Happy Pig Year!

The Year of the Golden Pig is upon us! And none too soon, the anticipation's been killing me. According to Chinese folklore, the Golden Pig is an especially lucky year. I'm sure some of you have heard, there's supposed to be a glut of births this year, a mini baby boom. Even if a lot of the Chinese don't admit to believing in astrological superstitions, with only one shot at a baby they're not taking any chances. Ironically I've heard it predicted that babies born this year will actually have it extra rough, first during birth because of a shortage of hospital beds and later because of a strain on school resources. Don't forget the extra competition when they apply for college. Like it wasn't tough enough already. Enough pessimism. Honestly, I hope that with the help of their zodiac sign every one of those Golden fetuses, developing even as I write this, will one day be bringing home the bacon.

The much talked about Spring Festival, the mystical Chinese New Year...what's it all about? I can't say it all in a sentence, but it sure didn't disappoint. Thinking back, I'm left with disconnected memories; unique moments that add up to my front seat view of the most important holiday in the most populous country in the world. It's easy to draw a parallel with Christmas. There's the original religious meaning, but to me what it really is is the sum of all the things I do every year with people I care about. Some are rooted in a broader tradition, others unknown to all but me and the few who share them with me. Just like Christmas, I feel that the fundamental importance of Spring Festival is of course the connection with family and friends. I'm sure every place and every person in China has their own permutation of the traditions, their own personal version of the holiday in addition to the things that are common across the board. The way I experienced it, at a particular place in a single year, doesn't make me much of an expert on the holiday. All I've got are some stories that will stick with me.

I arrived in Yichun about two weeks before new year's day. If you haven't read some of the earlier stuff, Yichun is in the far north of Heilongjiang Province which is in the northeastern corner of China. My roommate from Harbin, Jin Chao, generously invited me here to spend three weeks with his family.

One evening shortly after arriving I went night sledding with Jin Chao and a couple of his cousins. It was pretty fun. The hill looked tiny, the fact that it was ice rather than snow helped a lot. The unorthodox wooden sled's metal runners fit wickedly into slots carved into a slide headed for the river. Momentum gained on the sloping river bank carried us all the way to the other side of the frozen water, at least 50 yards past the bottom. After sledding, we were walking on the raised sidewalk parallel to the river. I felt Jin Chao tugging my arm, pulling me a little roughly away from my chosen path. I looked questioningly, and he pointed to the ground where I had been walking. I noticed a dark patch on the sidewalk. Looking more closely I saw that it was ashes, like someone had made a campfire on the sidewalk. I noticed similar patches up and down the sidewalk. In response to my still puzzled look, Jin Chao searched for words I would understand. "The ancestors," he said, and for a horrible moment I thought I had been walking through the cremated remains of some recently deceased grandparent.

Luckily it was nothing quite that disturbing. Jin Chao explained further that leading up to Spring Festival it's traditional to make offerings to the ancestors. The living can help out their forefathers by sending them things like money; since there are no mailboxes in the afterlife, you've got to burn it. Luckily symbolic money will do, thus avoiding a yearly upset in the Chinese financial markets. Thinking back, I realized I had seen several fires going that day. I spend the rest of the evening scanning the ground, navigating a minefield of ethereal care packages.

Jin Chao has been excited about the fireworks for quite a while, so I've been expecting them. They started in earnest on new year's eve day. All day our activities were carried out accompanied by festive but violent white noise; the staccato machine gun pops of firecracker strings and deeper booms of more potent exploding cylinders. Let me restate for emphasis: all day. I was woken by a particularly loud round right outside my window, and the onslaught of noise didn't begin to slacken until well after we greeted the Golden Pig's arrival at midnight. At times the sounds were distant, but just when I'd get used to the situation a neighbor would torch a loud one and make me trip on my sandal or choke on a dumpling. Jin Chao and I did our part, lighting fuses and chuckling at our snow craters as we strolled back and forth between his parents' and grandparents' homes. Thankfully, whistling noisemakers haven't caught on here like they have with our Fourth of July fireworks. Once it got dark, we began setting off some of the other explosive items purchased by Jin Chao's family, the ones which are more fun because they have colors with the noise.

I've always had a lot of fun with fireworks. I was part of the group that organized homecoming week in high school. When it was time to choose tasks, I took the football halftime show solely to ensure the existence of a sweet fireworks display. I always anticipate lighting fireworks at Fourth of July, but the last time I did it I was about 12 years old. Every summer since then I've somehow found myself in a large city without legal access to the best part of the holiday. That's why it felt so good scratching that pyro itch this Chinese new year's eve. Satisfaction at last; grinding the glowing cigarette into green fuse after green fuse, scrambling away with head raised proudly to watch my creations float then fade. Many exciting holiday traditions have lost the butterfly-guts excitement they gave me as a little kid, but 10 years of anticipation really juiced up this fireworks experience.

Let me rewind a bit, back to the morning of new year's eve. After the warzone out the window got us out of bed, Jin Chao and I recieved gifts from his mother. Spring Festival is a time for renewal and cleansing, so after some hot tub time and a thorough shower we tried on our presents: a full set of underwear, including boxers and long john top and bottom. I like the tradition. One, it felt great stepping into my new duds after a soak. Two, unlike all the underwear I've bought myself in China, these fit great. I guess moms the world over just have an instinct for these things, which is a little wierd but I'm happy to finally have boxers that don't fit like a thong. I'm now fairly certain that in China, the sizes start at XL and go up from there which makes me an XXXXXL give or take an extra. Maybe there are a lot of little guys in China with a serious size complex driving sales of the ridiculously labelled underwear. I on the other hand am embarrassed to buy a size that back home would fit only Reuben Studdard or a smallish pony.

TV plays a big role on new year's eve. At 8pm we all sat down to catch the beginning of the show. Every big name performer is present, with enough time for them all because it's not over until after 1am. To some extent, a star's popularity can be judged by whether or not they perform that night. I heard every pop song I've been listening to since I got here, along with the distinctive shrieks of the Beijing opera. Most regions of China were represented by an art form unique to that place. Occupying the prime slot leading up to midnight was China's most beloved comedian. He did a skit, like saturday night live. It had everyone around me clutching their stomachs and gasping for air, and even worked a few chuckles out of me as I understood the occasional joke.

I opened this blog with something a bit sentimental, saying holidays are all about people, then I went ahead and wrote about ash piles, fireworks, and TV. I guess what I meant to say is that family and friends are the essence of these major holidays, but the expression varies wildly. A more talented writer might be able to express those human connections at their most basic level, but I'm stuck with anecdotes. I've got one more.

(Side note: The guy next to me in the internet cafe is humming off key with his headphones. It's driving me crazy and I had to tell someone.)

Chinese culture has a lot to do with food and the eating experience. The Chinese New Year is no exception. When we go out to eat it takes an hour to finish our food and we stay four, an exhausting experience for me with casual conversation flying fast and furious around me. I'm used to eating at CET with a group of half Americans and half Chinese, when the natives all slow down and dumb down what they're saying for our benefit. Not so when the ratio is 13:1, Chinese. When they really get going, I feel that headache coming on that I lived with the first two weeks in Harbin. It's where your brain melts from too much Chinese.

On new year's eve, all the family members I've met gathered at Jin Chao's grandparents' house for dinner. That includes Jin Chao's parents and grandparents, three aunts, two uncles, and three cousins. I scored immediate points by readily agreeing to have some baijiu with the uncles. Baijiu literally translates to white alcohol. It's China's favorite hard liquor but I've got no idea why because it tastes like battery acid. One of the tests of manhood around here is a simple question: How much baijiu can you handle? For me, the answer is usually as little as possible because drinking it is like pouring gasoline down your throat and chasing with a match. However, this occasion called for a small sacrafice on my part.

I was actually lulled into a false sense of security because this was a really expensive bottle purchased for the occasion. One would think that such quality might bring an added smoothness or improved flavor, but apparently with baijiu price is directly related to causticity. Nonetheless, I smiled wide, raised my glass with the uncles, and got plenty of laughs when the smile was twisted by the burning in my throat. Drinking here is a constant toasting game of excuses engineered to cause others to consume more alchohol than you do. I'm terrible at this game due to lack of experience and language skills, but at least it's possible to get respect by taking a beating well. Luckily, this family is not very hardcore about drinking so I'm alive to talk about it.

After we finished eating, the talking and laughing continued around the dinner table. Grandpa moved to a chair off to the side. I zoned out a little, as I tend to do when they get into full swing and I'm left to fend for myself. I was jolted out of it when, on a cue I didn't catch and amid peals of laughter, one of the aunts jumped from up from her chair and grabbed a pillow from the couch. She set the pillow on the floor in front of her father and kneeled facing him. Laughing hysterically she raised her arms straight over her head and bent over until her forehead touched the hardwood floor. She repeated the kowtow twice. Her two sisters followed suit. I was stunned to see these middle aged women taking to the floor.

In China respect for elders is deeply rooted. You've probably heard of Confucious, the Chinese pholosopher. I don't want to overstep my knowledge but as far as I can tell, the fundamental thing he did was clearly and succinctly express a rigid system of respect and obedience in relationships; subject to emperor, son to father, wife to husband. This sounded pretty dang good to a lot of emperors, thus Confucious is extremely famous today. Anyway, one of the ways this respect was expressed was through the kowtow, performed to emperors all the time and to fathers/husbands sometimes.

What I saw was the modern version, at least for this family. Jin Chao told me that they hardly ever do it. It's the first time in at least five years. It's not required in any way, more of a joke than anything now. They do it if they're feeling jolly and festive, and I guess my presence helped get them in the mood as we kicked off the Year of the Golden Pig. After the aunts finished, the younger generation including Jin Chao took their turn. There was nothing solemn about it whatsoever, but the old grandpa was obviously touched by the gesture of love and respect from his family as he sat smiling in front of them.