ME CHINESE - Chinese Idol

by JENNIFER CHANG, creator

Days passed and I stumbled along with my foreigner's Chinese, making no friends and becoming less and less optimistic about being able to return home with a classy Beijing accent. I was having terrible trouble communicating – compelled to speak in English even when I knew the Chinese words for what I wanted to say; embarrassment over any potential flaws in my pronunciation kept the words from coming as they should. And I resented, on some level, that no one approached me to make nice. Where was this Chinese brand of hospitality people raved about back home?

Mercifully, it wouldn’t be long before I would meet some folks of exceptional character.

On the third night of my stay in Beijing, my employer and her husband brought me along on a drive down the major boulevard in Beijing (Chang An Jie) to the home of a man who was the eldest son of a woman whose memoirs I was helping to adapt for the American book market (we’ll call this man V).

On the way, we passed by Tienanmen Square and I was offered my first fleeting glimpse of the massive portrait of Chairman Mao that makes the site so recognizable.

The apartment building, my employer informed me, housed mostly aging government officials – once mighty in the golden age of Mao’s reign, now growing feeble in small quarters. V’s was a modest and clean dwelling – a small apartment with narrow hallways housing V, his wife, his son, his 8 year-old daughter, and an old woman I assumed to be V’s mother-in-law. We came through the door and were greeted warmly, and I was introduced as the girl from America who was helping on the book project.

Dinner was pleasant enough. The table was laid out with a dozen or so dishes to feed the gathering, and small talk was exchanged. I wasn’t asked any questions about work or school, which I found odd and at the same time, a great relief. Toward the end of dinner, V lit a cigarette and told a few bawdy jokes.

After dinner, we relocated to the living room to laze about on the sunken couches. Conversation amongst my employer, her husband, and V followed. V’s wife brought out delectable things to nibble on in the meantime – a nice mix of snack food from China and from Russia, where V had resided for a large part of his life. Spread before us were thin squares of Lindt dark chocolate, a plate of seasoned dried squid strips, green grapes, flaky Russian almond brittle, and sparkly sugar-coated, juicy lumps of fruit jelly – a Russian delicacy for which I (obviously) don’t know the proper name. It went well, anyhow, with the red tea she served up in some very regal looking glass mugs with sterling silver detailing.

As the night wore on, conversation dwindled until everyone’s attention was focused on the television set where the Chinese version of American Idol (henceforth referred to unofficially here as “Chinese Idol”) was being broadcast. V’s son explained to me that the show was officially government-sponsored (as it aired on the official government network), and that 400,000 people had shown up for the initial try-outs. It had taken 10 months for the judges to narrow down the contestants to a manageable number suitable for the show to begin taping.

I was stunned. Each of the contestants that took to the stage was phenomenally talented, and also well-trained, which cannot be said of most “American Idol” contestants that make it to the final rounds. What was more, it was apparent that Chinese singers these days are heavily influenced by Western music and artists – which one wouldn’t expect, given the impression we Americans get of how tightly the media is controlled and filtered in China. One diminutive girl, in a way that was particularly surprising, belted out a rendition of R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” in the style of Christina Aguilera, complete with constipated contortions of the facial muscles. Though impressive, an internet search for the proper lyrics would have served her well. She would have discovered easily that “I bleed, I can fly” were not the right words.

I must say that the contest demands much more of singers than the American show asks for; after each performance, the singers were required to give a one minute speech on a topic from a list of three (things like: “a small things that stand out in memory” and “a gift my mother gave me). Not only did they have to be skilled singers, but also orators. “Star quality” is set at a much higher standard in China, apparently. The judges’ comments were serious, but entertaining nonetheless. One judge offered miss Chinese Aguilera this bit of constructive criticism: “Don’t hold the microphone so close to your mouth. It isn’t “wèi shen” (hygienic).

Two hours of communal “Chinese Idol”-watching came to its conclusion and a handful of us took a drive to a hip bar and grill called “Eudora” – a place evidently favored by ex-pats for late night-boozing. A mixed international crowd occupied the place. We ordered up a plate of bruschetta and one of French fries. I nursed a White Russian while listening intently to the conversation that commenced.

Talk shifted to the “Great Firewall of China”, which I was concerned about because, despite having gotten the internet to work in the apartment, I couldn’t access wikipedia, which I had become rather dependent on for quick answers to all the questions that would come up through the course of the day. V’s son claimed that somewhere in China, there are hundreds or even thousands of tech guys whose job it is to scour the internet for new sites and deem them acceptable or objectionable, and filter them through the firewall accordingly. Though I’m unsure of how much credence I should assign to this claim, someone or something seems to have deemed by web magazine subversive in some way; The Worldly is among the sites that neither I nor any of the good people of China have access to here. I learned later that the BBC site also made the blacklist.

After arriving home, my parents called at around the midnight hour to wish me a happy birthday. I had forgotten that since arriving in China, I had skipped forward one day in time.

I spent the next morning milling about the apartment, grooming myself, writing emails. By early afternoon, my employer had arrived at my door with a wrapped present and a big bouquet of birthday flowers. It was lovely! I didn’t have a chance to unwrap the gift just then, as her husband was waiting downstairs in the Mercedes. I knew we were going out to lunch with the family, but because I had also been told V and his family would be there, I assumed it was a merry family gathering to which I was simply invited.

Oh, but I was wrong! It was a party for me!

Down a street that looked as if it had not changed since the days of Mao were several structures that looked as if they had not changed since the days of dynastic emperors. A traditional Chinese gateway led to Xi He Ya Ju, a restaurant with a central courtyard and two stories that had been converted over from a well-kept imperial mansion. Earlier in the day, there had been a wedding ceremony there, and so the grass was peppered in sparkling confetti, the main entrance to the restaurant framed by a flower archway. Ascending the stairs, I could see that the walkways and the rafters were all painted with classical Chinese designs and images: birds and butterflies fluttering among peonies, lovely maidens seated upon windowsills or gardens, etc. Congregated in a private upstairs room was V’s family, the members of which had prepared a birthday card and birthday wishes for me. Upon my arrival I was greeted with much fanfare and warm embraces. We all sat down to tasty Beijing-style dishes (slathered in tasty sauces, all of them) and beer, then the lights were dimmed as my employer brought a lovely cheesecake out of a box. 23 candles were lit, and this family that had only met me yesterday serenaded me with the birthday song, sung in my native English.

So moved… so moved at that moment, I thought it perfectly fitting to use my birthday wish on these lovely people. I blew out the candles, and dinner concluded soon after that.

We parted ways outside of Xi He. I would not see V and co. again on this trip, as they were Russia-bound the next day. I bid my farewell to the sprightly little daughter, who had started calling me “Yunnifer” (Yu-nee-fer) because she had mistakenly called me that the night before and had found this pronunciation far more amusing. Just a lovely bunch of good people. I was genuinely sad to say goodbye.

My employer’s husband had a meeting later that day in the city, and so I could not be returned all the way back to my apartment just yet. We passed the time between the lunch and his meeting by visiting a glitzy four-story department store (The Friendship Store – Youyi Shang Dian) which had been, until very recent years, been exclusive to foreigners; no Chinese natives allowed. Upstairs was a sectioned off part of the store selling officially-licensed Olympics merchandise. I loaded up on souvenirs from this store for the good folks back home, and for myself.

Here I must break from the narrative to say a little about the 2008 Olympics. Though at the time of my writing this, the games are still two years off, Beijing has already begun massive efforts to gear up for it. Clearly, the games symbolize, and are being used by the government as, an event around which people are expected to rally and feel a surge of national pride over. New skyscrapers are cropping up all around the metropolitan areas, in several location one can find giant “Olympics Countdown” clocks (counting down the seconds to the big day), and I’ve heard that great efforts have been put into general modernization. The Official Beijing Olympics stores are situated all around the city, and images of the official mascots, the “Fuwa”, or the “Friendlies” can be found plastered on billboards, erected in the parks as statues, and propped up in store windows as cuddly stuffed toys.

An internet search I conducted on my first day here in Beijing revealed much about these five strange cartoon figures. Last year, apparently, the government sent out the call to all the provinces of China to nominate animals – real and mythical – for the mascots. Among the candidates for consideration were a few extinct animals, as well as a dragon, a phoenix, and the Sun Wu Kong – the Monkey King. Ultimately, it was decided that the five mascots would take the anthropomorphic forms of a Tibetan antelope, a panda, a swallow, and a fish and an Olympic flame. Personally, I feel they’ve over-thought the whole mascot thing. In addition to appearing in the colors of the five Olympic rings, the mascots are said to represent world peace and friendship (hence the name), the five Chinese elements (fire, earth, sky, water and wood), five blessings (prosperity, happiness, passion, health and good luck), and their costumes and headpieces incorporate design elements taken from Chinese art (Song Dynasty porcelain paintings of lotuses, ancient Chinese paintings of the sea, fire designs inspired by the murals found at the Dunhuang caves, folksy decorative elements from the Qinghai-Tibet and Sinkiang cultures and ethnic design traditions of Western China, and Chinese kite designs). No doubt, much of this will be lost on the world at large, but I suppose the important thing might be that as much Chinese culture be jam-packed into these five silly characters so that the people can be proud of them… and spend their hard-earned money on things with their images on them. It worked on me! I spent nearly 70 American dollars at the department store.

I was delivered back to my apartment after nightfall. I had a thin film of sweat and grime on me, which one gets being out and about in Beijing. I didn’t mind it. After washing this off in the shower, I opened up the present from my employer – a lovely cobalt blue qi pao (one of those sexy, traditional-style Chinese dresses)!

Quite a day. There wasn’t much time for reflection at the end of it, as I was exhausted and drifted straight away on the mattress of my fancy daybed.

Read next month's issue for the next installment of "Me Chinese". Here's a sneak peek: