Where's all the hot water?
Returning to China to say goodbye
Phillip Hong
November 10th, 2005
Arriving in a humid airport on Hainan Island, China, I had my visa label stuck on unevenly by a stern customs official. My details, including where I was going to stay, was recorded in almost every government department present. I had come to seek closure for my late grandfather, who recently passed away. I've come here to finally bury his remains, on the farm where he lived as a child.
I haven't been here in the longest of times. According to my parents, the last time I was in Hainan was over a decade ago, which explains why the memory of being anywhere near China is lost in my mind. Playing a casette featuring 1990s era Mandarin pop, the driver who will take me into rural Hainan bumps, beeps and burps his way onto a roadway where parts are paved and clear whilst others are cracked, worn, and bumpy.
There is nothing on the FM dial; I tried every frequency to no avail.
I have come a long way from where I was born, in Toronto. After switching planes onto a 15-hour long Chicago-Hong Kong flight over the North Pole, with an hour delay due to lightning and an interesting screening of "Bruce Almighty", I stepped foot to switch planes to where I was then.
I am happy that US customs had allowed my grandfather's ashes to come on one of my carry-on bags; there's at least a little respect in this security-laden world that restricts things from nail-clippers to shavers.
My feet were very happy and my lower back was ready to give out once we arrived in Hong Kong International Airport in anticipation for the final connection into China.
I explored Hong Kong International Airport, which certainly shows Hong Kong's richness in culture... and how much the government invested in the airport. Gleaming glass panelling, with "The Spirit of Sha Tin" hanging by a delicate thread. Store after store provide essentials, such as McDonalds and the local 7/11. Any controversy in building the airport is silenced by the long, open pathways, with its own subway connection to Hong Kong Island.
What I arrived to was a low-class town, called Wenchang, in the interior of Hainan Island. Wenchang is situated about two hours from Haikou, the capital. Rural is indeed a good description for this town, but unlike what we call rural back in Canada, it includes no running hot water and no refrigeration. I have taken cold shower after cold shower because of the plumbing built for this place.
A younger cousin, with a striking resemblance to a young Rambo, annoyed the heavens out of my little sister, chanting "Da jie jie", or "Have to hit older sister". After hitting a great uncle, he is battered down himself by his mother, a brutal reminder that physical punishment is still the norm here.
Going into shop after shop, the common detail was that all of the buildings were built a very long time ago. You could see it in the cobwebs, and discolouration of the concrete foundations. In a clothing store, the shopkeeper's son ran in, crying his eyes out with mucus running out of his nose. "Flu", the shopkeeper explained. Another reminder to watch out for the upcoming bird flu pandemic.
In the local internet cafe, charging about 20 Canadian cents an hour, I sent home my love to my friends and other loved ones who couldn't come. Present in the cafe were three big boards full of rules and restrictions about using the internet here in China: No subversion and no dissenting opinions, to name a couple of examples. But it's not what I expected. The lifestyle over here is actually very relaxed; you could say in this part of China things were so free, but so restrictive.
Curious students huddle around my computer as I read news of Parliament's current fate back home in Ottawa; there isn't a computer in English for over 100 kilometres. I hear the crunch of keyboards in front of lively students who were typing e-mails and playing multi-player games, close to the big set of internet responsibilities.
A crowd gathered later that afternoon after a sudden blast of music came out of the speakers in front of the Agricultural Bank of China on the main street. Pleading for donations, a man and a woman sang in Mandarin and the local Hainan dialect; Hainan dialect or Qiongwen, by the way, is a slight variation of Southern Min, a dialect spoken in the south of China similar to Hokkien.
They were pleading for donations, as they were poor, and they needed the money to help others. Their singing was heartfelt, and the messages that follow reminded people of their generousity and their urgent need for donations. I tried to run downstairs from the balcony of the flat I was staying in but was asked not to by a relative.
When I arrived on my grandfather's property, it looked almost like a garbage dump. Plastic wrappers, bottles, and the like lay beside inquisitive chickens and homeless livestock. The constant honking for people and animals to get away began to create a headache for me. "What is this place?" I asked myself.
The farm where my grandfather lived was also the former residence for other relatives of mine. My grandpa lived there when he was a child before moving on to more interesting straits such as travelling, and meeting my grandmother. It is now home to quiet squatters, but unlike in Canada where in default you ask them to go away, I am told we had let them live there. Everything was growing moss, considering this neighbourhood is home to the lowest of the low-income bracket here in Wenchang today.
The casket began to lower into the recently dug grave, right beside where my late grandfather's brother was resting. Roses lay on top of the coffin as each of my relatives threw a little dirt into the grave before the undertakers took over. A quiet sob came out of me as another relative took out a big meal and set it close, with no one but the spirits of the afterlife to feed. We began to burn incense and the crack of Chinese fireworks suddenly pulled me back a metre or two.
Right before leaving the property, two little boys came out to tame the chickens who had gathered near the homestead. An enthusiastic fisherman waits in the local stream for fish. "Caught any yet?" asked the driver, to which he said, smiling, "No".
What an interesting place.
