20.2.12 - Buy This Print

We arrived at Hung Lee outside a two story building. White concrete and steel gates are the only two things I could use to describe it. I looked at my driver and told him to meet me at 1.30.

"Here," I said pointing to the ground, "At one thirty, yes?"

He was confused. I needed to be back in Guangzhou to meet Joyce and Vivian at 3 o'clock. Because I didn't have a phone it was quite important I was standing at the subway station we agreed on at exactly 3 o'clock otherwise trying to find my Chinese cousin who I'd never met in a city of 20 million might have been difficult.

In a bid for clarity I did that horrible thing that Westerners do when they're trying to make themselves understood. I yelled at him with a patronizing tone, slowly over-emphasizing each syllable.

"Meeeeeet. Meeeeee. Heeeeere (pointing, again) Attttt Wunnnnn Thurrrr Teeeeee."

He was still confused so I made a one, three and zero sign with my fingers. This helped nobody. He then bent down, picked up a rock the size of a lemon and handed it to me before pointing to the ground.

Now it was my turn to be confused.

I'm not proud of this, but I shit you not the first thought that came into my head was "maybe he wants me to use the rock to reflect a shadow and cast a time, kind of like a sundial."

Wrong for so many reasons, not the least of which was that we were in a small Chinese village at midday as opposed to Egypt in 700 BC.

With thoughts that moronic floating around in my head it's a miracle I was allowed to leave my own country. No wonder they make me carry that little book with my name, photo and date of birth in it.

The motorcycle driver had obviously spotted my confusion because he made a writing motion and pointed to the ground again.

"Oohhhh, yes, write down the time, obviously."

I obliged and with that I was off to explore.

The village was charming. The buildings were either brick or concrete and none were higher than three stories, yet because everything was condensed you still felt like you were in a different world, like any good village.

The difference in wealth between the villagers themselves was very noticeable. In the same glance I saw people wearing ragged clothes andsporting toothless grins, while their neighbours were driving BMW's and flashing pearly whites.

Nobody seemed to be working, instead, they were gambling. Large groups of people were gathered around a few different tables rolling dice and playing cards.

I would later find out that Hung Lee had become quite a wealthy village on the back of Guangzhou's manufacturing explosion. People move from all over China to find a job in one of Guangzhou's factories and instead of paying expensive rent in the middle of the city they take rooms in villages like Hung Lee.

The locals who have lived here their entire lives now spend their days collecting rent, gambling, eating and generally enjoying Southern China's hospitable climate - it was the middle of winter and I was wearing a T-Shirt.

After just a few minutes of wandering the village I realised that I was very conspicuous. People were staring. One elderly man I passed looked up at me, stopped walking, allowed his jaw to fall to the floor and just stood there, completely dumbfounded. I kept walking and after 30 seconds I turned around to see that neither he nor his jaw had moved an inch.

I'd been living in Hong Kong for two months and because of its huge ex-pat community I'd forgotten I was a foreigner. Yet here I was a good foot taller than everyone within a hundred miles, wearing skinny maroon jeans, Chuck Taylors and a military style khaki jacket that has never and will never see the kind of blood, sweat or tears its ancestors did. Add to that my black headphones and camera and for all of my Asian features I may as well have been standing completely naked holding my own faeces.

I wandered over to a group of middle aged men who were in the middle of a game of cards. I said hello. They stared blankly and said nothing. One man then stood up and went to fetch his friend 'Eric'.

Apparently Eric had just returned from an overseas holiday and spoke English, or rather he knew a couple of greetings and his own name, which is probably Hung Lee's version of fluent. Eric gave me his iPhone and opened up the 'Translate' app. I typed the following:

"My name is Tim I'm from New Zealand"

Eric pressed 'Translate' and read my greeting to the crowd.

"Ahhhhhhh Cee Cee Lannnn" I heard them say.

I grabbed the iPhone and explained the purpose of my trip:

"My Grandfather is from here."

Eric looked confused, so did the crowd. I typed again.

"James Chee Lim" – my Grandfather's name.

They were baffled. I'm not sure if it was because of the inadequacies of the translate app but this wasn't going as well as it could have. I left the group and explored more of the village.

Again I saw a colossal difference in wealth. Some homes were merely a concrete room furnished with a wok, wooden bed and a hose while next door there were houses that had their own televisions and satellites. The difference between landlords and tenants I suppose.

I wandered back past my card playing friends and saw the motorbike driver talking to a bunch of old villagers. They all looked at me with the same expression I'd seen all morning and one that roughly translated into:

"What the fuck are you doing here, round-eye?"

I looked at the motorbike driver and said "Grandfather, Chinese, he's from here."

That hit.

He told the crowd the score and their interest was piqued, even more so.

"Chee Lim!" I said loudly.

"Chee Lim!" he repeated to the crowd.

"Chee Lim!?" the crowd pondered out loud.

Now we were getting somewhere. Out of nowhere a middle aged man on another motorbike turned up and motioned for me to get on. They had obviously called for back up.

I looked at my driver and he nodded and said "he show you house!"

Jackpot.

Joyce wasn't able to give me Grandad's exact address so this was a fortunate turn of events. I hopped on and we tore off through the village twisting and turning down tiny lanes and back alleys.

We arrived at what looked like a town hall. Inside was a huge family tree with golden Chinese characters inscribed onto a beautiful wooden board. Unfortunately it was written in Cantonese so my chances of finding "James Chee Lim" were nil.

"Cool" I said, not wanting to disappoint the two men who had gone out of their way to help me get here.

Just then a large and somewhat rambunctious man pushed through the doors into the hall. He was wearing a puffer jacket and jeans.

He took off his sunnies, looked at me and said:

"I'm a Lim...so you must be my brother!"

Part 3 coming soon.