thirty shenzheners on an island
I mentioned on Friday that I was off on an adventure of “fishing and playing” with the Shi Xia 9th grade teachers. Now, for some reason, when they said “fishing” I pictured my
self on some dock with a fishing rod in hand. Little did I know, what they had in store for me was infinitely more exciting .
self on some dock with a fishing rod in hand. Little did I know, what they had in store for me was infinitely more exciting . .
After a two hour car ride from Shenzhen, we arrived in Huiyang, a nearby coastal town at around 8:30PM. Because it was dark at the time, I had no way of knowing what beauty surrounded us. But the following morning I woke up to a most spectacular view of idyllic islands that were indisputably Chinese.
After a two hour car ride from Shenzhen, we arrived in Huiyang, a nearby coastal town at around 8:30PM. Because it was dark at the time, I had no way of knowing what beauty surrounded us. But the following morning I woke up to a most spectacular view of idyllic islands that were indisputably Chinese.
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After breakfast we walked down to the dock and the teachers gestured for me to step onto a wooden fishing boat that was something straight out of the 19th century. I did as I was gestured (they might have asked me to step ab
oard, but I only understand gestures at this point). The cynical traveler in me would have considered it a hokey cliché designed with tourists in mind, had there not been several local fishermen doing their thing in boats just like ours. The entire experience was made that much more enjoyable by the fact that I was there with a group of twenty city-slicker Shenzheners who were just as excited by the novelty that the fishing experience offered. It truly was something right out of a book. I half expected to see a little yellow duck named Ping swim by looking for “his mother and his father and two sisters and three brothers and eleven aunts and seven uncles and forty-two cousins”.*
And thus began our journey into a timeless world of Chinese fishing, something that has ensured the livelihood of the residents of the Guangdong Province for thousands of years. We cast our nets (No, seriously. We cast nets.) and began the process of circling bac
k and forth in an effort to capture the many small fish that inhabited the water. Then the nets were pulled back onto the boat and we helped the professionals detangle what we had caught.
oard, but I only understand gestures at this point). The cynical traveler in me would have considered it a hokey cliché designed with tourists in mind, had there not been several local fishermen doing their thing in boats just like ours. The entire experience was made that much more enjoyable by the fact that I was there with a group of twenty city-slicker Shenzheners who were just as excited by the novelty that the fishing experience offered. It truly was something right out of a book. I half expected to see a little yellow duck named Ping swim by looking for “his mother and his father and two sisters and three brothers and eleven aunts and seven uncles and forty-two cousins”.*And thus began our journey into a timeless world of Chinese fishing, something that has ensured the livelihood of the residents of the Guangdong Province for thousands of years. We cast our nets (No, seriously. We cast nets.) and began the process of circling bac
k and forth in an effort to capture the many small fish that inhabited the water. Then the nets were pulled back onto the boat and we helped the professionals detangle what we had caught. We soon had a bucketful to take back to our hotel, whereupon the cooks took the fish off our hands and proceeded to gut them in preparation for lunch. After a couple of hours of further exploration of the surrounding islands we returned famished and ready to enjoy a feast of what we had caught earlier. We weren’t disappointed. It was cooked to perfection and it tasted that much better knowing that just that morning we had pulled the fish that we were eating out of the nets on our little wooden fishing boat.
*Flack, Marjorie and Kurt Wiese. The Story about Ping. Puffin, 1977.
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fish·er·man - n. 1. a person who fishes, whether for profit or pleasure. 2. a ship used in fishing. - adj. 3. Also, fish·er·man's. of, pertaining to, or designating a knitting pattern consisting primarily of cable-stitches executed in a characteristically thick, traditionally off-white yarn, or a garment made in this pattern and yarn: a fisherman sweater.
1 comments:
That is so cool that you can catch fish and then have it cooked for you at a hotel.
The whole experience...amazing!!
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