Once they were eating, people seemed to relax and arise from their dreamlike wonder.

This is my first blog from Hong Kong.  I moved here two weeks ago from San Francisco. Sometimes it seems like every day, every encounter I have is an opportunity to analyze the differences between the Chinese and American culture in general and Hong Kong and the Bay Area in particular.

It is, of course, an extraordinarily mix of east and west, completely distinct from either Silicon Valley or mainland PRC. The city is a fascinating, unique, inimitable experiment. Aside from the unique, specific circumstances of a majority Cantonese people living in a former British colony, Hong Kong is still an amazing proxy in general for the interaction of Chinese and Western Civilizations. It’s a city where despite the blistering modernity many Chinese traditions have survived better then was possible in the revolutionary mainland.

And all this cultural contrast was on my mind when I went with my family to Hong Kong Disney Land for a visit. Amazing to see this temple of Americana in the middle of a Chinese setting. My five year old was thrilled to see all the characters she knew from animated movies. My teenager liked the rides. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by watching all the different people participate in this context.

Appropriately, most people seemed to be from Hong Kong. I would estimate that as many as a third of the people were from the mainland. Only about ten percent of the people I saw appeared to be foreigners. While a few people marched determinedly to the entrance, many seemed content to mill around the fountain outside the main gate where Mickey was surfing from a whale spout. Everyone seemed to want to get their first photo done here by the fountain, while theme music blared from Tiananmen-like public speakers.

After making our first theme purchase for the girls of hats and umbrellas to block the sun, we too headed over to the main gate. An enthusiastic girl in 19th century outfit asked me for something in Cantonese and then switched to English, when I stared at her blindly. “Come this way” she said with a smile, “You have stroller.” We avoided the turnstile and thanked her as we passed through the open door of the ticket check. She curtsied a 19th century curtsey.

The first thing to confront as one heads inside is “Main Street USA”. Disney are the masters of fantasy and sure enough, as if on cue, I began to feel deeply nostalgic for the United States. Faux Victorian buildings lined a make believe town square. Of course all the buildings were movie sets, of course all the shops were just selling Disney merchandise, of course the hardscrabble mountains surrounding us were hills of Hong Kong, not the old west, but that didn’t matter. I had only just moved from San Francisco two weeks earlier and strolling about amidst the ornate wooden buildings I had a wave of melancholia.

A loud Midwestern US voice shook me from my day dream: “The Hong Kong Disney Railroad is now boarding. All aboard!” Interestingly that particular message wasn’t repeated in Cantonese or Mandarin, but everyone could hear the train whistle and the chugging of the steam engine, and everyone looked around and started moving toward the train. Everyone, ourselves included, now had something to do and we made our way up to the idling train. We clambered up with the crowd. Although there were lots of people, everything was surprisingly ordered. The movie-like setting seemed to improve everyone’s civility. We however, were not that well organized and between the kids and the stroller and the closing of umbrellas . . . we missed the train. Annoyed, I asked a chirpy attendant when the next train would be. “Next train in five minutes.” I wasn’t allowed to stay mad for very long.

We circled the grounds and were told in Cantonese, Mandarin and English about the dangers of AdventureLand and the dreams of FantasyLand and possibilities of TomorrowLand. Maybe it was because the audio narration was so loud, or maybe it was because many different people were thrown together, but it seemed to me that most of the people were remarkably subdued. No typically loud American banter, or sharp Cantonese chatter. The mandatory wonder and constant state of distraction seemed to have a calming affect on everyone. So while people seemed happy, they communicated quietly.

After the carousel and the Dumbo flight in FantasyLand, everyone was ready to eat. The food court was a celebration of princess pageantry and modern multicultural culinary convenience. I strolled into the rotunda and gazed around at my options: Sushi, DimSum, Rice Dishes with Indian and Chinese flavors, and a Grill with vaguely Western choices. There was no alcohol to contaminate the dreamlike atmosphere. Interestingly, although this was an American dream, there didn’t seem to be any burgers, hot dogs or pizza to be had. The menu was the largest concession I could see to the fact that we were actually in Asia.

True to a fake medieval mead hall, everyone sat at benches and everything was wide open. All the diners around me were in full view. Once they were eating, people seemed to relax and arise from their dreamlike wonder. Here at last people could be themselves, for better or worse. A group of large Americans behind us wolfed down their steak in large gulps, chatting away mid-bite. A man from a family of Cantonese speakers across from me was loudly slurping his fish ball soup. My five year old daughter looked at him and said “He doesn’t twirl the noodles and bring them to his mouth. This is not how we eat noodles.”

My husband had gotten a bowl of Japanese pork bone soup with ramen noodles. He made a notable slurping sound at one point and before I could speak my elder daughter was on top of him: “that’s not how we eat noodles!”

“In Japan it’s polite to slurp noodles when you eat. Everyone does it.” My husband made another big sound and I know he did it on purpose to make a point.

“But we’re not in Japan” I replied.

“This is China.” Said my daughter.

My husband smiled and looked around at the Hollywood set we were dining in and laughed. “China . . . OK. I see.”

“Yeah, we are in China now so we can slurp noodles!” My son added.

It raises a good question: How do you determine proper etiquette in a setting as surreal as Hong Kong Disneyland? Eating Japanese noodles in a US theme park, set in a former British colony now a Special Administrative Region within the People’s Republic of China one has to ask: what is the right protocol? Who is to say what the right way to behave is? As I thought about my daughter and my husband’s exchange it occurred to me that etiquette evolves in China and the West, we so often just follow our instincts.

We try to keep our standards high. These are standards that informed by Chinese civilization and Western mores. But in the end, we make split decisions in any context about what we believe is right and how we would like to be seen. It may be OK to slurp ramen in Japan, but I don’t like the sound and I don’t want to do it. And that’s the standard I set with my kids.

I know the old saying: “When in Rome, do as the Romans.” But I don’t think it works for me. It is not sufficient. When I’m in Rome, I’m still going to refer to my own sense of decency, and hold my kids to that standard as well. Even if the Rome I’m in is a theme park.

Comments

[yaqi]

hello 我看到你的文章
我是想写中和美之间的社交差异
资料才来到你的这里的
我想请教您能帮忙帮我找到这个资料帮翻译吗？

[Bing Wei]

A wonderfully written piece and such an enjoyable read, Vida. You hit the nail on the head - what shall we do in the cross-cultural setting.

Would like to see more on the topic. Perhaps we can hold a discusson on it.

Thanks, Bing

[Beth]

What a treat I was there with you every step of the way.
Slurp away.
B