Lifestyle / Hot Pot Column

Tug-of-war with a stubborn old man

By Andrew London ( China Daily ) Updated: 2007-06-14 14:27:05

What can you fit in two hours waiting for a train? How about a tussle with a little old man and his mule? Maybe a succulent cow head for lunch? Or you can always crash a wedding. What a way to end a weekend coastal escape.

Tug-of-war with a stubborn old man Standing by the side of a busy road in Qinhuangdao, the six of us had caught cabs from the nearby seaside resort town of Beidaihe, a popular holiday destination for foreigners. We were on our way back to Beijing, and were hungry for lunch.

Qinhuangdao is a small coal and petroleum port city in Hebei Province and worthy of exploration.

I saw a mule harnessed to an old wooden cart. Its bowed head, sad eyes and knobbled legs showed signs of a weary animal that had resigned itself to defeat after years of hauling vegetables.

A picture opportunity! First the mule, then, with his permission, its owner. The man must have been pushing 70, but was still strong. I could tell that as he gripped my arm as I said "thank you" and prepared to leave. But he wouldn't let go. He was anxious. I was stunned. I gathered he wanted a Polaroid picture from my digital camera.

Soon enough a happy snap escalated into a tug-of-war as curious locals swarmed around the mule, the old man, the laowai with the camera, and his gobsmacked friends. He wouldn't let me go for three minutes.

Thankfully, an old lady came out of nowhere and rescued me. In front of the heckling onlookers, she waved her index finger madly yelling at the old man.

We made our escape and the search for food continued. We wandered down a long road with a dozen tiny eateries, where staff squatted outside sharpening knives and meat cleavers.

We hoped to find a place with picture menus. One restaurant had a very graphic menu, which revealed a nice, big, succulent cow head. Its bulging eyeballs stared up at us, tongue half hanging out of its mouth.

No thanks.

A hotel would have a restaurant, we believed. True, except the hotel restaurant we walked into looked like a bomb had hit it: Thick smoke filled the air from hundreds of smoked cigarettes, food scraps and plates stacked on tables, and red confetti all over the floor looked like remnants of exploded firecrackers during Spring Festival.

Staff cleared tables as crowds of well-dressed people milled around. It was a wedding reception.

The parents of the groom handed over money, a thick wad of 100-yuan notes, to hotel staff.

Carrying backpacks, we skated in between the hundreds of guests, who looked at us curiously, but not unwelcoming. We saw the happy couple mingling with friends. We looked at them. They looked at us, we smiled and they smiled back. "Congratulations," we said.

The young groom acknowledged us with a who-are-you look, and in perfect English said: "Thank you."

Our train was leaving soon and there was no chance of getting a quick bite in this town.

Qinhuangdao: two hours, a mule, a cow head and a wedding.

We eventually settled on a salad.

(China Daily 06/14/2007 page20)