Hospitality

"Hospitality" isn't the first word to pop into mind whenever I find myself tilting my head just enough to look past one of the unbroken stares regularly directed my way.  I might be balancing myself in the aisle of a crowded bus, I might be dodging the street sweepers on Tiansheng Road, I might be passing three arm-in-arm college students, whose six eyes all fix on me as their conversation goes unabated. I might even be perching on one of those ubiquitous foot-high, blue plastic stools in a crowded little restaurant.

I was in just such a place eating dumplings with "Angel" when an older woman stopped by our table.  She stood, transfixed, and stared at me for a good ten minutes, not moving on until the waiter came to take my money.

But those are strangers, and strangers who might not be particularly accustomed to seeing foreigners in western China. Bring on someone with a connection, even the slightest of connections, and I can tell you a different story.

Students, for example: the one who went an hour out of her way to help me mail my ballot, another who went to great trouble to help me find a wifi connection, my own students who regularly do the kindest things. One just brought me many pounds of smoked pork,  all home prepared; another whose mother (thinking we have things in common) just sent me some homemade red wine with an invitation to visit in the faraway northeast; and two others gave me long-stemmed roses for "Girl's Day" today because I'm a girl at heart.

University faculty and staff, for example: Xiao Kairong, among other teaching colleagues, and Peng ChuanZhong, among Peace Corps support staff--I could go on. Short little Mrs. Niu, who carried a ladder all the way down the hill to my apartment and up four flights of stairs to read my electric meter. (Now that I've caught her doing that, I can spare her the trouble in the future--but the thing is she was trying to spare me trouble.) Before Spring Festival, she invited another foreign teacher and me to join her family for a delicious homecoming dinner for her daughter. Dinner is the wrong word--it was a feast. Any Chinese hostess plies the guest with more delicious food than even a Patton could possibly eat, but this was very special. And it was one of many feasts with this family, and this family is just one of many Chinese families that have been equally hospitable.

For example, last night, the dean treated all of the foreign teachers to another banquet at a most regal, upscale restaurant--one of many banquets he has hosted on our behalf. He made the rounds, toasting each and every single one of us. I didn't count the dishes, but each dish was a masterpiece, and there were scores of them. Scores. Professor Mu sitting next to me thought I'd like to try one dish that had whizzed by too fast on the lazy Susan, and as is not uncommon, she served me with her chopsticks.  When all was done, she linked arms in the Chinese way and we left the chandeliered room.

For whatever reason, the university decided to upgrade my furniture. It's certainly not what a Peace Corps volunteer would expect. New windows, doors, drapes, wardrobe, bed, desk, end tables, stool, couch, coffee table, more. ( The pieces are immense. And, Mary, there's a new mattress.)

I wonder how the typical Chinese visitor feels when living abroad.