Something's missing...

September 5, 2008

Something’s been missing in my life.

No, it’s not the ability to understand everything being said around me: the lack thereof just adds to the charm and excitement of the place in my eyes. And no, it’s not good ol’ American home cooking: I’ve been quite enjoying exploring the amazing new world of Chinese home cooking. Come to think of it, there’s not really anything inherently American that I miss. So what is it my life’s been missing? Music. Without Wolfgang, my trusty music-making sidekick (for those of you who haven’t been introduced, Wolfgang is my violin), there’s been a void in my life that even the mass of land and people that we call China couldn’t fill. So, at least to keep me sane during this interim while I search for an erhu teacher, I decided I’d spend my first free day since the CIEE program started to search for a suitable substitute to Wolfgang, to purchase a violin so I could patch up this increasingly-noticeable hole in my existence.

Yesterday, I attempted to use Chinese to explain the musical void in my life and my quest for a violin, and Shu Shu kindly agreed to take the morning off work to take me violin shopping, among other errands. This morning, we had the first rain I’ve noticed since I’ve been in Nanjing. Ayi and Ma Yu Jie reluctantly stepped out the door and into the storm, followed by Xiao Kong, so Ma Yu Jie could get to school on time and Xiao Kong could get to her office. Right after Ayi returned from the school run, the rain stopped. Shortly thereafter, Shu Shu and I set out on my quest. First things first, however: I still hadn’t registered at the local police station, apparently a must for all foreign students and local residents alike.

Next stop: a music store. The first place we found was a pristine and brand-new-looking 3-storey building. Violins (and erhus too, a whole wall of each!) were on the 2nd floor. There seemed to be a significant discrepancy in prices: I could buy a mediocre ¾ size violin for 385 kuai (roughly $45) or a nice full-sized instrument for over 2500 (I’ll let you do the math for that one). I said, more or less, thanks but no thanks and we were off and on our way again. Take 2: it took about a half hour of wandering around the underground maze of Xinjiekou (one of Nanjing’s main shopping districts) before we found it. It appeared to be a giant pawn shop type place in a bright basement room, exercise machines in one corner and antique furniture in another. And there, shining in the distance, in the far back corner of the store, was where the musical instruments were on display.

More erhus, many pianos… but only one scruffy-looking ¾ size violin? But wait: the guy behind the counter went into a back room and returned with a violin case. 340 kuai. I gave it a try. ‘Not bad,’ I thought, ‘but can you do a little better?’ Second time was the charm in this case: in the second music store we tried, the second case the fuwu yuan pulled out. Inside was just what I was looking for: a decent-sounding instrument with the same dark brown stain I’d been admiring at all the music stores I’ve been to so far—I’ve been doing some questing of my own—and for the right price at that.

As I was making up my mind—to buy or not to buy—the guy behind the music corner’s counter, who looked about as scruffy as the one violin hanging behind him, took down the most expensive erhu in the store. After explaining, “Erhu, violin, it’s really just the same thing, see?” he ripped into the instrument with such a fury and a passion that the rich notes were soon soaring across the store. Everyone stopped in the midst of their transactions, turned towards the sound, and listened. He made the bow fly across the strings until it turned into a blur. The deep soulful tones were strung together deftly into tunes and I was blown away. I’m by no means an erhu connoisseur, but this guy, whose latent talent I wouldn’t have expected, was the best erhu artist I’ve ever come across, whether live or via recording. He had the skill and the emotion to match. I wonder how many such incredibly talented people like this in China—or around the world, for that matter—are forced to fritter away their days trying to pay their bills by working at places like this odd basement pawnshop.

Music has now thus re-entered my life with a vengeance. With my new violin case and a new tune in my heart where the musical void once was, Shu Shu and I emerged victorious from the underground realm of Xinjeikou back in the light of day: all the rain clouds had by then cleared away. He led the way to what turned out to be one of his favorite restaurants, a Hot Pot or Huo Guo place pretty close to home. A two-chambered vat containing two different flavored stews was set in the middle of our table and the stove beneath it was set aflame. Shu Shu placed our order sushi-style, marking off a number indicating how many plates of whatever raw ingredient we wanted. It sounded like a rather lot, far more than the 2 of us could hope to finish.

When they brought bowl after bowl brimming with paper-thin slices of mutton and beef, diced vegetables, dumplings, strips of seaweed and long and thin tofu noodles… yeah, it indeed was an awful lot. By that time, the broth in our hot pot had reached a boil and we started plopping ingredients. Our chopsticks soon dove in after and fished out bits of mushroom here, slices of mutton there, noodles or seaweed strips that would inevitably drip on the table between the hot pot and my plate. It was oh-so good, oh-so fresh, and the broth was a perfect combination of flavors. But how were the two of us ever going to finish that much food?

Moments after that thought ran through my mind, Shu Shu’s friend arrived to join us. Another two friends of his came shortly after. Even with the help of 3 hearty-looking men, we still didn’t finish all we ordered, leaving chunks of cabbage or tangles of noodles and seaweed still bubbling in the boiling broth, a stray dumpling occasionally bobbing to the surface. That was an amazing meal. After walking me home, Shu Shu left for his office and left me home alone for the first time, turning on a movie about the war that ended the Han Dynasty before he left. Shu Shu strikes me as a real history buff. Whereas American history buffs have little more than 500 years to choose from (unless, of course, their willing to delve into the history of the nation’s first settlers, before us white people came and messed things up…), he’s got over 10 times as many years to delve into. As much as I’m into Chinese history, though, the film didn’t really do it for me. But Ayi soon returned, and I accompanied her on her way to pick up Ma Yu Jie from school.

As we approached the Lhasa Lu Elementary School, it sounded as if we were approaching an angry sea. But it wasn’t waves crashing on the shore making all that noise: it was the almost 2000 students reveling in their start-of-weekend freedom following the first week of school. We got to the entrance and it was jam-packed with people and virtually impassible. We inched our way into the schoolyard, squashed and surrounded on all sides with parents and grandparents coming to fetch their children from school on this Friday afternoon. It was quite a spectacle, but to everyone who was used to the spectacle (everyone but me), I was the spectacle. I was met with countless stares of surprise and curiosity. One young lad was even so startled to see me that he shrieked like a little schoolgirl. But the sound of his shout was drowned out by the din of the other students and the countless family members who had come to fetch them.

Later that afternoon, while Ayi was making dinner for the family (and I was pleased that she let me look on for the first time so I could study the secrets of her magical culinary skills), Ma Yu Jie begged me to show her my new violin. I was reluctant at first, thinking that I wouldn’t want to disturb my family or their neighbors in this close-knit apartment complex with my noisemaking. I missed music so much, though, that it didn’t take much begging before my violin (as yet without a name) emerged. Ma Yu Jie, momentarily fascinated by how this stick with the hair of a horse tail attached could make such a sound come out. “Forget piano,” she exclaimed, “I want to study violin now.” In less than a half hour, though, she more or less lost interest. I, on the other hand, was just getting warmed up. To all my fellow Silk Road Ensemble members out there, I’ve missed you and our music so much. Now, I've brought our music to the land where the Silk Road began.