Before we left for Hong Kong, I taught sixth-grade world cultures including China past and present. I have amassed quite the collection of artifacts for my China unit: fans, umbrellas, a copy of Mao’s little red book, hats, figurines.When we eventually return to Chicago, there is a good chance that I will resume teaching world cultures. So everywhere we go in Hong Kong, I’m always looking for lightweight, inexpensive items that are emblematic of Chinese culture past and present that I can ship home. So far, I have some collapsible paper lanterns, a few coins, and a Coke can with both English and Chinese writing on it.
Sunday after church and lunch, we were strolling down Kings Road on the main island with some friends and their kids. It was the usual: open vegetable stand, cell phone store, small home electronic store, hole-in-the-wall restaurant. I found a few interesting things -including people- to take pictures of. But then we walked past a store that looked like it was selling piñatas. Kind of unusually for a city that doesn’t really have an Hispanic populations to speak of. But then it clicked and I knew immediately what I was looking at.
“Guys, you go on ahead. I’ll catch up. Julie, I need a hundred bucks” (about US$12.50). I put the lens cap on my camera and went inside.
The Chinese of Hong Kong are not overly religious, but they are fairly beholden to tradition when it comes to all things related to death. The Chinese have traditionally sent their loved ones into the afterlife with a little cash to help them settle into their new life on the other side. They send the money along by burning it. Being the good stewards that they are, they haven’t used real money for a very long time. Instead, they buy fake money to burn. Why not. After all, their loved ones won’t know the difference. They’re dead.
But grandpa is going to need a lot more than just money if he’s going to make a go of it in the land of the dead. Therefore, one can also buy miniature paper cars and houses, paper food, paper clothes, and paper shoes. And that is exactly what I was looking at. A whole store full. Each item was packaged in a flat display box with clear plastic over it so you could see the contents. It was inexpensive, lightweight, and distinctively Chinese. Perfect. I was like Martha Stewart at a Nantucket rummage sale.
I felt a little conspicuous, being non-Chinese and pretty clearly a non-Buddhist. I was pretty obviously a big, fat tourist. But I don’t easily embarrass. Besides, the lady behind the counter did not raise any objections when it came time for me to use my very real cash to pay for a bundle of her fake money.
After ten minutes, I made my selection: a cardboard cell phone set, an assortment of packaged food items including ramen soup, some sort of cool origami paper flower-looking thingee, and a shirt/pants/tie combo (hey, just because you’re dead, doesn’t mean you can’t look good). And of course the obligatory wad of fake money. Grand total: about eight bucks.
This was so cool. My students back home would be fascinated by these items and they would help me communicate the importance in Chinese culture of venerating one’s ancestors.
A few minutes later, I caught up to Julie, the girls, and our friends at a camping supply store where the four young Chinese clerks were doting on our friends’ two little boys. The young ladies kept trying to dress the boys up in assorted wool hats. I found a stool to sit on while our friends debated the virtues of various backpacks.
When there appeared to be a lull in their shopping, I thought I would show my acquisitions to our friends. Being teachers, maybe they would be inspired to go back and buy themselves a little something. So I started to pull the assorted boxes from my shopping bag. I kind of propped them up in my arms so they could get a good look at the cool stuff I had bought.
But then out of the corner of my eye, I caught Julie doing that thing wives perfect after twenty years of marriage. She was clearing her throat and nodding toward the other side of the room. It was a virtual kick to the shins under the table. I turned to follow her gaze.
And there standing behind a table of thermal underwear were the four clerks in their matching green t-shirts. Whatever work they had been doing, had come to a halt. Wide-eyed, they were staring at us –well, to be more exact, they were staring at me. One of them broke the silence and asked me “Do you know what that it?” I looked down at all the stuff in my arms. I looked back up at her. I could only begin to image what she thought I was thinking.
"No, you don't understand," I wanted to explain. "I'm a school teacher and I ... I would never do anything to . . . I . . ." Instead, I just nodded weakly and said “Yes, I do.” I started putting the items back in my bag. Julie just hung her head.
While our friends were snickering, I made a quick and graceless exit from the store. Just for good measure, I walked down two or three stores before I found a railing to lean against as I waited for the rest of the group to finish up. They weren’t long in coming. When they all found me, they were still laughing. Well, not Julie. She was mortified.
For the rest of our trip home, I had inexplicably lost the urge to take any pictures. My camera stayed at my side. I was done being a bad tourist for the day
-Jack
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