I’M A CROSS CULTURAL MESS

Yup, that’s about it. I’m a cross cultural mess. I am an American who has come to China to teach Korean children English. I have made good friends with a Brazilian who is married to a Frenchman and my daily life is a mélange of English, French, Chinese, Portuguese and Spanish.

It is no surprise then that Tuesday night (9/12) that I went out with my Brazilian Angel again to meet up with a Parisian friend to visit the Muslim Quarter in the old city for the night market. If you are ever in Xi’An, you must visit the Muslim Quarter. We met up with the Frenchman at 7 as night was falling and the lights blazed to life. In Xi’An, the outlines of buildings are lined with small lights but there is only just enough light at the ground to see where you are going and where the buildings are. It is very romantic.

In my New York arrogance, I thought I had seen it all or at least would not be caught off guard by any sort of lifestyle. Freaky to conservative, I have friends who run the gamut. (Case in point; one friend is attempting to become a priest while another is a stripper) People are people and I say live and let live, just don’t bore me or you’re out.

However, it had never occurred to me that there would be Han (“Han” is what most people think of as “Chinese”; anyone born in China or in possession of a Chinese passport is in fact “Chinese” but “Han” is the race typified by the almond eyes and about 150 other points of soft tissue description) Muslims and I was turned into a gaping moron at the first sight of a Han woman wearing a hajib. Through my tourist stupidity, I happened to notice that all the hajib were not opaque fabric like I’ve seen in America and abroad but made out of translucent white fabrics or tiny knit laces. So as my Brazilian Angel and her Parisian friend strolled and spoke in French (that I could follow easily and occasionally participated in) I turned into the staring dork tourist.

Despite my dork-level gaping, it was comforting to have the French gentleman around. He was in his mid thirties and on his way to Tibet. He was taller than me, blond and blue eyed, tatted up and wearing a football (soccer) jersey (Brasil) and shorts. He has a fierce passion for travel and has been to pretty much every country you can think of. It was sort of like being with my younger brother Tom. The Frenchman was warm, polite, casual and friendly and very open in the Western way. It was a nice to have familiar rules of conduct between the genders around. He thought nothing of the fact that touched his shoulder when we met as we leaned in for the bisous. Physical contact with a male without tense undertones was comforting as can be.

Together we all explored the Muslim Quarter. My Brazilian Angel gave us the tour of the night market with her arm around mine and our French escort warmly participating in the banter. As we passed the stalls filled with puppets make from donkey skins painted brightly, I thought of all my creative friends who would love the puppets. As we passed by terracotta warrior figurines, I thought of my girl Sandra who knew more about Xi’An than I did because she knows all about those warriors and the famous leader who commissioned them. We strolled about the tented night market looking at all the art, dried fruits, puppets, figurines, mirrors and all other objets d’art. Our French-speaking presence was followed by “Hello! Good price! Frenchy?”

We left the tented area and strolled down the street filled with hajib wearing Han women selling all sorts of beautiful objects. Soon we came upon the Chinese-Muslim version of barbeque restaurants. Kebabs with three bite-sized pieces of meat were dunked into large vats of open, dry spices and then roasted on the open fires just outside the bustling restaurants. As we were getting lost in the amazing smell, one of the merchants recognized my Brazilian Angel as she had purchased something from the merchant earlier and offered to give my Brazilian Angel a tour of the private scroll room on the second floor of one of the buildings. As my Brazilian Angel began debating with the merchant in Chinglish (I swear, that is not my word; it is what the Chinese call the Chinese/English hybrid) it fell on me to translate to the Frenchman. Apparently, I did a decent job and he was excited to see the room.

We followed the merchant up and discovered some of the most beautiful scrolls I have ever seen. There was a series of four that depicted the four seasons in the most brilliant colors I have ever seen. There were a series of scrolls influenced by cubism. I was overwhelmed by the imagery and I wanted to purchase everything there. My Brazilian Angel promised we’d be back and we left to find some food.
Back on the street, we continued to wander, looking for a place to eat. We eventually found the one restaurant that my Brazilian Angel was familiar with and went in for dinner.

Dinner in Xi’An consists of a starch, a lot of veggies and some protein. (And for those of you not accustom to spice and chopsticks, you should get used to them before you come here.) Usually the starch is either noodles or rice. So, when we sat down for dinner, my Brazilian Angel started asking the Frenchman what he wanted in French (which I was perfectly able to follow and respond in) spoke to me in English and our waiter in Chinese. She managed to do all this in the span of ten second spurts per language with merely a blink between languages.

We all agreed on two types of kebab; beef and lamb and to try the local starch. We all thought the local starch was potatoes sliced up and softened with a savory, spicy coating and bean sprouts. It turns out the starch was not cubed potatoes but rather a tofu like substance made out of fermented rice. It was neutrally strange. The meat came in straight from the grills on the street and it was beyond delicious. The beef was in a cumin based dry spice and I have no idea what the lamb was in but it was a more mellow spice. My Brazilian Angel then ordered fried rice as Xi’An is apparently where fried rice comes from.

Let me tell you, fried rice has been lost in translation. The original fried rice is very spicy, sautéed up with a few sliced vegetables like bell peppers and cabbage, no egg and these special tiny beans that are dried and very salty.

We left with our mouths on fire and then had these wonderful lollipop cakes. At one of the local stands, there was a soft, gummy rice cake dipped in sesame seed and stewed, spiced fruit. Two pieces of balsa wood was tacked together to make a handle/set of tongs and we got to eat our cakes like lollipops.

As we finished our cakes, we needed to leave the Frenchman to make it back in time. We said our goodbyes and left high on the beauty of Xi’An at night.