What do I like about China? (other than low taxes, cheap beer, and the availability of fried chicken.)

The stories.

In a country with 5000 years of recorded history there’s a tale or two to be told. While the Europeans were living in caves, a movie character once memorably said, the Chinese were building cities and sailing the oceans.

I mentioned double happiness in a previous post and promised the whole story. Let us look back to the days of the Tang Dynasty (618 – 907 CE). The Tang Dynasty is considered a renaissance of sorts, the golden age of Chinese painting, poetry and architecture. So, without further adieu:

Once upon a time…

…there was a young man, a student, on his way to the capital to complete his final examinations. The best and brightest, the students with the most outstanding exam results, would become ministers in the emperor’s court. The young man fell ill while making his journey and was taken in by a family in a mountain village. Lucky for the lad, the head of the household was a doctor. The physician and his pretty daughter treated the ill scholar and he soon recovered.

The doctor’s daughter fell in love with the ill young man as she tended to him. He, likewise, fell for his pretty, young nurse. After regaining his strength, it was hard to say goodbye. The girl wrote the right hand portion of a Chinese couplet for the student to match.

Green trees against the sky in the spring rain while the sky set off the spring trees in the obscuration.

The boy was stymied and told the girl it would take time for him to write the second part of the couplet. He promised to do so after his examination.

The formerly-ill student set out again for the capital, wrote the examination, and won top spot. While being interviewed by the emperor the lad was tested again. Finish this couplet, the king told the scholar:

Red flowers dot the land in the breeze’s chase while the land colored up in red after the kiss.

The student realized the matching part of the emperor’s couplet, the right side, had been given to him by his love. He wrote it down and gave it to the ruler.

The emperor was pleased and appointed the young man as a minister in his court. He was given leave to visit his hometown before taking up his post. Love-struck as he was, the lad returned to the girl’s village and told her of the emperor, the couplet, and his new job.

The pair was married. Using red paper, they doubled the Chinese character, xi, and hung it on their wall to celebrate two events, double happiness for their wedding and the young man’s new job.

They probably lived happily ever after.

The Chinese character 喜 (xi, pronounced she) translates to: happy. The Double Happiness, symbol often used in calligraphy, is a pairing of the character xi (see images). It is commonly used at weddings, and in the homes of newlyweds as a decoration. (There are three still hanging in my apartment. The one on the door is useful in giving directions. ‘Look for the door with the big red thing on it,’ I say to would-be visitors).

The hong bao, the red envelopes containing money, given at weddings, often feature the double happiness symbol. The symbol is most often red, but sometimes black. It is never white, as that is the color of death, and used at funerals.

The inspiration for this came from Carrie at My Several Worlds and her great post on the Chinese Cinderella.

It’s that time of year: Time to say thank you to our fathers, or enjoy the day if we are fathers. I am not a father. Yet. (Please don’t email me if I am).

I’ve been fortunate in having three fathers. My first father passed away when I was a teen, but there are two other men in my life that took up those difficult reigns.

My step-father (what an ugly term) is a wonderful man. He is thousands of miles away, and I haven’t seen him since I started this Chinese adventure in 2005. To you, Scotty, Happy Father’s Day. Thanks for everything. Your support over the years means more than you know.

My Father-in-law, my Baba (below, left), is a generous-to-the-point-of-foolishness kind of man. He had never seen a real life foreigner (or had anyone in the village) before meeting me, except on TV. The man has made the vast cultural differences not so vast. He welcomed me into his family and treats me as one of his own.

So, the three of you: I’m not with you today, on this plane or any other, but I wish you a cold beer and a sunny afternoon.

Some days it’s best to stay in bed.

I don’t like Hong Kong. The people that do think it’s a Shangri-La. It has everything, they say. It’s better than Disneyland. The sun rises and sets on/in HK.

Me? I say: Nay. Why?

1. The foreign residents of Hong Kong are more obnoxious than those in Mainland China.
2. Listening to Cantonese for an extended period makes me want to ram chopsticks in my ears.

But, I digress…

I went to Hong Kong a while back on a business matter. The day was doomed from the get-go. A co-worker and I boarded the fast bus to Honkers. Seventy minutes, the company advertises, from our district to Kowloon. Not bad. By Ferry, the next-fastest option, you’re looking at two hours.

As I was leaving Shenzhen and entering the Hong Kong SAR, the Chinese boarder guard placed my passport under a microscope-type thing. This caused a delay, and a nasty case of nerves for me. I am afraid of police officers, of any agency or stripe, without real reason. Read the full story

The Stevo’s have a secret.

No, I won’t tell you what it is: It’s a secret.

No, the world cannot expect a little Stevo any time soon. Have you seen The Omen (the original or remake)? A wee Stevo would make Damien Thorne look like a harbinger of goodwill. I’d be happy with a xiao gou (puppy), but Mrs. Stevo feels we should pass on our genes. Not a bad idea: My good looks, Mrs. Stevo’s beauty and innate goodness…

Wanna know the secret? Stay tuned. Signed up for RSS email updates in the right sidebar (brought to you by Feedburner!)

Jim, or Jimbo as I nicknamed him, was a lot like a ferret, after consuming a gallon of nicotine-lace Red Bull. He was everywhere all at once, dancing around the classroom, rummaging through my desk, the king of the overzealous nuisance. We had spent eight months together, one period a day, five days a week, before I had had enough.

He was smarter than his classmates. He could read, sound out new words, and understand the difference between is and are, something many of the native-speaking English teachers at his school were challenged with. His hand was the first to be raised. It was his voice that called out, “Teacher! Teacher!” when his written work was complete. He was smart, but he was the proverbial handful.

My first term teaching I yelled a great deal. I had the attitude that many new teachers do: I came all the way from Canada, these students should be thankful and respectful of my great sacrifice. I had yet to learn it was my attitude that had to change, not theirs. They were children, and kids will be kids. After I realized I had to think like them, not the other way around, my job became much easier.

It was a kinder, gentler Stevo that knelt down next to Jim that morning. I had sent him to a seat at the back of the class. When his mates were busy with a written exercise I approached his temporary desk. I looked him in the eye and said quietly, “You have to be quiet.” I put my finger to my lips.

He was subdued and nodded his agreement.

“Do you want me to call your mother?” I lifted an imaginary phone to my ear. That and mother would be enough of a threat to keep him in his seat the rest of the week. I didn’t yell, I talked in a quiet, understanding voice, the opposite of my boisterous classroom demeanor.

“Teacher,” said Jim, “No mother.”

The only sound was the breaking of my heart. Stupid, oafish Stevo. I understood why he was misbehaving, why he sought my every ounce of attention. Was she dead? Had she left? I never found out. My dastardly threat ended with me wanting to throw my arms around the Grade 3 boy and apologize for my stupidity and the dose of real-life he had been force-fed.

I still use “The Mother” threat, but more in jest. Sometimes attempted solutions hurt more than the problems.

CHINA–Blissful sleep came to an abrupt end for The Stevo today. After three days of sleeping far later than his biology allows he was roused by the masked civet living in his kitchen.

The cat, said The Stevo, was out of the bag. The burlap sack lay in shreds. A raccoon-like face stared at him before plunging back into the garbage bin.

“I thought they would meow, it looks like a cat,” he said. Instead, he described a high-pitched whistle-cum-wail emanating from his glassed-in kitchen.

“It’s pretty damn freaky,” said The Stevo.

The civet was last seen feasting on a bags of skim milk power and uncooked rice. In an attempt to appease the wild fucking animal in his kitchen The Stevo tossed some papayas through the door.

“I just want it to shut up,” he said. “There are four more papayas and three oranges. After that all bets are off.”

The owner of said civet, The Stevo’s brother-in-law, who had spent the previous two night on the sofa, has departed Chateau Stevo. The dismayed kitchenless man said it was an unjust karmic joke.

“I would really like to get back into my kitchen,” said The Stevo.

Authorities fear there may be a double slaying, the brother-in-law, and the civet, if The Stevo is not able to get into his kitchen during the next 24 hours.

“I really want a sandwich,” he told this reporter.