Ahoy,
My mom had told her friend in LA that we would be in Taishan, and he contacted his friend with a giant van to drive us all to our hotel in Taishan 2 hours south from the airport in Guangzhou. It felt like a long ride. This part of China was so different from the northern side. It was tropical, lush, and endlessly farmland. The wealth of the area definitely seemed to be in agriculture. The air quality was much better but also dictated by mountains and ocean. Whereas in Beijing, it was so polluted from factories. I will say it wasn't as bad as that time we were in India, which is really now our benchmark to weigh all others against, but it was pretty close. Had we been in India any other time, Beijing would take the cake for worst air quality. When I was a child, my mom would comment her reluctance to return to China was in part due to how it is so much dirtier than what she had grown accustomed to in the States. That opinion has not changed.
Straight upon arrival, we went to my mom's friend's son's place of employ where she had ordered a whole roast young pig. My mom had been building our anticipation for this for months. Later, her and dad would comment their favorite food on the trip was the young pigs, which we had on more than one occasion.
It seemed like everyone was a friend, because in the States - if this person is speaking Toisan, then they must know us. For the first time in my life, I was in a place where everyone spoke our native language. It was strange and familiar. I wasn't racking my brain to convert to Cantonese, a more commonly spoken iterative. I found it easier than I was expecting to think and speak in Chinese with my parents and the people around me. Folks were often surprised when I was able to say something coherent. A could not understand anything, but you can often tell when they are talking about you - and it was mostly to note how handsome he is (what else is there to say?). He would smile and wave.
Outside our hotel was the Pearl River and a large park. At night, it came alive with karaoke and folks playing basketball, ping pong, or other sports. We were also near a pedestrian shopping street. Our first day, we went out to my dad's dad's house in the village. It was pretty cool to see this style of old Chinese architecture. The bricks have weathered well over the years. Aside from humidity, there is not much else in terms of weather or natural disaster to consider. There is typically a large room in the center of the building that serves as a living room, kitchen, dining area. This is also where you have an altar devoted to the deceased patriarch/ancestors. To either side of the 'great room' are bedrooms. There is sometimes one side of the house for the eldest and his family, and another symmetrical side for a younger and his family. Lots of life in every house. The houses have wood burning stoves of stone construction with a hole to have the wok sit in. They looked similar to what I had seen in New Orleans.
This first village visit was one of three we would visit to make the rounds and offerings to our ancestors. My dad's dad's was the most barren and empty of all the houses we would see. It felt the least lived in, almost abandoned. And although, there was no one living in any of the houses we would visit, we would notice later my mom's parents' houses felt warmer - as if someone could be living there. We also noted the neighboring chickens and rice patties, an idyllic image of rural China.
Our next visit was to my mom's mom's house of origin. My grandpa, contrary to tradition at the time, moved into the household of his wife's lineage because his family structure was nearly nonexistent with his parents having been executed by the government. My mom told me this recently like it was no big deal. So my mom's mom's mom, having two daughters, came upon the fortunate circumstance of being able to keep her daughter and gaining a sought after son in the household. My grandpa and grandma and my mom and her siblings grew up here. My mom showed us her old bed, an old bike that probably belonged to my grandpa, etc. We dug up some disintegrating photos and attempted to wrap them up to bring home to digitize. Here, it was like the village came to greet us. We walked around outside, and my mom ran into people that remembered her from when she and her sisters kids running around. My mom showed us the well that she fell into and almost died (haha). It was interesting to think about my grandpa milling around the neighborhood, going to work, riding his motorcycle etc. He had a motorcycle before it was common for everyone to have one. Their house felt like it was still being used, like maybe no one lived there, but people were still hanging out and there was still laughter and conversation passing through.
The last house we visited, more than any of the others was the most crowded and felt the most alive. And all the people that came through were related to us. It was also probably the one to have most recently been inhabited. It belonged to my mom's dad's older brothers. My grandpa was 1 of 6 boys. This house belonged to the eldest who stayed in China and is still buried there. So all this family was our extended family of my grandpa's older brother. All the family was coming through before going to visit the cemetery for him. His wife is still alive, and seemed so happy to meet us. Old Asian ladies will never die.
There were people our age and kids running around. This could have been another life that was mine. Our family has 3 unoccupied houses in these villages. Everybody in Taishan knows somebody in the States. Apparently a life of leisure is common because someone is sending money back to Taishan from overseas. But the pattern of migration seems only to be that of an exodus. A lot of early Chinese immigrants came from Taishan. Walking through those villages, I wondered if they will become a thing of the past. If eventually, everyone will have a kid immigrate and then their kid will bring them to a Chinatown in some new city, and then abandon their house in the village. Maybe making the occasional pilgrimage, but eventually those visits will be up to their kid - who might or might not know the way, and their grandkids - who might or might not know the language. Eventually, will these houses show up on google maps? Would it even matter to see them on google maps if they belong to no one? I can't say how I would figure out my way back there. My parents had to call other people to lead them to their villages.
I do, however, remember the way to this great Taiwanese style cafe that is in a property my dad owns. We tried a lot of their menu items - Asian desserts of grass jelly, mochi, condensed milk, egg pudding, boba, fried rice, noodles, popcorn chicken, etc. We also ate at an outdoor restaurant unlike anywhere I've been. You can barely call it a shack, but it has electricity to run ceiling fans. Their specialty was fresh fish; we watched them kill and prep it. It was really good, probably the best I've ever had at a restaurant. This was where we had McDonald's #2. I was so amazed to see they have congee - I had to try it. We also got driven to a little seaside town where A had the best seafood he's ever had in his life. His only regret was that he doesn't have the skill to eat it faster so he could eat more. A lot of fishing ports in the States seem novel and neat in comparison, but this fishing port was really something else. There were all sorts of dried goods and live prep happening. In the States, it's easy to hide the labor and mess of seafood - it looks very ready to consume in packaging on a shelf, but I think presentation is not so much a concern as freshness. If there are no blood, guts, shells, etc. strewn about - that must mean you've had the time to clean up, and if you've had the time to clean up, it is no longer fresh enough.
We also got to see where my dad used to live in the city of Taishan. It looked like it was now a health supplement store. He said he lived in the city from when he was 10 on, so he's a proper city kid. He used to go down to the river outside our hotel to take a bath. My mom lived in the village until she was 18. She showed us where she used to live in the city with my grandpa and aunt. It is still apartment buildings.
Our next destination would be Hong Kong. We boarded a bus across from my dad's centrally located cafe property to take us to Hong Kong. My mom was appalled at the conditions of the ride. We would go on to call it the refugee bus. She has clearly gotten accustomed to the luxuries of an American level of extravagance.
safe travels,
jt
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