Kingdom.

There a few different stories as to what happened next.

The more heroic version has local villagers racing across the river in their boats, attempting to rescue Qu Yuan. Today’s dragon boat races commemorate the villagers efforts to save the poet.

In an alternate version, the villagers take to their boats, bang drums and throw food into the water to keep the fish from eating Qu Yuan’s body. The zongzi, a reed-wrapped rice dumpling, was the food used to prevent aquatic creatures from consuming Qu Yuan’s remains. Zongzi, the traditional festival food, is eaten each year during the celebrations.

Of course, just like Christian holidays (Christmas and Easter’s pagan roots), there is yet a third explanation. Scholars have discovered other festivals in China, celebrating the harvest of winter wheat, held about the same time each year as Qu Yuan’s protest. These agrarian festivals were held in areas that knew nothing of Qu Yuan or his final swim. Researchers speculate that the harvest festivals and Qu Yuan’s legacy merged.

This historic day was made a national holiday a 2008  government revamp of holidays. International Labor Day (May 1) used to be a three day holiday, which was usually extended to five days to stimulate tourism. It was a dandy break, exactly half-way through the school term. This was nixed, and three long weekends, one in April, May, and June were substituted. It’s a lot like Canada and her summer long weekends.

I’m always happy to have a day off, especially when it involves eating dumplings and listening to sad yet heroic old tales.
qu yuan image from: biografiasyvidas.com
dragonboatimage from: chinatownconnection.com
zongzi image from: china.org.cn

note: February 28 is my fourth anniversary of teaching English in China. At 8:25 am GMT +8, Feb. 28, 2005, I first walked into a Chinese classroom…

I didn’t sleep very well. I was still jet-lagged. Add to that I was in a new bed, in a new apartment, in a country I knew very little about. I went through my morning routine trying to come to grips with the strange shower configuration and attempting to shave in a nine-inch-square mirror. With bad instant coffee in my belly I waited for the knock on my door. It was February 28, 2005.

This was to be my first day of work as an oral ESL teacher at private school in Shenzhen (China). There was no training or school tour, I arrived a week later than the other new teachers. I was about to be launched, successfully or otherwise, on unsuspecting Chinese students.

Primary school students in China.

I sat at my desk with a growing sense of dread. I thought about vomiting but in the end managed to hold that bodily function in check. Forty students to teach for 40 minutes? I must have been mad. I decided that introducing myself would be the best course of action. I made some quick notes in a little notebook that became my best friend over the coming months.

I was late as I searched for grade 6, class 12 on the third and fourth floors of the north wing of building two. A teacher in the hall waved me in. After introductions she asked, “Would you like me to stay in the class?”

“Oh, no,” I replied like a seasoned pro, “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. It must have been the nervous perspiration on my brow that gave my otherwise faux-confident persona away.

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath and walked into the class. There was a podium on a raised platform and a blackboard. I set down my bag and looked at the class. Forty young, smiling Asian faces stared at me. They were silent.

“Good morning.?!” I ventured.

“Good morning, teacher,” said the class in unison.

Shiny young faces with bodies clad in identical blue and white track suits. I was in over my head. Pressing ahead, I found a piece of chalk and with a shaky hand scrawled my name on the clean blackboard.

“My name is Steve,” I told them.

“Steve!” they called back at me.

“I am from Canada,” I said.

“Canada,” they replied en masse.

I learned next that sending the Chinese-English teacher out of the room had been a bad idea. Not only could she add some semblance of order to the proceedings, she could also translate if I ran into problems. After some explanation I had the students stand one by one and say, “My name is…, I am ____ years old.”

“How old am I?” I asked them.

I received a course of replies, most eight to 10 years younger than my actual age. I felt very young for a moment. A couple of jokers added their thoughts: My age was guessed by one student at 100 and by another at 1000.

Next was the phrase, “I like…”

“What do I like?” I asked the students. They were silent and stared at me. I looked around the room. No one moved a muscle, although every eye was fixated on me.

“I like,” I said, “Basketball.” I did my best charades impression of basketball and wrote it on the board.

“What else do I like?” I tried. A hesitant hand went up.

“Computer?” hesitantly asked a female student.

“Yes,” I said enthusiastically. “Computers.” I stressed the S.

“What else do I like?”

I took a couple of minutes to get the ball rolling, but in the end I had a din of voices shouting out all the sundry activities they new in English.

“Do you know what I like?” I asked again, “I like food.”

One boy in the front row said in a loud voice, “That is because you are fat.”

I tried not to laugh. He was right, of course. Again, they called out a list of foods that they thought I liked.

To wrap things up I had them each stand again and say, “I like…,” followed by a food, activity, etc.

Then the bell, which was not a bell at all, but a little musical ditty, sounded. It was over, I had survived 40 minutes relatively unscathed.

That class became my favourite. Of the 25 homerooms I visited each week, that class was the best and most receptive. The other varied from lukewarm to downright nasty. I didn’t have many rules. I drew the line when my worst class started playing volleyball with a rolled-up raincoat.

And so began a new life and career, in a nation that has only been really opened to outsiders for 25 year. There is a learning curve, but I think I have managed to make it over the first hurdle.

Christmas may be shopping craziness in North America, but Chinese New Year is a festival that lasts for 14 days – imagine the shopping that goes into that?

Forget the shopping, imagine the promotion. Companies, big and small, tout their wares as everyone gets ready for the Chinese Lunar New Year.

I was handed a Chinese New Year advertising flyer as I walked home from the gym last week. It made for some interesting reading – allow me to share.

From the top of the flyer. I don’t know if the words cheap and pharmacy should be used in ad copy, or even in the same sentence. Probably a bad translation.

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Oh, good. Twelve centimeter flattened, dried lizards are on sale. There are probably medicinal benefits to the little creature. I’m not well-versed enough in CTM (Chinese Traditional Medicine) to know how they affect your Chi. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problems with alternative medicine.

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Yum! Dried Seahorses, what every Chinese New Year party needs, with a little ranch dip on the side. Better than beef jerky.

Okay, I jest. Again, seahorses are used in CTM (Chinese Traditional Medicine). These I have taken, and again I don’t know the real purpose. The doctor created a special brew of roots, nuts, and seahorses, to cure my asthma. I was skeptical. After choking down the foul mixture for two weeks my asthma was gone. My skepticism, too, was gone.
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This is the sort of post that would cause me to label another China blogger a “douche bag” for his cultural insensitivity. In my defense, I have tried the seahorses, and a number of other “healthy” foods (frog uterus) during my tenure in China. This post is not meant to mock, but to point out the incredible differences in culture. Could you imagine a North American pharmacy having dried seahorses on sale? I won’t speculate on the effects of dog meat in the supermarket’s deli counter.

Advertising is the same all over. Companies, be they American, Chinese, or Bulgarian, flog their products around the holidays. The products are dictated by the local culture. What fun would the world be if we were all the same? Where would the adventure be? And what would travel bloggers blog about?

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Flowers for the Chinese Goddess Guanyin.

The Phoenix Mountain Temple, in the Bao’an District of Shenzhen, China, dates to the 1200s.  The temple is dedicated to Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy. She was orginally a Taoist deity. but was adopted by the Buddhists when they spread their message to China during the 4th and 5th century.

The Temple and mountain-top hiking trails feature a spectacular view of the surrounding area.

Captured: January 2, 2009.

for: The Lazy Buddhist