Compare and contrast.

I've been itching for a foot massage since I returned to Shenzhen. I despise most massage, and believe that today's Chinese Masseurs are descended from a long line of Imperial Court Torturers. Foot massages are different, though. They sit you in a room, and give you tea, and bring in wooden buckets of steaming water and rose petals. You soak your feet for 10 or 15 minutes, and then they wrap your legs in towels that are just a notch below painfully hot. After wrapping both legs, they unwrap the first one and start the foot and leg massage. Fifteen minutes of oils and rubbing later, they re-wrap that leg, and unwrap the second. It truly is a pleasant experience.

That in mind, I eagerly awaited Wednesday night when my friend Eimoon and I had decided to go for a massage.

Allow me to introduce Miss Eimoon Jin. 'Moon was a waitress at my friend's Thai Restaurant when I worked at McCawley's. We became good friends. She is not Han Chinese, but is of the Dai Ethnic Minority Group from Yunnan Province. (The Dai are a people that split off from the Thai people, and populate the areas of Northern Thailand, Laos, Myanmar, and Southern Yunnan province. Their language is distinct from Thai, and their culture has also deviated.) Eimoon's name means "Little Moon" in Dai le, the language of her particular subgroup of Dai. She speaks Dai, Mandarin, Thai, and English. I'm mildly infatuated with the young lady.

Wednesday evening arrived, and I was heading to our appointed gathering place, when my phone rang. It was a mildly inebriated Eimoon begging forgiveness, but she had met a couple of people from her home town, and they had invited her for supper. They were running a bit late, and she wondered if we could post-pone our meeting for a half an hour. Nae problem. I headed down towards our path anyway, and took in a half hour off people watching, an absolute favourite pass time of mine. 5 minutes after the alloted meeting time, my phone rang again. A more inebriated Eimoon who didn't think she'd be able to enjoy a foot massage as she was a little too lit. She asked if I'd like to join her and her friends at their apartment. I weighed my options and sitting in a room full of drunk people I didn't know and couldn't communicate with seemed more appealing than going for a foot massage alone. I headed in her direction.

I arrived at the apartment with a few quarts of beer in tow. The television was playing a dubbed DVD of the new Bond flick (frig, those Triads are fast.) The coffee table was heavily laden with dishes of food. 'Moon sat on the couch drinking a wine glass full of Tsing Tao. Her two Dai friends were chatting and smoking. There were two other people on the couch who didn't seem to be in on the party, but were watching the movie. The girl looked familiar, but I couldn't place her, and the gent never once looked in my direction. After introductions, and glass filling and a cheers, the conversation carried on. In Dai.

Actually, this wasn't a bad thing. I was dreading arriving, and being the centre of attention, having people staring, commenting on A) How fat I was; B) That I was bald; C) That Canada was "wery bUdiful" (though they'd never been there or seen pictures of it); D) any number of average conversations between Gwei Lo (literally "Ghost Man" though often translated as "Foreign Devil") and Chinese last 30 seconds and then dries up into awkward silence. This gave me the opportunity to take in my surroundings.

The apartment was newish, and it was obvious that many people lived here. The "dining room" had a curtain hung to separate it from the living room, and a mattress could be seen on the floor. The balcony had been transformed into a closet and there were three bedrooms down the hall. I reckoned there were 5 people living there. (I've since come to realize that there were at least 8.) While I watched, another young lady wearing a traditional Dai skirt came out of the bedroom and sat on the couch to watch the Bond flick. It was at this point that the baby started to cry. The familiar looking girl ran down the hall, and brought back an infant that had a huge cranium. This head had its own weather system. The child got passed from Mother to 'Moon, to the boys, to me. He was a great baby, never cried, and was not afraid of the Gwei Lo. I commented on the monstrous head, and everyone laughed. In their respective languages they all referred to the child as "Big Headed Baby."

While I was holding the child and talking to him about the condition of the Hang Seng market, and whether I should invest in China or not, his mother asked Eimoon something about me in Mandarin. She apparently thought I was familiar, too. After a few minutes of questions back and forth, we realized that her husband, Kevin, had been my number 2 chef at McCawley's. This of course explained the child's head size, for Kevin was always called "Big Headed Cook" at McCawley's.

The evening flowed along with the beer. By the end of it, everyone was talking to everyone else, language differences be damned. At midnight I had to break the party up because, well, it was midnight, and I'm an old man who gets up at 5:30. The night ended with promises of a repeat performance next week at Eimoon's place, and then we were off.

Another reason I thoroughly enjoyed this night was watching Eimoon speaking in Dai, and reminiscing about growing up in her village. Though I couldn't understand the words, I could understand the conversation. These three were talking about a lost time in a village with no electricity, no toys, no money. Simple life on the farms. Hard work. Made up games. It was like watching a group of Maritimers discussing their childhood.

The next night, I had plans with some of my friends in the Expat community. We had booked a private room at a Muslim Restaurant just around the corner from the school. We ordered a full roasted lamb. I arrived a bit late and the crowd was already loosened up. Chins were wagging, and smart ass comments were flying. Jokes about the fat Welshman, and the skinny Scot, and the americans speaking Chinese with New Mexican accents. (The Bald Canadian had a pass. The boys are mildly in awe of the fact that I managed to woo Miss Eimoon.)

All this ruction and riot came swiftly to an end, though, when Little Bo Peep's lost sheep was carried into the room. Everyone was handed a plastic glove. And then the barbarism kicked in. It was a bit like a silent movie though. Everyone drinking beer, chewing lamb bones, and faltbread, and not a word was spoken. After 10 minutes of this someone said "How do you shut up ten fat pricks?" There was a ripple of laughter, followed swiftly by more silence...

When the lamb was half devoured, the waitress brought in a huge bowl of Xin Jiang Stew. This is a spicy stew from Northwest China (Xin Jiang province), full of potatoes, noodles, chilies, and chicken. The broth is red and lovely, and perfect when soaked up in flat bread.

After a couple of hours, I took my leave and walked home. I reflected on my two evenings, and how different they were, and how similar. It was nice to feel comfortable in both settings, and to be able to gather with friends for food and drink.

No real conclusions to draw here, other than I won't starve.

Hope all is well.