6 DAYS ON A CALM CHINA FARM Celebrating Ghost Festival

This is about a guy named Pea Brain (PB) living with a Chinese family on their Chinese farm for 6 days to celebrate their annual Ghost Festival. The idea is to give the feel of NOT the city life, but rather the peaceful, clean breathing, clean eating, free range duck, non-preservative peanut oil cooking life. On this farm they have mostly watermelon, sugarcane, but many other things including, peanut, a bit of the hero-of-the-world plant that produces methane suitable for vehicles, bananas, lemon like things, a special kind of olive, mangos and on and on and on, . Here is a big house paid for mostly by watermelon when watermelon prices were real good, about 10 years ago. This house looks over the rooftops of a tiny farm village near Wú Xū town, near Nanning city, in Guang Xi province, China, and right beside the Nanning international airport but far enough to stay serene. Big wig visitors occasionally drop in to Wú Xū town.





ARRIVAL
Pea Brain’s arrival in the Nanning train station watched him feel un-alone even though no foreigner was sighted by him for days. He was encouraged to go there by, his particularly aggressive and self confident x-student of Beijing Normal University Zhuhai branch (BNUZ) Jun Tang. PB doesn’t mean bad confidence, just the right combination of confidence for success. Tang has been luring PB to Nanning for some long time. You see, in a University classroom taught by PB, discussions told Tang that PB was interested in back woods hiking, off-road biking, fishing and things done in small town Canada. Tang says they use motorcycles to hit the dirt roads and go fishing while their eyes suck in clean air and their lungs can understand tranquility.








PB had some free time at the end of summer 2008 and was still trying to avoid the East China Olympic fuss, so Tang was there at the train station as prescribed on text messages. PB hid behind a mango tree while Tang bartered with local taxis for a “non-foreigner price”. Tang is taller than almost all Chinese people, and he attributes this lankiness to rural non-pollution and even more to the healthy fresh farmed food he chomps on daily. That food by the way is a main matter of this blab. But as well PB also blabs about his gripping lesson about the ghost festival, distant ancestors, and on basic Chinese farm living.

Upon whisking off in the taxi at 10:30pm, PB queries his pea if this really will be a back country experience as anticipated. After 10 minutes the busy Nanning street cars thin out as the road begins to close in to a quiet narrowness. It begins to feel complacent. Tang talks and talks and talks….and PB smiles and smiles. Tang knows his English is broken but as taught he just keeps chatting and PB has only to question occasionally. Tang wants to explain the upcoming situation. He says most people will have never witnessed a foreigner! PB is used to the staring and totally understands it is of interest and gentle curiosity. Tang also explains the local in-house living a bit, and warns that his local townsfolk use a dialect not even close the Mandarin Chinese so Pea Brain’s limited Mandarin will be useless.

Meanwhile the taxi has dumped them in Wú Xū town. And again, the phone text message has Tang’s father buzzing from farm to town and very soon putting in in a kind of motorcycle converted to a 3 wheeler with an enclosed sitting compartment for people or other cargo….a normal mode of transportation here.



Away they go and the roads become even less busy, more serene. It’s now 11pm. Tang is still rambling to the peachy pleasure of PB. They dive off the pavement after 10 minutes; onto dirt road embraced in its entirety with plants taller than 2 Tangs, like long green arms hugging all passersby…he later learns this is sugar Cane, their main income plant. PB begins to drool from his sweet tooth. He thinks “I am now rolling through endless suckings of sugar plants; I could just fall off this cart and chew plant roots till I die pickled in sugar.

Word is, the house has finally come out to meet them their arrival, but the driveway is long and muddy from rain and cow stompings so they must hop off and shuffle through the muck up a slight slope.

FIRST ACCEPTANCE
PB is eagerly welcomed by an awaiting family and is given the quick late night tour of his new bedroom, bathroom, and basics, but this formality is soon brushed off for a prompt offering of the head of the table chair with “dad”. And the first meal is served even though the family has already eaten. So there Pea Brain sits, despite lots of friends thinking and saying that Chinese are unfriendly, and China is a dangerous place, PB scissors those chopsticks like no tomorrow at a table in the middle of Chinese nowhere, where his 10 minute “dad” says, “this is no change for us, just an extra bowl at the table” and please make your self as you were home.

SOME DAILY ACTIVITIES
Early the next morning they went fishing, all day.










The next day they slipped into Wú Xū to check the scenery, see Tang’s friends, eat local food, and so on de-li-do-da. While strolling the town they were picked up by Tang’s cousin on a motorcycle for a back country cruise, 3 tall men on a tiny motorcycle with no helmeted hair blowing in the soon to be unexpected typhoon wind and rain. When the fringes of the typhoon hit, they found a local sawmill coverage and took shelter there for the 20 minute blast of wind and pretty rain.



Able soon to remount they experienced local hospitality at its best, as a stranger in his pretty blue truck offered to lift them through the flooded underpass and then continued down the road telling local farm stories. Back in the town hours later, it was fun to watch people gather the best of home grown ducks for this festival.



PB was thinking that these free range ducks must be a twitch safer than those hormone and steroid injected fat force-fed turkeys sadly sold over North America. And fresh, they would be taken home alive which again, surpasses North American standards of killing and who knows how long it be stored here and there in freezers and such rediculousness. And don’t you complain as I know you desire, Google says that last week’s death tool is at 12 in Canada from diseased Maple leaf meat.

EXPLANATION OF FESTIVAL





















PB is quite dumb, but he wanted to explain his interpretation of this Ghost Festival. Day 1 is gathering food, family union, and feasting. It is spent collecting diversely grown vegetables and some local market foods for a fiesta, then preparing this lush farm fresh health food. But more importantly is the concept of “being with family; doing things with family; being a family” and in hanging out with friends in the village. The focal food (home made duck and chicken) is cooked and arranged neatly on a plate. This feature plate is then set on a living room table frequently used for paying tribute to ancestors (1st and 15th every month) and respecting the “local god”. Here money is burned that will go to deceased ancestors and as the flames simmer down wine is poured on the glowing ashes to let them drink and also signifies that all will drink and eat more. PB says he saw the local god in those hot flames. Included in the decoration are 10 spoons to represent “whole fullness” for ancestors, all ancestors can sit down and eat. In some other rooms of the residence this blessing is done for the ancestors, and then the plate is taken to a local temple where blessings and food offerings are made for the local God. As PB and Tang approached this temple as a growing wake of excited children swelled up, all giggling about this PB guy who was sniffing with a high head the powerful air of flowery burning incense. Here they burn candles and incense, lay out 3 spoons, and pray. It’s not Buddha or Christian God, it is a local god. There is some kind of presence for ancestors during this festival that the poor little PB doesn’t quite understand. He in fact is little clued as usual.

A ghost is normally to be feared in Canada and here in Wú Xū too, but during this festival the ghosts are harmless and each persons fright is in check. Much of the activity is about asking for more sugarcane, more money and more safety and also for ancestor-family glue.

Day 2 progresses deeper into the feeling of ancestor and ghost presence. Before the meal an intense collection of imitation money is burned on the living room floor to convert it to a non-being form for ancestors to take.



Praying with the main plate of food is done in the living room and bedroom (s) to make the house safer…..with incense burning. Incense burning acts like paper soldiers on many Chinese home doors, signifying protection from evils. The kitchen is done to ask that lots of foods can be concocted and it will be even tastier than before! Burning outside in front of the main door with 3 spoons signifies worshiping the farm god to ask for more successful farming. Soon, a money boat is made by wrapping the money ashes in a big leaf further folded until a boat is created. This ancestor boat is decorated with candles, feathers, and incense.



This boat is put in a local pond which represents the ocean. This is the tall ship in which the ancestors leave the festival until next year, with their stomach’s full and minds content that they are remembered, and with local people having realized that if not for them, this all would not exist. Then a feast begins! Again! Eat, Drink, Eat!

DEEPER ACCEPTANCE (meal and booze)





It is during the second day meal that things are changing for PB. In the beginning all towns’ folk saw a real stranger as it may be the first time a White Canadian has been there to visit. Not angry looks, not distrusting looks, just many looks with no words were a normal reception. Staring that any stranger must tolerate and by the second day after Tang continually explained to townsfolk that PB’s visit is for cultural interest but also importantly to enjoy the local clean air, fresh vegetables and farm country roads. And by this time all those local folk were smiling and lots of brave ones were trying the pronunciation of “Hello, hi, how are you?” and “what is your name?”….and so on. Here the Local Chinese dialect is not even in the recognized 56 ethnic groups of china. So PB has at these precise times unlimited access to these images that he can let enter the pinholes of his eyes to slide up brainwave pathways to color his mind, and in these moments of daily wanderings he breathes uniquely local and special everything, from behaviors, foods, customs, and even some only-grown-local vegetables.





After slurping down piles of duck and vegetable and cake, Tang’s dad’s uncle strolls in the ever opened door and begins to wipe off a section of the table. “What is going on?” squeak the thoughts in PB’s micro-brain. And some local Vietnam toned language ensues such that PB has no clue what’s up. Uncle soon heads out the door bounce back minutes later with a used plastic bottle of milky-clear liquid, a deck of cards, 2 glasses and a spoon….and a big smile. PB knows he might be in trouble as his stomach gurgles in happy digestion of fresh duck parts. No explanation is now necessary as the glasses are set in front of each. PB just wants to know what is in the bottle and is ensured it is supreme home made rice wine so he inhales a big sniff and tries a tester drink, after which he winces a smile to play this game; obviously a drinking challenge (PB has made and drank some pretty horrible home brew back in Canada). He was warned that these natural processes are necessary for acceptance in many countries…and in fact he sees this in his home town. So being familiar with this social game, he interlocks all 8 fingers and stretches them back till they crack and taps his fingers for dealt cards. During this event occurs much of what seems like Canadian style male bonding but here there is more meaning of acceptance and overall friendship in particular and with others that drop in to observe the rambling racket. No Chinese or English is needed here. The ensuing alcoholic binge plays out with the 2 men try to learn each others’ psyche as it turns into a game of reading bluffs in a common language non-verbal psychological game.





So on it went; a game of cards between 2 people that could not communicate in normal spoken words at all, but who communicated perfectly well for the feelings of mutual contentedness, about a successful local feasting festival, and about Beijing Olympic games on the tube in the background noise. The laughed and they drank, and they drank and they ate, into the night with the local ghost watching. It seems certain the ghost-god was not displeased and also it seems that many Western ideas about Chinese people failed to materialize. PB had been warned that Chinese are unfriendly, that China is dangerous for foreigners, that there is no clean this and that fuck. It occurs to PB that those visitors to china that experience this badness, indeed must have a black cloud over their head that invites trouble and does so no matter where they go. And that says it all for those who have never been here; they just can’t possibly have a clue except the absolute bullshit propaganda given on shit TV like CNN. Who won that card game we will never know, the bottle was empty and all was well. It seems no winner was meant to be, as they babbled on they occasionally peeped up that the TV set to see who was winning, realizing that in their game they both would win a gold jade medal.

MEAL DETAILS





The local vegetables were for every meal, freshly picked. Tang, the studious of the family took PB out to plunge into farming life and help pick crispy vegetables, and it seemed to PB that for Tang to pick an armload of greens was a sweating job as he begins to trade labor of body for labor of mind. And to dig up a few local roundish tuber looking specialties suchlike a cross between potato and white turnip, it seemed that Tang didn’t quite have the knack that his grandmother did. Sweat poured off and steamed upwards from Tang’s and PB’s foreheads. PB was struggling to stand up let alone pick, and soon Grandma pointed at “this one” and “that one” and made other comments as the sun flickered off gold patched teeth in a self-satisfied smile. Twenty minutes later in the kitchen this pure white vegetable was skinned and cubed by Tang, and sprinkled with sugar which over a short while began to dissolve into watery surfaces of wet fresh cut cubes. It is a thirst quenching soft crunchy treat somewhat approaching the flavor of Vanilla but not quite there…it’s spirit is somewhere off on its own in the figmentary imaginative fantasy land of taste bud sensing….somewhere in the brain where electrical sugar impulses travel to and meet and convert into phenomena called taste…the endpoint of this neural train (if these is an end) confuses a normal western mind as it does not land in any specific “mind” location that speaks English words of “what is”, rather it floats about constructing a new area of sensation provided only by Wu Xū fantasy land. And on a sugar cane farm, sugar is easy to come by by the way.

There are 2 kitchens here. One has bathtub sized woks, and uses old style warm glowing true fire woodstove to cook big celebrational meals. The other is more like a North American style kitchen all but the flame wok in all Chinese kitchens.





Controversy was to be the topic of this meal, and alas PB is off track. The meat parts of Chinese meals are endlessly criticized, debated and talked about. Here PB is just contemplating duck and Chicken, the local currently eaten meat. Pig was on the farm last year and earlier but the price has gone up on piglets so for now duck and chicken are the staple meat, much to the delight of PB. He closely observed preparation of the duck as he has come to really like the flavor and texture of the long spaghetti-like thing called intestine. This rubbery delicacy is cut from the base of the stomach on one end and goes to the other end of the tube which in most all animals culminates in the exit hole. So yes, the exit hole is included…well…PB was not watching quite so closely and thinks that maybe it was nipped off, but he doesn’t care. After preparation the exit hole is no longer a hole, it is a flat piece of meat; normal intestine meat. The beginning of preparation saw dad’s troubled emotions encase his face for the killing of the duck, a partner that has been with him for 6 months and the look on his face showed a pained and mixed conscience and it could be seen that he doesn’t like this moment. This moment comes over all animals giving their body to meat eaters of the world. Blood pours into a bowl, and the darker red duck blood swirls with lighter chicken blood, and this bowl is soon congealed to be put with the rest of the cookings. Almost all innards are used, except the gall bladder, and some organ skins. For example the inside of the gizzard must have its skin stripped, and feet have a glove like skin that is pulled off after boiling for feather removal. PB often wondered about eating feet that walk in duck and chicken shit. But he sees now that the skin is removed leaving baby clean feet to eat. A chopstick is rammed up the exit hole through and through the entire intestine, and then its sliced open from exit to gut cut. Feathers are saved for a local buyer that can process them various ways. And finally the almighty head; no special treatment, cooked on body, laterly lopped in half to enjoy its entire labyrinth. Including the comb like crown of the rooster….much leaner than the fatty fringes of chicken wings eaten in KFC. (Don’t they make cheese with heads of pigs in Canada??? eeewwwww!!!, she said!). Bottom line is, the west is terribly wasteful, and China is to be learned from…use it all, or lose the privilege to use at all.

PB’s ultimate enjoyment during this meal in addition to being given ample exit hole spaghetti, was to watch the sheer enjoyment of Tang’s little neice. She loves the duck head! She chewed the lips this duck’s beak, sucked out the brain, nibbled the skin of the skull and licked all other soft tasty tissue from a sponge boned skull. She was in what PB thought, was a sensational bliss that he has seen on faces of fat North American kids lapping fat, sugar and salt filled Canadian Cherry cakes and boneless skinless chicken breasts, while all else lay wasted in the garbage can. A land of ridiculous un-enjoyable pomp and self proclaimed waste and over advertised sweetness, and total wasteness! PB learned from her and sucked the chicken heads dry.

The yellow liquid in bowls is beer, drunk in traditional fashion.









THE FINAL NIGHT
The last night, Tang and Pea Brain got happily piss drunk, Tang passed out.