A lot of my friends tell me that I hate China because most of the “differences in Culture” I point out, sound to their ears like complaining. But I do like Shanghai and nights like last night when I get to interact with locals who are just excited to talk with me are part of the reason.
I stopped into a ma la tang place (essentially cheap soup to which you can add ingredients) to eat some dinner last night when I got off from work around 10PM. I overheard the owner saying that I was English, so I corrected him in Chinese that I was American.
When I sat down to eat he sat down with me, he couldn’t believe I wasn’t English ( the other guy that worked there couldn’t believe I wasn’t from Xinjiang, which is probably another post altogether). In between being amazed that I used my left hand to eat (which means that I’m smart), general questions about how long I’ve been here, how much I liked it, whether I wanted more broth, and complimenting (as only the Chinese can tell white lies) my Chinese ability, he still refused to believe that I wasn’t English. (His friend was still a bit on the fence about me being from Xinjiang as well).
He wanted to know where my father was from, to which I said America. Then he wanted to know where my grandfather was from, America again. Eventually he asked me where my family originated. I said that I thought it was Austria, Hungary, or Czechoslovakia
I didn’t know how to say them in Chinese, (not surprisingly) he didn’t recognize them written in English. But the man was determined.
He went to another store and comes back 2 minutes later carrying a 8x8 map of the world and together we go through the countries ( I though am not entirely sure where they are located, world geography is not my forte) and the Chinese translations aren’t exactly sounding like the names I am familiar with. So he starts banging on the window of the foot massage parlor next door, which is closed, the lights off and the people sleeping.
He shows them the paper I have the names written on and they don’t know, during this time his son looks in a dictionary and finds them. The boss, pleased he now has the answer, goes back to the massage parlor and wakes them up again to tell them where I’m from.
I then explain as best I can, that I am not Hungarian, but American, that my grandfather was born in America, he’s not Hungarian either, but American. And his father might even have been born in America as well (made me want to learn my family history a little bit) Then I got confused what he was having a hard time believing because he was saying that English people came first came to America so I have to be English. Apparently they did not teach immigration in his schooling. I tried to explain that while England did have colonies in America, there were other countries that inhabited America, in addition to tons of people in the 1800's, 1900’s who immigrated there. I don’t know if he understood though with my tones and a my lack of vocabulary.
When I finished I asked for the bill, which he told me was about 1 US dollar, to which he asked how much ma la tang would be in the states. I told him we didn’t have it, but soup might be about 5 US dollars. He seemed interested.
Whether or not he thinks I’m English, Austrian, or American. I hope he doesn’t start raising the price of the soup.
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