It is a good thing when you travel with people you like and who like to do the same sorts of things.
We like to eat.
Go to markets.
Eat.
Watch people.
Take the back streets.
Eat.
Go to grocery stores.
Eat.
Taste whatever is cooking on the side of the road.
Yes, you might say we are food-oholics.
We heard of this restaurant from someone somewhere and than read about it again in a guide book, we thought we might as well give it a try since it was famous for its home made dim sum…
Dim Sum as we learned from Alfredo and Irina meant: "Little pieces of heart".
When we were with Alfredo and Irina in Hong Kong we had our fair share of "Little pieces of heart". We recalled that each bamboo basket had two or three dim sum in each, and that Alfredo ordered several bamboo baskets of dim sum.
The menu was in Chinese (of course), Chelsea speaks a bit of Chinese, but reading it is another thing. When the waitress came to our table Chelsea requested dim sum without meat. As she discussed the options I eyed the menu pad… how I would like to have some of those for notepads. Crazy thoughts, but they are the thoughts I have had through China. Those receipt booklets are enviable.
When Chelsea told us she ordered three different types of dim sum, French Husband and I spoke up, "Oh no, that is not enough, dim sum is small and usually there are only two or three in a basket, you should order six or seven different ones."
Chelsea the obedient daughter did not hesitate with our command. The waitress gave us a funny look, stared at our bodies, and offered an eighth one: "Red bean dim sum." By far the best one I might add.
When the baskets came we knew we were going to oink our way home. They were HUGH, eight dim sum per basket! Luscious, heavenly delicious bites of wonder. But there was not way we could eat 64 big chubby pieces of heart!
I felt guilty leaving some behind, though Chelsea told us it is customary not to finish your plate, because that means the cook fed you well, that you did not leave the table hungry. It is the compliment to the cook.
Certainly the cook smiled, and most likely thought, "Happy Piglettes!"
We took out stuffed bodies to the Forbidden City.
Which is across the street from Tiananmen Square.
We bought our entrance tickets and walked in not through the main entrance, but on the side where there was a lovely garden. The impressive buildings with dark orange/reddish walls and layers and layers of tiled roofs pointing up at the ends caught our attention. The ceilings of the covered pathways along the garden were painted with pastoral scenes, gorgeous! Surprising me, considering Chinese art, nor decor ever played on my radar of appreciation.
As we walked further into the garden I noticed that the people where talking in hushed voices, and saw white pieces of papers on the ground. Around some of the papers people gathered. I stopped, and tried to figure out what was going on… was it a public place to talk politics? Or have philosophical discussions?
I walked up to one of the groups and a silence greeted me. I noticed people eyeing Chelsea, looking at French Husband oddly, there was a curiosity that did not imply with the fact that we were foreigners… something else was at play. It intrigued me.
I asked a tall handsome Chinese man, "Do you speak English?" When he said yes, I asked him to explain to me what was happening, "Are you having political discussions?"
He laughed with his smile, nodded no, then in a whisper of a voice said, "Parents of grown children gather here to find partners for their children."
"Matchmaking!" I beamed and looked around.
"No, no, not really match making. More a place to introduce grown children. Parents worried children find no partner. Parents put piece of paper on the ground, other parents read paper. If there is something interesting parents talk, show picture of grown child, and share phone numbers."
"Really! Do they grown children want their parents to find them a partner?" I quizzed.
"Not usually." He looked down, then added, "But they do not have time, grown children working to hard to have time to meet each other. Parents take active role."
"So if you find someone you think you son or daughter might like you exchange numbers and hopefully your son or daughter might call and meet, right?" I asked.
"Yes, like that." He looked at Chelsea.
The handsome Chinese man later told me that the pieces of papers on the ground told the sex, age, birth date, height, weight of the person, plus what they did for a living.
Most the pieces of papers spoke of highly educated sons and daughters who were in their thirties and older. Obvisiouly, there were more men available then women.
Match making paradise. Well sort of. It made sense to me. I wanted to get right in there and start match making at a fast rate. Not is hush tones, but in hopefully, happy, let's get it on and going… put some musical love in the air.
But what I sensed was this was serious business. Traditional. Caring. Fearful. Holding out hope. Concern. With grown children who want to find someone but do not have the time, and do not want their parents to worry either. It was not a place for curious tourists, nor a match maker's heart like my own, who took the wrong entrance into the Forbidden City.
We walked on with little pieces of dim sum in our hearts.
If you are married… how old were you?
I was two weeks shy of thirty, French Husband was twenty-five. Does that mean I am a cougar?
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