{"id":193,"date":"2013-09-15T05:00:22","date_gmt":"2013-09-15T12:00:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/?p=193"},"modified":"2021-08-03T12:50:01","modified_gmt":"2021-08-03T19:50:01","slug":"you-cant-go-home-again","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/visiting-gulangyu\/you-cant-go-home-again\/","title":{"rendered":"“You Can’t Go Home Again”"},"content":{"rendered":"

Locked out.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

“You can’t go home again<\/a>” is the title of a novel by Thomas Wolfe. It’s meant metaphorically. But for many years it was literally true for my husband. His hometown was locked away behind the Bamboo Curtain, off-limits to outsiders.<\/p>\n

Maybe that\u2019s why my husband kept his childhood memories so bright and alive in the stories he told.<\/p>\n

In Eugene\u2019s stories people rode in sedan chairs and ate \u201cfried ghosts.\u201d They climbed Sunlight Rock and played in the street. His hometown, Gulangyu, was a colorful, dramatic place, frozen in the mind of an eight-year-old boy.<\/p>\n

Then, thirty-four years after he left China, the curtain parted.<\/p>\n

Nothing changed and everything did.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\"Gul-5\"<\/a><\/p>\n

If you\u2019ve ever returned to someplace after a long absence, you know how faded and small or even unrecognizable it can seem. When our ship sailed between Gulangyu and Xiamen, Eugene stood silently at the railing, gazing at the once-colorful scene. On that drizzly day it looked more like a sepia print.<\/p>\n

We caught a taxi, and, after a contentious dispute over our reservation (See my post, \u201cNo Room at the Inn<\/a>.\u201d), we checked into our hotel in Xiamen.<\/p>\n

The following morning we caught the ferry to Gulangyu<\/a>. Our fellow passengers, who all seemed to be wearing the same blue or grey jackets, stared at Eugene\u2019s clothes and mustache and at my light hair and blue eyes. Two men behind us were particularly obnoxious, cackling and chattering in their dialect. Suddenly Eugene whipped around and shouted at them. The men’s mouths dropped open, and then, smiling sheepishly, they muttered something and backed off.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey called me a fat Japanese. Said I had an ugly big-nosed wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI asked them who the hell they thought they were calling Japanese.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI called them sons of turtles, and they apologized. Said they didn\u2019t know I was one of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all? You didn\u2019t stand up for my beauty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, honey. They didn\u2019t mean anything. Remember, there haven\u2019t been any foreigners here since before they were born. Anyway, they said the kids turned out okay. I think they were a little surprised by that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The ferry docked, and while I was still considering the unchallenged insult to my good \"Gul-3\"<\/a>looks, the crowd swept us onto the dock and up the hill. When Eugene was a child, wheeled vehicles were banned on Gulangyu. They still were. In fact, as we made our way up the narrow, curving lanes, it seemed that nothing had changed. Eugene recognized shops and houses and schools.<\/p>\n

We visited Mr. Ma, an old family friend who lived in the same house he\u2019d occupied for the past fifty years. His wife prepared fresh spring rolls for us that were just like those Eugene\u2019s mother used to make, the wrapper soft, the seaweed crisp, and the pork and vegetables sliced as thin as toothpicks.<\/p>\n

Surface impressions can be misleading, though. No way had we gone back to Eugene\u2019s childhood. Mr. Ma didn’t have control over his own house. Two other families lived downstairs while his wife, grown children and grandchildren all lived with him on the top floor.<\/p>\n

\"Eugene's<\/a>The most disappointing sight for me was of Eugene\u2019s old house. It was a nice two-story red brick house with white pillars and pale blue louvered shutters. But hearing his stories, I\u2019d imagined it much larger and more Chinese, an old-fashioned Chinese house with an inner courtyard.<\/p>\n

I could never live there again.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

It rained on our way back to Hong Kong. I listened to the confused pattern of waves and rain battering the side of the ship as I sat cross-legged on my narrow bunk.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t stop thinking,\u201d Eugene said from his side of the room. \u201cIt\u2019s so different. I could never live there.\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t exactly confess that day that Gulangyu hadn\u2019t lived up to his memories, but afterwards he seldom told stories about his childhood. Which was fine, I suppose. He had plenty of other stories to tell.<\/p>\n

\"my<\/a><\/p>\n

Next week’s post: Fashion Torture<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Locked out. “You can’t go home again” is the title of a novel by Thomas Wolfe. It’s meant metaphorically. But for many years it was literally true for my husband. His hometown was locked away behind the Bamboo Curtain, off-limits to outsiders. Maybe that\u2019s why my husband kept his childhood memories so bright and alive […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[16],"tags":[17,19,27,28],"class_list":["post-193","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-visiting-gulangyu","tag-bamboo-curtain","tag-homecoming","tag-kulangsu","tag-storyteller"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p3Kn1e-37","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":894,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/visiting-gulangyu\/the-fall-of-the-bamboo-curtain\/","url_meta":{"origin":193,"position":0},"title":"The Fall of the Bamboo Curtain","author":"Nicki Chen","date":"September 7, 2013","format":false,"excerpt":"China, out of reach When I was growing up, large portions of the earth were simply off limits to us\u2014the Soviet Union, cut off by the Iron Curtain; East Germany, blocked by the Berlin Wall; and China, hidden from view behind the Bamboo Curtain. 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