Don’t get me wrong, Australia is a glorious place to live and I’m a great Aussie patriot. I’m quite desperate for the warm embrace of familiarity we’ll experience upon going home, and seeing my children hug and squeeze their homeland is going to be an enormous thing. How I ache for the easy, pristine, relaxed, familiar life of Australia. The fresh air, the surreal blue skies, the laid-back amiability, the solid four seasons, the availability, the variety, the honesty, the openness, the warmth, the gum trees, the sporting hysteria, the liquorice bullets and lolly bananas.
How I crave the waft of a barbecue meandering through the neighbourhood, the swoop of a magpie and the cackle of a kookaburra. How I miss the Banksia trees and the wildflowers and digging my hands into the earth to make a hole and pop in a daffodil bulb. How I miss the stunning range of fresh food, the supermarket aisles bursting with cereal boxes and breads, the picnics in the park where you can play cricket on the grass. I even miss the Aussie accent, for goodness’ sake.
However, while familiarity is a wonderful thing, I am also nervous about it. I’m nervous about going home and slipping into a familiarity and an ease that takes us off our toes, that steals away the shortness of breath, the drive and the intensity and the energy that comes from challenging situations.
So what I’m going to do is tap into that invisible undercurrent of energy to be found anywhere in the world if we look hard enough, and I’m going to keep thriving on that Beijing energy, even inside a house ringed by gum trees and hovering blue sky.
Sure, I’ll have to drive the kids to school, scrub toilets and, God forbid, cook dinner. But I’ll do it with gusto while simultaneously keeping a finger on the pulse of all that is happening in my new town. Of the cultural, spiritual, dynamic elements that so easily get lost in the humdrum of everyday life, especially when that everyday life is within your own culture and heritage. It’s so easy to get lost in your own culture and heritage without the smack-in-the-face polarities and disparities of living Elsewhere.
How blessed we’ve been to have had this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spread our wings in China. Trust me, I won’t be leaving here without a full understanding of the gifts this has given our family.
Nonetheless.
It’s time to go home.
Dear China
Zai jian
In these last weeks before we leave, I’ve begun thinking about the things I’d like to say to you. And I really don’t know where to start, so forgive me if I ramble.
Before we came to live with you, to be perfectly honest I hadn’t heard great things. I heard you were a little cold and a teensy bit preoccupied with your own history. I also heard you carried a lot of baggage and that you found it hard to make new friends or to let down the barriers long enough to get to know someone really well. This worried me somewhat, but I do have faith in human nature, and I decided to give you a go.
When we first arrived, I was surprised at how wrong the rumours were. Sure, you were a little standoffish, even surprised to see me, but you soon warmed up and made me feel welcome.
Since then, we’ve had a mostly easy relationship; sometimes you won’t listen and sometimes you insist on things being your way. Sometimes you thrive on complicating things for the hell of it but there’s also been a lot of give and take, a lot of acceptance.
To be honest, I won’t miss your often puerile nature. I won’t miss the way you covet money nor your starry-eyed, calculated greed and complete miscomprehension of the term ‘repeat business’. I won’t miss the imbecilic red tape that straps up even the simplest transactions of everyday living. I won’t miss the scarcity of sunsets and rainbows and birds and butterflies and frogs. I won’t miss the filth, the crowds, the pushing and shoving and the inability to form a queue. Lord knows, I won’t miss the roads.
What I will miss are the years of secret history, pain and joy etched into the faces of the little old men, fanning themselves in their singlets in the hutong alleyways. I will miss the fat, shaven-headed babies in their bamboo prams, flashing their family jewels through split pants. I will miss the soft, gentle call of sellers in laneways, drifting to the highrise buildings above. I will miss the addictive food sellers on the street, the superlative Beijing dumpling, the markets bursting with fresh produce, the provincial farmers cycling their carts into town with nuts and seeds and fruit and chinaware.
I will miss the silk and the baubles and the talented artisans. I’ll miss the tender, funny, miscommunicated relationships with locals. I’ll miss both the crabby cab drivers and the ones you want to take home for dinner. I will miss the parks and the tea and the vistas and the ancient buildings straddled by high-tech skyscrapers. I will miss the spectacle—the acrobats, the ceremonies, the temple fairs, the crackers, the celebrations that only the Chinese know how to do so well.
It hasn’t always been easy. Living with you has been frustrating and infuriating and challenging, too. But it has also stretched my soul wide open and crammed in culture and spirit and tolerance and understanding and maybe even a little patience.
So China, I want to thank you.
Thank you for making me feel comfortable when I felt most alone. Thank you for having patience with me when I was at my most Western—when I was rude, harried or impatient with your ways. Thank you for not staring at me in horror when I was at my worst, but rather with an innate curiosity and acceptance. Thank you for making me gasp and clutch my hands to my chest at your beauty, at your rawness, at your talent and scope.
Thank you for accepting me into your world—I am so aware that living here in your home was a privilege not a right, and I am so grateful to you for the opportunity.
And, most importantly, above all else—thank you for making me love you. How I will miss you.
Tania, and her loving family
Glossary
Aodaliya jia you! (ow dali ya, jee-ah yo) Go Australia!, literally: ‘Australia add oil’ or ‘press down on the accelerator’ or ‘go’!
April Gourmet expat supermarket
ayi (aye-ee) maid, literally: auntie
bai jiu (bye-jeoh) a clear, toxic rocket fuel used to expose the inner contents of your stomach, literally: ‘white alcohol’
baozi (bao-zr) bread dumplings
Beijing (bay-jing) literally ‘northern capital’ – the ‘j’ is not soft
Beijingfan (bay-jing-fun) food endemic to Beijing
Beijingren (bay-jing-ren) local Beijing people
bing (bing) egg pancakes
bu xie (boo shee-eh) no problem, you’re welcome, literally: ‘don’t thank’
Chang’an Jie (chung-un-jeeay) the east – west road that divides Tian’anmen from the Forbidden City, literally: ‘long peace street’
da sha (dah sha) big building
dongxi (doong-shee) ‘thing’
Dongzhimen (doong-jrr-mn) a north-eastern, inner area of Beijing
er hu (er hoo) a traditional lute-like instrument
feng (fung) wind
fu huo jie kuai le! (foo hwar jee-yeh kwai la) Happy Easter!
furen (foo-ren) madam
gong fu (goong foo) kung fu
gong xi fa cai (goong shee fah tsai) said to others during Chinese New Year, literally: ‘wishing you enlarge your wealth’
guanxi (gwan-shee) social and business connection
hao le! (how la) great! (among a million other meanings)
haw chips sweet, dried discs of haw fruit
hutong a type of narrow street or alleyway formed by lines of traditional courtyard houses
Jenny Lou expat supermarket
jian bing (jee-an bing) breakfast crêpes
jian de (jee-an de) real
jiao (jee-ow) cent, also called mao
jiaozi (jee-ow-zr) dumpling
jie jie (jee-eh jee-eh) big sister; little sister is mei mei
kuai (kwy) slang for money, literally: ‘piece’ or ‘unit’
lao (lao) old
laoshi (lao-shr) teacher
laowai
(lao-why) foreigner, literally: ‘white devil’, we are also called ‘big noses’
mafan (mah-fun) trouble
mama huhu (mama hoo-hoo) so-so, not bad, okay
mei you (ma-yo) don’t have
ni hao (nee-how) hello
ni hao ma? (nee-how-mah) how are you?
nin hao polite form of ni hao
pengyou (pung-yo) friend
pu tao jiu (poo tao jee-oh) wine
pu-erh (poo-err) a type of black tea that comes in a solid block and is renowned for its healthful properties, including aiding weight loss
qi pao (chee-pow) traditional Chinese dress
ren (ren) people
shengdan kuai le! (shung dun kwy le) Happy Christmas!
tai tai (ty-ty) wife
The Jing expat slang for Beijing
Tian’anmen (tee-un-ah-mn) the world’s largest city central square, right in the heart of Beijing, just south of the Forbidden City, literally: Heaven Peace Gate
ting bu dong (ting-boo-dong) I hear you but I don’t understand what you’re saying
Tsingtao (tsing-tao) brand of local beer
wei (way) hello, when answering the telephone
wo (war) I, me
xiansheng (see-an-shung) husband or ‘sir’
xie xie (shee-eh shee-eh) thank you
xin nian kuai le! (shin nee-an kwy la) Happy New Year!
yuan (yoo-an) Chinese currency, approximately six yuan to the Australian dollar
zai jian (zy jee-an) goodbye
Special thanks to the wonderful team at Exisle Publishing for knowing this book would touch women of all cultures and life experience, and especially publisher Anouska Jones for making the experience such a creative pleasure.
Thanks to my beautiful China dolls and endless inspiration
—Ella and Riley—and lastly, thanks also to Beijing.
Back Cover Material
When Tania McCartney discovered she’d be moving her husband, self and two kids under the age of five to china for four years, she was 95 per cent horrified. What she never expected was to fall in love. Beijing seeped under her skin and grabbed hold of her heart ... a love affair that inspired Beijing tai tai, a collection of shrewdly observed, heartfelt and humorous insights into Beijing expatriate life.
Intensely personal, at times a little controversial, Beijing Tai Tai is a rollercoaster ride of honesty and openness as a wife (tai tai) and mother juggles suburban family life in urban Beijing. Presented in a series of love/hate column-like snippets—on topics ranging from the consumption of bull testicles to the life-altering experience of walking the Great Wall—it exposes expatriate life in a country on the brink of great change.
From tragic hair moments and bustling silk markets to China's quest to stay true to its ancient origins, Beijing Tai Tai is a book for anyone interested in this diverse and culturally rich country. It's for anyone, from anywhere, who knows what it's like to fall in love, explore new worlds and live with challenges. It's about life in a city full of soaring highs and disconsolate lows—but never anything less than remarkable.
TANIA MCCARTNEY is an Australian author of children's books and adult non-fiction. She is an experienced magazine writer and editor, is the founder of respected literary site Kids Book Review and writes for several websites. She has lived and worked in London, Paris and Beijing, and currently resides in Canberra with a husband, two kids and a mountain of books.
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