Chinese Diwali?

Rather, Chinese new year. Starting around 11:30 the entire night sky is suddenly incandescent. People emerge from their homes and hutongs and all at once there are rockets, bombs, roman candles, sparklers, etc., everywhere. Awesome. The year of the Pig is here.

In front of me an old man emerges from a hutong door on Jiu Gulou Dajie. He has a long metal pole in his hands and gestures to his grandson who is slowly unpacking the little bombs that are strung together and which go off in quick succession [what the hell do you call those things? I only know their name in Hindi!]. He gestures to his grandson to use the pole, hitch the firecracker to a tree, and make it dangle like a big python. The grandson doesn’t seem all that enthused. He is self-conscious in the way most teens are, wary, even afraid of being made to look un-cool by his evidently out of the loop grand dad.

Further down the street, people are lining up bombs and rockets. Nearby, the Drum and Bell tower are brilliantly lit up. Rockets shoot up from the space between them, reminding us that the tower square has its own contingent of revelers.

Our own supply of firecrackers has already been spent. Sadly, we blew our proverbial wad a tad bit early. Now all we can do is stand back and admire. It is better this way I feel. I am reminded of Diwali back home. I miss it. The Chinese version is different I guess in that the pyrotechnics are concentrated around midnight. But it is a great feeling to be standing up, scanning the skies, ears perked (or should I rather say dulled).

Earlier in the day, we had all gathered at Eveline and Ann's for some New Year's potluck. I was drafted into making some chicken to accompany Ann's risotto. It was going rather well till I added a bit too much tomato sauce. The end result was acceptable, but the midway point had promised so much more. Jason rustled up some greens to round off the main course. We also had dumplings to ensure it felt like new years, and fruit pizza to ensure that a sense of the strange was never very far away. Wine was aplenty, and the view out their 20th floor balcony was quite spectacular.

Back in Houhai, we continue to admire the night sky. After what seems longer, but is only about an hour, the dropping mercury nudges us ever so gently towards Dong An and its warm sofas and chairs. And just as we get comfortable in walks, guess who? Cui Jian! I don’t recognize him, but others do. Strange: new years begins with the sighting of the Grand Old Man of Chinese Rock, who as Lauren has recently discovered is now exploring Reggae as well. He walks by and enters a private little room. We don’t seem him after that. I order myself some Bailey’s coffee as sink lower into the sofa...