For those of you who have been in China know that “Hello! Where are you from?” is not an uncommon thing to hear from a complete stranger. However, last weekend while I was on vacation in Qingdao I was asked this in a rather uncommon way, that has got me thinking a rather uncommon thought.
I was enjoying my long Tomb Sweeping weekend in the breezy, quaint (by Chinese standards) city of Qingdao. It was my last day before I had to fly back to reality, so I was enjoying a nice stroll on the beach. The goal was to start at the May 4th Monument, and make my way down past the Granite Mansion, and work my way back to the hostel that I stayed at.
On the second stop on the scenic walk, I came to a place called Music Square, which in reality is just a very large tent with a bunch of people singing, being lead by a group of very enthusiastic individuals in the middle. I walked along the outskirts, looking in, and having a smile. I have always enjoyed and slightly envied the Chinese outdoor singing and dancing that takes place frequently over here.
And that’s when I heard it.
“Hello! Where are you from?” a stranger panted to me.
It was a guy dressed in bright red from head to toe, including his microphone headset. Upon spotting me, he ran out of the centre to introduce himself. I told him where I’m from, and he asked me, with a host of spectators, if I would go and sing a song with them. I tried to duck it by saying that I didn’t know the words, and he assured me that it would be in English. Running out of excuses, I caved to the peer pressure, and agreed. In I went, dragging my Chinese travel companion in with me, whom he had somehow neglected to ask to join.
Now would be a good time to say one thing. My singing voice could be best described as the auditory love child of a growling badger and a dentist drill with a faulty motor.
As I stood in line with all of the other wannabe-pop-stars, the man who dragged me in said a few words in Chinese — all that I could clearly make out was “jia na da ren” and “ying wen”, which translates to “Canadian” and “English”. Clearly he was talking about me, and it must have been good because it was met with a rowdy ovation from the crowd. I was handed a microphone and my heart sank a bit.
A familiar tune struck, and I knew that I had heard it before, but where? A song from my youth? No. Something that I had heard in Scotland? I think so. As a few bars passed, I realized it. I had heard it sung very drunkenly every January 1st for as long as I can remember.
Like most people, I have heard Auld Lang Syne many times, but either myself, the singers, or all of the above, were far too inebriated to say the words properly. To my surprise the crowd started singing a Chinese version, leaving the English/Scots version to me.
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind.
Something, something, something, something, something, something, something.
Uhhh uhhh uhhh uhh hmmmmm hmmmm hmmm uhhh uhh uhhh uhhh uhh hmmmmmm
For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne!
…and so on, and so forth.
As the audience clapped out the finish of the song, I felt my Scottish ancestors roll over in their grave.
After I left the song circle to more applause, and resumed my leisurely stroll, I got to thinking. One of the main reasons that I moved here to China was to be exposed to a different culture, and maybe learn a few things about this fascinating place — a goal which has been met with varying degrees of success over the past few months. But what parts of my culture and identity have I been able to show these people here?
Before anyone starts to clamour that I am some sort of a Western imperialist here to “civilize the hordes”, please hear me out. I am of the firm belief that no cultural interactions can ever be one sided. The countless stares that foreigners receive is imparting some view of Western culture onto the locals; whether it is the clothes, hair styles, or public comportment, we are making some sort of impression, right or wrong, on the people that we interact with. This means that my major cultural contributions have been zip-up hoodies, shaggy/receding hair, and giggling in public — I’m a regular Marco Polo alright.
Now, of course, the longer we stay in Asia the more we can see that Western culture is absolutely everywhere. So, perhaps any curious parties around here do not need any Westerners to teach them about their culture, since they have probably heard enough Western music, worn enough Western clothes, and celebrate enough Western holidays.
But surely there has to be more to Western culture than Nike and McDonald’s right? I think that it is our duty to try to pass on the less known, and dare I say more real aspects of our culture and traditions to anyone who is curious and interested, which judging by the stares and random questions, is probably a lot of people here.
Yet here I was, with a chance to show off my Celtic tradition by singing a very famous song written by the Scottish National Poet, and all I could fumble out was the first line and part of the chorus. I know that I could have easily sang more words of Ice, Ice Baby and Oops, I Did it Again, neither of which I’m very proud of.
So, with all of you blogees as my witness, I am going to make more of an effort to learn more about my real culture to be able to pass on to any interested parties on this side of the Pacific, because lord knows I’m interested in them.
However, I’m really at a bit of a loss as to where to start. I’ve tried to explain hockey, bilingualism, maple syrup, apologies, and other things Canadian, but as for my family’s British roots, I am a bit lost. So I am making a very public vow to talk to members of my family, and do some research on my traditional culture.
I am not certain if I will be taking to Highland Dancing, Irish Jigging, Burns recitals, or anything else of that sort; but surely I’ll be able to think of something. I think that Western Culture can offer a great deal to anyone who is interested. However, a number of us laowais here seem to be stricken with a great deal of guilt, perceiving ourselves as neo-imperialists, and are paralyzed to share none of our rich histories or traditions with many people whom may be interested in learning about them. As such, we are leaving the impression that there is little more to the West than Britney Spears and Wal-mart, and if we don’t do something to show people otherwise, then they may just be right.