Life and Death in Jinan

Jinan isn't a beautiful city. It seems to live in a permanent rush hour and, surrounded by mountains, in a fog of pollution. Unlike Hong Kong there is little familiar here. The city sprawls for miles in all directions and it's hard to characterise what the city is like. Parts could easily belong to a modern American or European city but as we drive through the lawless traffic jams (road markings are considered as guidelines only and a duel carriageway practically consists of at least 5 lanes) its hard to get a handle on what Jinan is. High quality yuppie flats sit next to slum tenements. Stern façaded communist government buildings sit next to flash new cathedrals to capitalism. Such is the city that Meng called home but doesn't recognise from one year to the next.

Meng's foundation is not the city but her family and we were able to meet most of them over the last two days. Her fathers family is dominated by her fathers brothers ‘the uncles’. The uncles are, Meng tells me, government men. This means that they all work in one way or another for the government or one of its subsidiary companies and that they observe Chinese traditions which respect age and seniority. During our meal we were toasted by each uncle's family in order of age and seating round our circular table – although my marriage proposal sent the system in to slight disarray as toasts began coming from all directions. In contrast Meng's mums family were ‘academics’. This means that they are all university educated professionals, mostly doctors, who only loosely observe tradition and dispense with the formalities of seating arrangements. They do however make much longer speeches – so it was a relief that we were joined by an old school friend of Meng’s who was able to translate – letting Meng off the hook for an evening. The biggest speech was made by Meng's Grandfather who had prepared a reasonably long message to Meng and I. It consisted predominantly of praise for me so I was more than happy to wait for my dinner! Translation is an issue though. None of the family from Meng’s mums generation onwards speak English and I can see their frustration (reflecting mine) that we can't talk directly together. Poor Meng has to constantly shift gear from English to Mandarin and back which is exhausting and frankly confusing for her.

Sometimes it's best to remain silent though. This morning we visited Meng's father's and grandparents’ graves with the uncles and aunts. The ceremony was a simple but beautiful one which even I could understand. We left the vestiges of Jinan behind at the gates (where three competing flower sellers aggressively competed for our custom) and on to a tranquil hill overlooking Jinan and covered in hundreds of simple tombstones. We arrived at a plot containing the graves of Meng’s father and her grandparents where the graves were carefully cleaned, flowers laid down, incense burned and a meal of cakes place on the tomb stone. We then kowtowed three times in front of each grave and descended to the base of the hill to burn fake money for these deceased family members to spend in the afterlife. The ceremony was loaded with symbolism, some of which I'm sure was lost on me but I remember being particularly moved by the preparation of the meal of cakes. Food is so important here and there are few more important rituals than preparing and sharing a meal. At lunch that day I made our toast to absent friends...and really meant it.