In China, where I won't get married

Recently I have read a post by Kate of Adventurous Kate, about being too late to have a baby, and I was reminded of a funny event that had just happened to me.

Again, I have to thank my laoshi for her enlightening tips on Chinese society. This time, however, I would have probably preferred to stay in the dark.

Whenever she perceives a lack of attention in the class, our teacher throws in some funny bits of oriental etiquette, and this is how I suddenly realised I'm getting too old for having an "ordinary" life.

To be honest, I had already noticed how Chinese people react when I tell them I'm 32, not married and have no children: their head slowly starts leaning on a side, and the movement is usually associated with a compassionate "Aww...". Only when they see my puzzled look, they rush adding: "Oh, but you look 25!"

Probably because I've always lived in Europe, and only traveled out of Europe without really settling, this has come as a surprise. So far, I had never been considered "too old" and most of my friends are neither married or have children. Actually, marry too early is an aspect of Italian life a couple of generations ago.

My grandmother, for example, got married at 19, and at 26 had already to six children. Wisely, she has always advised her daughters not to do so, and instead pursue their personal life goals first. But obviously things had changed since the '40s and '50s, so my mom and aunts had the opportunity to make their own choices independently.

Fortunately, my mother has never put any wedding pressure on me, and has actually always advised to live the life I want, setting my own priorities.

Now, however, I'm gradually accepting the new reality: I won't get hitched in China.

Our laoshi's revealing anecdote was also very funny, telling about a quirky tradition in which desperate parents get to Shanghai city centre to stick their daughters' "CV" on trees or wherever they can in the hope that a Chinese version of Prince Charming can pick his future wife. However, what most has remained impressed in my mind is the very first statement: "Are you over-30? Forget it, you are too ripe to find a husband."

Apart from having already reached the fatal expiration date, I've never felt the need, nor the desire for that matter, to get married.

It's not that I'm totally excluding the possibility, but admittedly, my nomadic lifestyle of changing country (or Continent!) every two years, doesn't help.

Call it "commitment issues", "restless soul", "running away from something", anything might fit the description, but at 32 years of age I haven't thought about marriage yet. Should I?

In Shanghai, discovering the Tea Art

It's been a while since I have updated my travel blog. My new Chinese life is keeping me very busy, especially the language course, that is becoming increasingly challenging. Of course, I'm not only studying. In fact, I've also been sightseeing in and out of Shanghai. In my quest for authentic traditions, I ended up delving into a local tea market.

If you think the national sport in China is Kung Fu, think again. Last Sunday, in fact, I went tea fighting, nonetheless.

I thought I was simply going to buy tea, but I sensed it wasn't that obvious when my friend told me: "Tasting tea is an art, not simple drinking."

I wanted to discover China's most intimate traditions, didn't I? Well, the Tea Art is one of them. Ancestral, fascinating, magical. To the extent that buying tea in a normal supermarket in China is almost betraying its roots and missing something essential of its culture.

Writes Yizhou Wu: "There are many legends and folklores about the tea". And this is only the beginning of the journey into this intriguing tradition that has been an important element in the Chinese society for thousands of years, throughout royal dinasties, revolutions and wars.

China has been repeatedly criticised for having completely lost its traditions and connection with its past. Although I find this statement very simplistic in the attempt to define a so complex culture such as the Chinese, I agree that much of their identity is being sacrificed for the sake of modernity, and often the worst aspects of globalisation are being adopted very easily.

However, one of the aspects of the ancient society that Chinese people are not ready to give up is indeed the Tea Art.

The most widespread legend about the tea sees Shennong, believed to have written the earliest book on Chinese pharmacology, as the main character. According to the tale, he tasted all kinds of plants and water with the aim to make people aware of what was edible and what wasn't.

Finally, one day he was poisoned by 72 different plants and found relief only tasting the leaves of tea trees. Although that book wasn't written by Shennong, who is himself a legendary figure, it's an important account of the beginning of the tea tradition.

According to the Chinese tradition, the tea plays an important role in the Cosmo. This is how Yu Lu in his The Classic of Tea puts it:

Tea grows on land, that is "earth"; it is brewed in a stove, that is "metal"; it is heated by the burning "fire", which is fuelled by charcoal, which is "wood"; the final tea drink is "water".

The process through which tea changes from being a plant to being a drink is a process of going through the natural process of five elements, metal, wood, water, fire and earth, to reach a state of harmony.

This gives an idea of how important the tea is, considered not merely a drink, but a plant with medicinal properties that plays a central role in the society itself. During business meetings, meals or while welcoming guests, any occasion sees the ritual of the tea happen.

At the tea market, every little shop appear as cosy sitting rooms in which customers are invited to sit and taste all kinds of tea and infusion before deciding if and/or which to buy.

Only staring at the ritual is already fascinating. First there's the washing of the tiny cups, then the first water is thrown away after one minute of infusion, and finally the set is ready for serving the beloved drink.

Also the tasting is part of the ritual, during which the seller will explain the characteristics of the tea you are sipping. The first advice they give is not to swallow immediately, so that you are able to fully understand the flavour and what the seller is saying: the origins, the type of land where the herb was harvested, the kind of processing that brought it to be a drink.

According to tradition, the spirit of the tea is aimed at giving peace to the soul. Says Xufeng Wang:

"Heping (peace) is the spiritual core of Chinese tea. Pinghe (tranquillity) is the outward shape of the peaceful spirit shown by tea drinkers. Heping and pinghe, peace and tranquillity, are interdependent like teeth and lips. Here, peace is a spirit, and also a shape; tranquillity is a shape, and also a spirit."

The expert moves of the sellers make the whole experience of purchasing tea so rich that it will feel a shame to simply pick one from the Carrefour shelves next time I want to buy it.

"Don't be afraid, you are in China!"

A view of the Great Wall of China

When our laoshi delivered to the class the odd statement "Don't be afraid: you are in China!", the first thing that crossed my mind was to imagine this sentence out of its context.

Admittedly, out of nowhere, it does make China look like some kind of shelter, and said by a Chinese person, you will inevitably think "Wow, Chinese people have a really great concept of their country!"

I am slowly appreciating the fact that Chinese people truly love their country, and every time a foreigner mentions Zhong Guo (China), the face of the local shines with a smirk, let alone when foreigners confess their own love for the Red Dragon.

However, the sudden burst of vigor didn't belong to such a patriotic context, but was simply a way to reassure the class that by living in China we naturally have all tools we need to learn the language properly and quickly.

Our teacher insists, and rightly so, that we need to go out and speak to as many people as possible.

After having overcome the initial shock of moving to such a different culture, I'm starting to getting to grips with Chinese mentality and outlandish lifestyle, so I took my teacher's advice and started talking to people in shops, streets or wherever I had the occasion.

The result so far hasn't been very remarkable as most people don't understand what I'm saying. Did I think learning Chinese was like learning any other language? Not quite.

Last week the government was conducting a population census in Shanghai and when the officer came to my place in order to "count me", I took it as a great occasion to sport the sentences I had just learnt and introduce myself. Wrong guess, little did I know that it was going to be source of greater frustration.

The man only understood I was from Italy, he didn't understand I was here to "study", and when I showed him the character and told him I was studying Chinese, he looked at me puzzled: "Are you studying Korean?!"

I get it: I need to look after my pronunciation.

The trick is to understand the difference between tones, they are four, and the same word can have four (or more) different meanings, according to the tone. Admittedly, to me the tones sound all pretty much the same, but our teacher promised us that they are completely different. It must be, otherwise people would understand at least some of the words I say.

I'm not even starting mentioning how hard learning the characters is, and now we are talking about a "simplified" Chinese, courtesy of Mao who thought the traditional characters were too difficult and imposed to make them "easier".

We learn about ten characters per class, and at the beginning (the very beginning, let's say the first ten characters), I was thrilled: "It's not that difficult after all!" I kept repeating to myself. After thirty characters (I know, just three classes) I had already changed my mind.

Not only the difference between tones is almost undetectable to foreign ears, but many characters are hopelessly similar, with only a couple of strokes marking the distinction between them.

While I'm increasingly less afraid of Shanghai life, I'm starting getting worried about communicating with locals. But I guess, like everything, it's only a matter of time.