Since this holiday has no emotional attachment for Brian and me, we’re mainly spending our time resting, reflecting, strolling, and preparing simple meals from the food we stockpiled beforehand (pretty much every restaurant and store is closed this week). Our city has become a ghost town as endless waves of workers have returned to their villages, and almost every student on our university campus has traveled, well, somewhere else. I’ve actually been amazed how often I’ve heard birds chirping this week, since they don’t have to contend right now with car horns, car alarms, and the bullhorns of street hawkers. Their only competition is sporadic fireworks. While most of the fireworks occurred between approximately 5pm-1am on Sunday/Monday morning, an occasional “boom!” still breaks the silence of morning, afternoon, or late night.
I knew very little about Chinese New Year before moving to China. My knowledge mostly consisted of dragon parades and clogged transportation veins as millions of people traveled back home to be with family. I’m disappointed to report that dragon parades are nonexistent here, but the epic traffic jams are not (think armpits in faces, luggage in laps, and mile long queues to buy tickets or travel highways). Needless to say, Brian and I decided to hunker down and stay put this week.
While we couldn’t find a colorful parade to capture our attention, we did learn that the Chinese state television sponsors an evening gala the night of New Year’s Eve. This evening variety show has acts similar to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, and viewership volume on par with the Super Bowl (though ironically, no commercials). After five months of merely using the TV set as a laundry rack, we plugged it in and tuned in Sunday night to get a taste of Chinese New Year culture.
The evening gala was fascinating, and highlighted the differences in Chinese morality and aesthetics from those of the West. We saw a beautiful yet strange dance between a man and a woman dressed as peacocks, heard singers croon about the passing of seasons, strained to understand a Beijing Opera song and dance, watched the archetypical small skinny guy and tall fat guy exchange witty puns, and met the winners of a contest for the “most beautiful family in China.”
Underlining all the hours of skits, singing, and dances was an ethic (both verbalized and assumed) of the centrality of family. At one point, the hosts introduced some big-wig military leaders (decked out with medals and epaulettes) who paid their patriotic homage. But I was touched that these leaders subsequently introduced their parents, who earned more air-time than the leaders themselves. In fact, the audience at this gala consisted of entire families spanning multiple generations. One of the song and dance numbers was peasant mothers cleaning house to prepare for their sons’ return home, and another song lamented the son who never called his parents. Even with my level one Chinese, I could detect the thick layers of filial piety at play.
Another dominant theme was the didactic nature of the gala. Just like older family sitcoms in the US, the skits and songs taught some sort of moral. One skit (from the best we could tell) was a warning to unscrupulous business leaders who try to cheat the vulnerable or unaware. That sweet old lady you try to hoodwink could end up being an undercover police officer who goes kung fu crazy on your (behind). Trust me, that granny knew some crazy moves.
In general, I not only enjoyed the TV gala, but also the opportunity to experience a country in the midst of its most important holiday. Its celebrations differ greatly in some ways from ours (i.e. no red envelopes, dragons, or scrolls on the door posts back home), yet I can appreciate the emphasis on sharing feasts, games, and strolls with loved ones. Until we can gather again with family and friends, Brian and I will continue to accumulate more stories that we’ll one day be able to share around the dinner table. In the meantime, though, please don’t sing guilt-trippy songs or go kung fu on us! :)