Hello Folks,
I recently took a trip into the countryside. This was
my impression.
Hope all is well and the summer months, enjoyable.
All the best and looking forward to returning
GE
All the best and looking forward to returning
GE
It's been really quite amazing, this cultural whirlwind. We're treated with utmost respect and provided with unlimited hospitality from unknown hosts and yet looked upon with dismay by many. An example may illustrate.We walk down the street, stared at and gawked at like fish in a tank. Who are these funny people with different hats, hair, skin and mannerisms? They certainly look very different from us. Why are they here and what is their purpose? I watch as I pass their little cook wagons, preparing breakfasts for neighbors. I notice them notice me as I pass the ballroom dancers who grace the fenced in yard behind the Workers Cultural Centre at 6:30 am, attired in flowing dresses and buttoned up shirts. I too, see the brightly coloured clothing worn by groups of strangers following the movements of a Tai Chi leader and notice them notice me. And similarly, I see the many hacky sack performers, and elderly grandparents stretch and twist as I watch the hoards of cyclists pass by and stare.These people in their life moments wonder who I am and I they. I though received a gift, an opportunity to view. We were invited to the family home of Mr. Gow, a vice principal of Dezchou School #2. A skinny, smiling man, he invited us teachers to join him on a short journey to his village. His brother, an architect, drove us on this journey. Our first stop was a fishing hole, literally a fishing hole, stocked with fish, and centered just off a busy highway. Surrounded by trees and vegetation, it could easily have been passed by and undetected. We thus began our a momentary journey into Mr. Gow's life.He baited a hook and gave me the line. No reel was present just a long wooden pole, a few sinkers, string, and bait. I fished with others, some successful, me thankfully not so. This watering hole was unlike one that I had ever seen. Surrounded by bricks, mortar and stone, divided into different ponds, and constructed by hand, it reminded me of a war torn village leveled yet used. Who could fish in such an inhospitable surroundings and why?We then moved onto the village. Our driver skirted in and out of traffic, dodging and weaving like a running back chased by menacing men. We went this way and that, across striped lines and saw others dodge straight into oncoming traffic. The frequent sound of horns ripped through the humid air. Thankfully we arrived unscathed, and privy to a mere collision.Upon entering Mr. Gow's village, I was reminded of villages previously experienced. In remote northern Canada, in a tiny outpost of 500, smiling curious onlookers greeted me. Dogs ran rampant as many glanced my way. It was startlingly similar, though at Mr. Gow's we immediately met his family.His mother, an 80 year old, white haired, small figured and dark skinned woman, warmly shook my hand. So too did her husband of equal age. His handshake lasted longer than most and conveyed warmth. We patted two tied up yelping dogs; a Dashound and Collie. Each warming as they embraced our patting.The house was old. Built by the fathers’ hand, and with the barest of necessities. We were given a tour of the 3 room home, shown art of a daughter, and written Chinese by the father. Cherished books too, were shown. Gracious, proud and hospitable, we were than treated to watermelon, a delight in this early evening. We exchanged pleasantries, and then asked if we would like to see 2 additional homes. "Oh course,” we countered and paraded down the dirt encrusted, dog filled street.A beautiful circular entrance way welcomed us. Inside the courtyard large cotton grew. At the end of the small yard, two date trees stood, filled with the beginnings of green fruit. We were told that Mr. Gow's father built this house. It had a little art designed box built into the wall. The clay figure had symbols that represented the sky, the earth and water, seemingly three important ingredients in Chinese custom.Lastly, we were shown the home Mr. Gow, our host, had built. Similar to the previous others, it had 3 rooms, a courtyard and crops growing. Interestingly, all teachers present, had little gardens sprouting vegetables. Mr. Gow's mother and father graciously picked cucumbers and gave each of us one. A courteous extension of friendship and warmth. With very little, this offering meant allot. It is surprising, yet refreshing and seen before, that it can be those with so little who offer so much. It must be a gift and knowledge that someone may always be in need. Perhaps, the impoverished truly recognize need.As we journey back, destined for more stops, concluding with a bountiful meal, it was easy to witness how similar differences can be. Perhaps we can look and sound different and perhaps live different lives and yet as in anthropology when things are delved into, unearthed and uncovered, truths may appear; perhaps.
