Day tripper

After a late start, my wife and I spent a whole afternoon traipsing around the city of Shenzhen while the children were at their grandmother's. We travelled miles on buses, metro and on foot, from one bookstore to the next like on some sort of treasure hunt through recommendation by the staff of each store. One such destination we were directed to was a massive complex named 'Shenzhen Book City', located in a new area called Shaonian Gong (少年宮站), literally 'Children's Palace' currently at the end of Metro line 4. The Book City is the largest of its type in Asia, and comprises 42 thousand square metres of retail space in a lowrise building. Most of the floorspace is occupied by a huge book hypermarket the likes I have rarely seen; there were other apparently specialist booksellers within the same complex, and fast food outlets to cater for hungry bookworms.

After 12 bookshops and about 25km, including an hour stuck in traffic, we decided to call it a day. Incidentally, the legendary traffic in Shenzhen is being exacerbated by roadworks caused by the extension of the Shenzhen Metro. It was already past 7pm and were still one volume short of our quest. I was hoping for a good meal but not expecting a gastronomic experience, for all my previous experiences in Shenzhen (other than in the top hotels) were always lacking in some way.

We fortuitously came across the Lao Shaoxing Restaurant (老紹興酒樓) tucked away in the courtyard of the Qinghua Hotel, near the Science Museum (科學館). I was attracted by the prospect of Zhejiang cuisine in a relaxed setting, despite the restaurant being fronted by a gaudy neon quite typical of Chinese restaurants. I cannot deny that the bright lights caught my eye.

The main restaurant upstairs was busy with diners when we took our seats. We were presented with a menu which was disguised as a book of culinary photography replete with images of traditional Chinese riverside villages and flowery text about the geographical context to whet your appetite. In the past, I have found a poor general correlation between the care with which the menu was assembled and the quality of the delivered product so I still wasn't holding my breath. At least the restaurant was clean, and the other diners behaved with decorum.

The menu of the Lao Shaoxing Restaurant

When the food arrived, I was therefore surprised to see that the photography had been faithfully replicated in the presentation. The lamb we ordered was attractively set on beds of deep-fried noodle fragments; the fish, sea bass prepared to Shaoxing style, came on a hot-plate en papillote; our eel was a careful visual coordination of colours and textures which my photography failed to do justice.

Eel (left); lamb (right)

Lamb is one of my favourite meats, but is not widely consumed in China except in Moslem cuisine. I have been severely disappointed elsewhere in the past, by the culinary treatment with heavy spices and salted in abundance, so I ordered it in trepidation. Fortunately, the first taste immediately revealed expert preparation – dishes which were delicately flavoured and seasoned to perfection. The hints of herbs and spices therein remained subtle, never threatening or overwhelming the savours of the principal ingredients. I have always been a fan of the Shanghainese preparation of eel; this variant with prawns certainly did not disappoint.


To top it all, the meal came to a total of RMB138 yuan (about US$20 at today's exchange rate), which I'd say represented extremely good value for money.

Uncles of the world

It may seem bizarre to westerners, but in Hong Kong, mainland China and many other places in Asia, people routinely use a form of address for people they know, as if they were family. Children are taught these notions from an early age. Whilst 'Mister' (先生), 'Miss' (小姐) and 'Lady' (女士) are unambiguously polite and can be used when in doubt, they are by no means the most commonly used. When we were invited to stay with some good French friends near Paris, I told my boys they could address them simply as 'Jean-Marc' and 'Hélène'. Although I'm sure our hosts would have thought our usual protocol cute, I strongly suspected they would hardly notice or object to deviation from it.

Children learn that they belong to one big happy family when addressing friends, and occasionally strangers. Boys are addressed as 'Gege' (哥哥), and girls as 'Jiejie' (姐姐) – older brother and older sister respectively. Men are most commonly referred to as 'Shushu' (叔叔) or 'Bobo' (伯伯) – both meaning "uncle" relative to the age of your parents; women are similarly addressed as 'Ahyi' (啊姨) – generic term for "aunt". By extension, elders from the generation of one's grandparents are addressed 'Gonggong' (公公) or 'Yeye' (爺爺) for "grandpa", or 'Popo' (婆婆) for "grandma".

Even complete strangers we meet daily, such as bus and taxi drivers, merit the courtesy as '司機叔叔' ("driver uncle"); policemen are '警察叔叔' ("police uncle") – note the profession added as a prefix is not an obligatory feature. However, out of reverence for learning, teachers and doctors are always referred to only by their professional titles 'Laoshi' (老師) and 'Yisheng' (醫生) respectively, without any claim to kinship. By all that reckoning, my boys should have addressed my friends as "Uncle Jean-Marc" and "Aunty Hélène".

Anthropologists have coined the term 'fictive kinship' to describe the concept, which is defined as "the extension of kinship obligations and relationships to individuals specifically not otherwise included in the kinship universe" In plain English, this means those ties not established through blood or marriage. It is said that "fictive relationships may mimic the ties they copy, but they are defined in their own terms." From my observation of and experience with the protocol in China, it incorporates the reverence of old age, a Confucian value which firmly equates chronological maturity with wisdom. Unlike in western cultures where old age symbolises the past or people past their prime, offence is never perceived when someone is referred to by the more formal 老先生 or 老太太, 'Lao' (老) meaning 'old'.

The protocol transcends adulthood. From the notion of 學師 or apprenticeship, those who have shared a common learning experience always refer to each other as Shixiong/di/jie/mei (師兄/弟/姐/妹) when a number of years separates their experiences. In the everyday work context where there is sense of camaraderie/bonding, female colleagues are collectively referred to as jiemei (姊妹), meaning "sisters"; males likewise use the term 'xiongdi' (兄弟), meaning "brothers". One has the option of addressing your friends' parents (or your parents' friends) as 'Uncle [C.Y.]', 'Aunty [Chen]', or similar variants, although 'Mr and Mrs [Chen]' may be used. Proximity is the usual benchmark, so they are not likely to be offended by either form of address, although 'Mr' or 'Mrs' may be considered a bit stiff. The formal Chinese term is 世伯, meaning literally 'worldly uncle'; reciprocally they would refer to you as 世侄 or 世侄女, 'worldly nephew' or 'worldly niece'.

A good example where a well known individual has applied this concept to himself is Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao when he referred to himself as "Grandpa Wen" while on public-relations missions in Sichuan following the earthquakes last year; Hong Kong billionaire property tycoon Lee Shau-kee is affectionately known as "Uncle Four", being the fourth-born in his family.

"Grandpa Wen"
(photo courtesy of the World Economic Forum)

Although the concept is prevalent, it is a social tool in reality. Up until recently, Chinese extended families living together under one roof was the norm, and titles exist for all relatives imaginable within this scope. It is impossible to confuse who is or is not a relative. From the forms of address alone, there is never any ambiguity as to whether a relative is maternal or paternal, or whether the relative is so by blood ties or by marriage.

The Encyclopaedia Britannica cites the existence of fictive kinship, and its practice in India between individuals of the same village belonging to the same caste. In Europe and the United States of America, the concept is usually applied with more restraint. Westerners appear generally to make clear distinctions between kin and non-kin. Nevertheless, modern television has familiarised us with black Americans usage of "brother". In France and Britain, I have never experienced the use of fictive kinship. The closest I've heard is the expression "mon pôte" - 'my mate'.

MTR vs Paris Métro

On returning to Hong Kong, I experienced the hottest day of the year. On 2 August, temperatures reached 34.6°C; one street-sleeper died, possibly due to overheating. Although Parisians complained of the heat in Paris this year, it was generally cooler than in the tropics; it's the stifling humidity which makes the temperature unbearable here. Having said that, however, the heat is worse in the Paris Métro despite its ventilation. European construction and infrastructure are poorly adapted to the heat, just like ours is poorly adapted to cold weather. As the system is quite old, its catacombs and trains are not air-conditioned, and some stuffiness during hot spells are to be expected, particularly during the rush hour.

In contrast to the Paris Métro (except for Line 14), Hong Kong MTR (Mass Transit Railway) tunnels and trains are brightly lit and are air conditioned; and there are safety barriers which prevent potentially fatal falls from railway platforms. Again, except for line 14, these are not the norm in Paris, although I noticed on my last visit that some had been erected at Pont de Neuilly, on Métro line 1. MTR's gleaming carriages with their stainless-steel seating are probably twice as long as Parisian metro cars, and I guess that the entire train is more that twice the length of its Parisian cousin.

Hong Kong's M-train, with stainless steel seating
(photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

What is also noticeable is the total absence of beggars, buskers. Parisians, however, are familiar with beggars and assorted itinerants who work the trains from carriage to carriage (I am informed that since the accession of Romania to the European Union, the numbers of Romanians on Parisian streets has noticeably risen). A typical spiel starts something like this:

"Bonjour, Messieurs/dames, excusez-moi de vous déranger. Je m'appele ~~~~, j'ai ~ ans, je n'ai pas de travail et j'ai deux enfants a mon charge..."
(translation: Hello Ladies and Gentlemen. I apologise for disturbing you. My name is ~~~~, I am ~ years old, without work and have two children to feed at home...)

After that 'classic' introduction, the beggars will add their very own customised sob-story or witticism, and finish by asking for some pièces de monnaie (coins) or that ubiquitous French dining voucher, the Ticket Restaurant. Akin to the Luncheon Voucher (in fact, they are both owned by Accor), the "Ticket Resto" is universally accepted in restaurants throughout France. Unlike the Luncheon Voucher, whose popularity dwindled in the UK when tax breaks on it were removed, the state has sustained the viability of the system in France by obliging employers' to supply the midday meal, or equivalent value, to their employees. Larger employers usually have a workplace canteen which offers subsidised meals; companies without such facilities give out the TR.

Paris métro train
(photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

However, if one is lucky, instead of being distracted by a straggly beggar, your métro experience will be enhanced by the music of a skilled accordionist, playing a tune with a tango beat.

Busker on the Paris Métro