Smoking in China and Istanbul
“How can he smoke and eat at the same time?”
I was at a buffet-style restaurant at a luxury hotel in Ningbo, China where I taught English at a private university. The dinner was paid for by the university and only teachers and certain important staff members were invited. It was my third time at the restaurant.
I have many memories of the Japanese sushi and seafood section of the restaurant, which has its own space in the center with a bright spotlight aimed at the man preparing fresh sushi and slicing raw and irresistible salmon, moving his hands almost the whole because the Japanese table of food was a huge hit among the mostly Chinese diners. (The chef was Chinese. There are still sour feelings that the Chinese still have towards the Japanese now because of the invasion of the Japanese on Chinese land during World War II, when the Japanese massacred more than 300, 000 civilians in Nanjing. Out of all the Japanese I’ve met, though, all of them have been apologetic of what happened to the Chinese and many of them were eager to study Chinese language and culture. Despite being made by a Chinese man, the Japanese food was authentic.)
There was also American and Mexican food all around the restaurant. I made sure to take advantage of the deliciousness of the desserts section, particularly of the fine Italian gelato which was prone to run out quickly so all diners were allotted only one cup of two of their top choices at a time. I still remember the delectable portion of creme brulee; my first and only one since, and it was fresh and I understood why my brother loves that taste and texture so much.
That restaurant made me feel like a little girl saying, “Wow” a hundred times with big eyes at a candy shop looking around at colorful varieties. I did the same ‘little girl at the candy shop act’ each time I was there (I’m not sure why because the restaurant didn’t change that much the second and third time I ate there. I can say, at least, it’s good that I don’t have the habit of getting tired of the same things I like so easily).
I sat at a table with a full plate of sushi and raw salmon and fresh fruit juice, which was constantly squeezed for us thirsty diners, or for those of us who just wanted something sweet and nutritious linger in our mouths (like me), with foreign teachers like myself: an old Irish national with thick, black, plastic glasses who looked very much the iconic Grumpy Cat and lived in China for a while and spoke Chinese in all of the wrong tones that all he got from the locals were puzzled looks and unreadable stares; an Australian man in his fifties that lived in China for more than ten years and was known to teach female private students in his apartment and who almost only kept to himself; the Indian couple who lived on the first floor (the first floor is the second floor to Americans); the young lady from the Philippines who had a Dutch father and a Filipino mother and was raised in the Philippines, and a young Australian couple of Chinese descent with two children but who didn’t speak any Chinese at all, though the man and woman were born and Hong Kong and left that city and moved to Canberra at around 9 years of age.
There was another couple who practiced the Baha’i Faith and were missionaries hoping to spread the knowledge and practice of it to the Chinese people (I truly wished them luck for that because the Chinese have a reputation of not being genuinely friendly to missionaries of any kind, but they are at least tolerant). They were both Americans. The man spent some time in Tanzania teaching English to children for a couple of years and explained how he had the time of his life there.
The man got irritated at some point and looked over his shoulder at a lone, male diner who was smoking in between forkfuls of his food.
“Gosh, the Chinese smoke like chimneys. I don’t understand the point of smoking.”
The American missionary was really loud about his sentiments. He looked around the restaurant and said, “I thought that this was a four-star hotel, how can these people allow smoking where everyone is trying to eat? This is why I can’t stand China. The Tanzanians hardly smoked at all.
That man is disturbing me a lot.”
His wife said, “It’s sad that there are so many people in this world who don’t value their bodies enough to take good care of it. Perhaps these people just don’t know what else to do with themselves.”
The couple sat next to me and kept going on about the smoking problem in China.
“The Chinese are killing themselves even more with their cigarette habit. Their pollution is already harming them.”
Yes, it’s true that the Chinese smoke while they socialize. It’s also true that high-quality cigars are a common gift to give to bosses and one way to network with people. Chinese people of all ages smoke, and, as I remember, older people were more likely to light up than younger people; it appeared that the Chinese would get themselves into that disgusting habit when they entered their twenties. High school teens in China didn’t usually engage in that type of behavior. (No offense, Smokers, but smoking is indeed harmful and I’m always trying to understand how people would let themselves become addicted to it.)
The Baha’i missionaries were trying to figure out why the Chinese couldn’t stop smoking.
I easily connect that conversation to where I am located now: in Istanbul.
Smokers are found smoking while they walk, outside of public places, on the fire escape of their workplace buildings, and, of course, many homes are inhabited with smokers. Turkish and Chinese people don’t differ much with their smoking habits and where they smoke. I’ve always wondered why big numbers in both populations have turned to smoking when they’re stressed and when life is just plain difficult. Many Turkish and Chinese people don’t earn enough to cover every day in a month and I can only imagine that they want to take their minds off what they can’t afford. Perhaps they they smoke in order to show that they have unspoken troubles and, through smoking, they understand each other and bond without saying too much about what’s mentally ailing them. Both countries have unspeakable and inexplicable histories because both civilizations are so old, making room for a lot of tragedy and bad political and day-to-day relationships.
Maybe smoking has become part of a long tradition. It could simply be a hobby that’s hard to part with. At minimum, smoking serves to help people cope with what’s negatively around them, or people may see smoking as a part of what they’re made of especially when smoking is commonplace. In both countries, feeling left out hurts a lot as both are collective cultures.
I still question how people could have both their hands full and still feel the urge to smoke. I also wonder why some people are intent on smoking in public restrooms and in the inner parts of cafes when they should be smoking outside. I wonder if people could just take up knitting or crocheting instead when they feel the need to do something with their hands.
I wish that these large groups of smokers could team up and tackle whatever is bothering them in their society instead of submitting to smoking but I’m being idealistic.
And I don’t know if I’m accurate at all.
