Impressions of Guanzhong Culture
I entered a fabric store with a group of tourists. Garments and bedding made of hand-woven cloth are sold in the outer room. In the inner room, tourists can pose for photos with old looms and spinning wheels. The neighboring shop sells canvas shoes, including a selection of adorable children’s shoes featuring embroidered animal heads. Further down the street, I came across a woodcut studio. Compared with other stores, this studio had few browsers. It seemed that the owner had been gone for a while and had left some stone templates and uncolored woodcut prints in the studio. I found that most of the works depicted auspicious symbols or scenes from picture-story books. The vivid figures in ancient style evoked memories of illustrations in traditional thread-bound books.
Stepping out of the studio, the smell of liquor drifted over from a bar next door called Old Street. Its homemade shilixiang (literally, a wine whose aroma can be smelled miles away) and nüerhong (daughter wine) drew me in. The interior was simple – a couple of wooden tables and a wooden wheel hanging on the bar counter – in sharp contrast to the more trendy bars that can be found on the new pub street behind.
Cozy Tea Time
At the point where the road widens, I found Tongjigong, a teahouse dating back to the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). An old waiter hummed tunes from the local opera while rhythmically pulling bellows for tea-making. Although busy, he looked to be in his own little world, and when there was a lull in service, he sat quietly next to the earthen stove, looking bored and lonely. The teahouse serves the local specialty Jingweifu, a kind of black tea with a rather pungent taste. Because of its strong flavor, people prefer to spend a leisurely afternoon drinking the tea until its taste mellows.
On a small stage in the front of the teahouse, several elderly men were performing Laoqiang Opera, a traditional folk art in Guanzhong. To the accompaniment of an erhu (a two-stringed Chinese fiddle), they sang in an imposing manner so that even though the lyrics in Guanzhong dialect were hard to understand, I could picture the epic battle scene they were describing.
While customers enjoyed their teatime, a number of masseurs and masseuses wound their way through the tables looking for potential clients. The most popular among them was a stout, middle-aged man dressed in a red, traditional Chinese suit. Those who used his services told me he was a master at soothing the neck and shoulder muscles.
A rather more “no-frills” teahouse is Wang’s behind Tongjigong. It is actually no more than a large, thatched shed. Its folksy environment reminded me of where the heroes gather in the famous novel Outlaws of the Marsh. The young waitresses are dressed in white suits and green aprons. A loudspeaker broadcasts ballads and short stories in Guanzhong dialect. The dialect sounds crisp, creating a convivial atmosphere.
A star storyteller, Old Deng, regularly performs in Wang’s Teahouse. Wearing a pair of reading glasses, a cigarette dangling from his lips, he looked to me like a big shot in old Shanghai. In spite of the fact that I grew up in Guanzhong, I found Old Deng’s strong accent hard to understand so I could only guess he was telling stories about history and famous people.
All You Can Eat
The food street beyond Tongjigong Teahouse is the most crowded part of Yuanjia Village. Snack bars are too small for chairs or tables, so visitors squeeze onto benches outside. The turnover of these snack bars is high – no sooner has one diner finished his meal than another snaps up his place.
A bustling tofu stand caught my eye. The tofu sold here is much more solid than regular tofu and tastes better due to a special binding solution used in the process. Business was brisk – a number of products on a shelf were marked “reserved.” Instead of that tofu, I ordered another appetizing specialty, tofu pudding, served floating in a bowl of soup like flower buds on a lake. From the first spoonful to the last, the taste of tofu with a seasoning of coriander, vinegar and chili oil was amazing.
A well-known yogurt shop stands opposite the tofu stand. I was told to expect long queues but I didn’t find many people outside when I got there. Evidently, the last batch of yogurt had just sold out and the next batch would not be ready for an hour. It was clear the people waiting were disgruntled. But it turned out to be worth the wait. I knew from the first sip that this was the best yogurt I had ever tasted – a river of sweetness cooled my mouth, throat and stomach.
I didn’t intend to buy any laozao, a beverage made of fermented glutinous rice, when I passed by a shop selling it. But the sample caught my interest and I could not help myself.
The moreish flavor of snacks in Yuanjia Village can be attributed to the first-rate ingredients. Every snack bar declares the source of the ingredients it uses on a board and hangs it on the front door. So, diners not only benefit from exquisite taste, but also from peace of mind that the snacks are made from genuine resources.
Many city-dwellers hanker after a simple, pastoral life. Living in busy, noisy cities, we eat processed food because it’s more convenient, wear garments made of synthetic materials because they’re cheaper, and listen to fickle pop music because it’s unavoidable. But deep in our hearts, we dreadfully miss free-range eggs, hand-woven cloth and the pristine folk operas that echo in our memories of home and childhood.
In Yuanjia Village people often feel they have traveled back in time to the good old days, pre-industrialization and pre-commercialization, when life was simple and so was happiness. This place allows us to rediscover the meaning of life and return to nature.
