Hengfeng Town: ‘It’s different in China’
HENGFENG, Jiangxi — According to the Jiangxi Statistical Yearbook and State Statistical Bureau, the southeastern province of Jiangxi — which boasts the largest gold, silver, copper, plutonium, uranium, lead and zinc resources in China — has an average annual household income of RMB 4678, just a tad shy of $600 a year. But according to my former student Gerry (Hong Min) and his friends, that figure seems a bit off. It should be a about $120 lower.
Traveling from Hangzhou to northeast Jiangxi’s Hengfeng, a small town of 100,000 or 200,000 — no one seems to know — the great divide that exists in China becomes quite clear. As John Edwards might say, there are two Chinas. Three, if you want to put Shanghai in a category all by itself.
“Do you like hot food?” Gerry asked me as one of his uncles drove us to Hengfeng from the Shangrao train station. “My mother was worried you may not like spicy food.”
Shangrao, where I originally thought Gerry lived, is a city of 400,000 or 1 million — no one seems to know — that is famous for nothing, according to everyone who looked at me funny over the past couple months when I said I was going there. There is, I was recently informed, a prison in Shangrao, where Nationalists allegedly tortured Communists prior to Communist rule. (More on that place later.)
Hengfeng is about 30 minutes from Shangrao. It’s a dark ride. No lights on the road. No lights anywhere, as far as I could tell. That changed, slightly, as we entered Hengfeng. It was after 10 p.m., and like most small Chinese towns, Hengfeng shuts down fairly early. Some days earlier than others — Gerry told me that earlier in the day the town was without electricity for several hours.
“Why?” I asked.
Gerry responded cheerfully: “No one knows.”
Soon after the paved road ended we arrived at Gerry’s home. It’s a concrete and white tile compound of sorts. Gerry’s immediate family, which includes his mother and father, both in their early 40s, occupy five rooms. Gerry’s aunt lives in the same building, next door with her husband and son. Grandma lives down the dirt driveway. So do some other relatives. It was difficult to keep track.
Gerry’s home was built in the 1980s, and anyone familiar with the half-life of buildings in China knows that Gerry’s home has seen better days. It is simple. It is modest. It carries the stains of life.
In some ways, entering Gerry’s home is like taking a step back in time. There is only rudimentary plumbing. A squat toilet. No refrigerator. Gerry’s mom heats her wok by burning wood. I bathed out of a bucket in an alleyway near grandma’s place. I shaved using a basin in the kitchen while a cockroach crawled up the wall. (It’s the hottest time of the year, and very few people in Hengfeng can afford air-conditioning. So doors and windows stay open — and critters of various shapes and sizes come and go as they please.)
But as it is often the case, the people who have the least, give the most. Gerry and his family were most gracious hosts. I was never left wanting anything. Take a seat in the living room and Gerry’s mom appears seconds later with sliced up watermelon. Sip my bowlful of beer too quickly and Gerry’s father whips out a bottle to fill it back up … to the brim. Neither stomach nor drinking bowl were ever empty on this stay.
Gerry’s father, Hong Guan Xin, is a construction worker. His mom, Zheng Qiu Ying, is a housewife. Gerry says his friends’ homes are “probably more comfortable” than his, but his family has other concerns, namely his RMB 20,000 ($2,500) annual tuition at Shanghai University. Gerry’s parents started saving and sacrificing for his college education when he was a young boy, considerable forethought for a family with no history of attending college. Last year, Mr. Hong enjoyed an amazingly good year, earning RMB 100,000. But the year before, the family was in debt. “It has a lot to do with luck I think,” Gerry said.
Gerry gave up his bedroom for me, and the family insisted that I have the biggest fan in the house. They also made sure I had a fresh burning coil to keep mosquitoes away. Gerry went fanless and slept in the TV room. “I don’t need a fan,” he said. “I am used to this weather.”
Gerry’s room, like all rooms in the home, had a tall ceiling and was lit by a single bulb, suspended by a cord, dangling over the bed, wooden boards laid atop a wooden bed frame. Of course, it all was topped by a large bamboo mat. The walls, in need of a coat of paint, were decorated with clippings of soccer players and pop singers Gerry claims to have now outgrown. There is a bookshelf and a desk which, like most of the furniture in the house, were purchased by Gerry’s parents when they were newlyweds and bear the scars of heavy use. Outside Gerry’s bedroom window live the family’s chickens and ducks, which provide fresh eggs — and unwelcome wake-up calls — every morning.
The house is also home to a dirty nameless dog that looked like an Ewok. Everyone calls him gou gou, literally “dog dog,” a title shared by most dogs in town. Perhaps it’s best not to get too attached. Gerry has had two pet dogs killed and eaten by neighbors.
I only had Gerry for one semester — the most recent one — at Shanghai University. An 18-year-old freshman, Gerry was bubbly — a quality I now know comes from his mom, one of the most genuinely cheerful people I have ever met — but he was also a bit awkward. When he would talk to me, sometimes he’d get so nervous his toothy grin would turn to marbles, and I’d be unable to understand anything he said.
That happened once or twice during my stay in Hengfeng, but most of the time Gerry was in his element at home. He was relaxed, if at times overly polite (Every time I said “Thank you,” he responded with “It is my pleasure,” a showing of respect common in the Chinese student-teacher dynamic, but one I don’t think I have earned). In social situations, I also witnessed Gerry the leader. His friends respect him. They laugh at his jokes. When he speaks Chinese, Gerry’s voice is lower, confident. His true personality shows through. (But he still might be a little awkward. Gerry’s friends call him “Monkey” — in English. “His actions,” explained 17-year-old cousin Tony (Yang Lu), “they are like those of a monkey.”
We awoke early on Saturday, my first full day in Hengfeng. People seem to awake early every day in Hengfeng, trying to take advantage of the few minutes of morning that exist before the summer heat takes hold. We went for a hike to a temple that occupies a mountain cave.
Hengfeng is a town tucked between several large hills. Not many of the residential areas are accessible by automobile. Which is fine, because very few people in Hengfeng can afford automobiles. So there is a network of small walking paths that weave between homes and buildings that appeared to have been slapped together in the cheapest manner possible. We walked down dirt alleys, past stone fences and trash-filled streams. “In my childhood, I used to catch fish and other animals in this water,” said Tony, a student at Hunan University in Changsha. “But now it is so dirty.” He chuckled. (When Tony says anything in English — even things of a serious nature — he smiles and chuckles upon completion. Also, he is constantly looking up words on his new electronic pocket English dictionary.)
It didn’t take us long to leave the people and buildings — and most of the trash — behind. Soon we were walking past Chen Shan Lake, which is currently about half full. Until a powerful but short-lived storm Sunday night, Hengfeng had been without rain for two months. We had planned on swimming in the lake Saturday afternoon, but someone informed Gerry that we should rethink our plans. The lake — no surprise — is polluted.
The Buddhist temple at Chen Shan Cave is 1,000 years old, locals say. Gerry said it was destroyed by “the war” and rebuilt 500 years ago. “What war?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Gerry said
The temple, occupied by a cranky caretaker, was nothing special — the Daoist temple further on down the path is much friendlier — but does boast quite a view: bright green farmland, distant mountains and a wide swath of brown cutting right through the middle. That’s where the Chen Gang River used to flow before the drought.
There was something very old-fashioned, very “Stand By Me” about the outing, although I doubt any of my companions know the words to “Lolli-Pop.” This was country fun, for all ages. Gerry’s 7-year-old cousin tagged along, hustling to keep pace with the big boys (which wasn’t that difficult … Gerry and friends are some of the slowest walkers I’ve ever walked with).
After the temples, we stopped by Gerry’s high school, which was built in the 1940s. On the outside the school has gray brick walls and a tile roof that may or may not have been red at one time. Inside, the school walls are concrete covered with peeling paint. Gerry and friends led me to the center of school, where a tall sign stands, recognizing all of the graduates that went on to college. Gerry pointed near the bottom, to two characters that occupy the same row as “Shanghai University.” That’s my Chinese name he said proudly, his face unfolding into a wide grin.
On our way back to Gerry’s home for lunch, we passed a large pile of garbage. There was a weathered wooden sign stuck in the ground. I asked Tony what it said.
“You can throw your trash here,” he said with a wide grin.
“Does anyone ever pick it up?” I asked.
“No,” Tony said with a chuckle. “It’s different in China.”
Gerry’s mom, as usual, had a large lunch ready for the group when we returned. Gerry’s father and some of his friends joined us. We crowded around the family’s tiny square dinner table, its plastic coating long since chipped away, sitting on the small wooden benches that serve as dining chairs. There were pig’s feet, snails, bamboo, chicken wings, roast duck, green beans, fried pork, shrimp, tofu and plenty of beer. Oh, there’s always plenty of beer. One of older men took the cap off his bottle with his teeth.
But none of Gerry’s friends like beer or bai jiu, the alcoholic beverage of choice during the winter. They prefer Coke. There is a bit of a generation gap. Like Gerry, Gerry’s friends are all the first members of their families to attend college. And after graduation, none plan on returning to Hengfeng.
That night we played badminton near the high school and watched a couple 5-on-5 soccer league matches on a dirt field nearby.
The next day, we headed to Shangrao, to see the Shangrao Ji Zhong Yin, or Shangrao Central Camp, where Nationalists held Communists captive in the 1940s, allegedly killing 400 or so. If you’re a Chinese history buff — and speak Chinese — the museum and monuments might be worth a look. It didn’t do much for me.
Our entry to the sights was free — the uncle of one of Gerry’s friends runs the place. A local Communist Party official, he treated us to lunch at a local restaurant after our tour. And for us simple country folk, it was a pretty extravagant spread. The room was air-conditioned. It had a large color TV and DVD player — and a plastic Christmas tree with silver tinsel.
There were ten people around the table and more than twenty fancy dishes laid out on the table. (You might enjoy this one: A soup full of four-inch fish, head, tail and skin included. You grab it by the neck with your chopsticks, and stick the entire bottom end in your mouth, sucking the meat off the bone as you pull it out.) There was also plenty of beer, but only two people — me and the communist — were drinking. (Gerry had one wine glass full of beer during the first round. Ninety minutes later, as we exited the place, Gerry said to me, “I think I’m a little drunk.”)
The communist and I drank enough for everyone, however. He learned the word “Cheers” at that lunch, and as is Chinese custom, used it every two minutes or so. There I was, doing shots of beer out of a wine glass with a communist official, karaoke music blaring in the background. It was a quintessentially Chinese moment.
And perhaps this was, too: Sunday night, after a meal of snails and pork ribs, we gathered around the family TV at Gerry’s house to watch China’s soccer team take on Qatar in the Asian Cup. Gerry’s mom, a huge sports fan, never misses a game. We sat together in a room lit by a single light bulb, and cheered as China won 1-0. Well, some of us cheered. Early in the second half, Gerry’s dad fell asleep on the cushionless couch.
Click here to view photos.
Questions locals asked me: How tall are you? How much do you weigh?
Questions locals asked Gerry about me: Why are his eyes blue? Is he Canadian?
On card games: Gerry said he knew a little about the type of poker played in other parts of the world. “Someone taught me, but I forget most of the words,” he said. “Cheat? Is that one?”
Seen on a T-shirt in Hengfeng: “Black and White Fanny Club”
6 Comments
Dan: You are a good writer, better than Bill Bryson, not to mention the other Bill—his life is the best sleeping pill…
Hey Dan! Great article! I was in Jiangxi in June. In Ji’an, Ganzhou, and Nanchang. It was some of the hottest, stickiest weather I have ever experienced in China. But the people there are great. I was also with students. I am entering my second year teaching Composition and Oral English at Tianjin Foreign Language University. I really enjoy your blog!
It is always interesting to know a laowai’s perspective on China and its people.Dan, I enjoy a lot reading your articles and viewing those pics.
Thanks for a glimpse at my daughter’s hometown.
My daughter was adopted from HengFeng. Thank you for the photos and the showing us how beautiful the mountains and how generous the people are.
Thanks for the pictures and descriptions of Hengfeng! Also my daughter’s hometown.