An Exercise in Chinese Bureaucracy and Eating Noodles

First, some background. The word bureaucracy was coined in 1818 by French economist Jean Claude Marie Vincent de Gournay and comes from the French word for desk (dictionary.reference.com/browse/bureaucracy)—think stacks of drawers one above the other in a hierarchical arrangement. While that term is only a couple hundred years old, the concept of a bureaucratic system of government goes back thousands of year. To China. The Qin dynasty (221 to 206 BC)  government was highly bureaucratic, and was administered by a hierarchy of officials, all serving the First Emperor (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qin_dynasty). Becoming a part of the government bureaucracy provided a way for otherwise non-aristocrats to become respectable, rich and powerful. Getting there wasn’t easy, and those who landed a job in the bureaucracy helped to make sure that everyone else had to go through the system in order to get anything accomplished. Not so different, perhaps, from many governments all over the world. This week, I met the Chinese version face to face.

One of the many things I had to do before coming to China was get a physical exam; it was required for a stay of more than a few months. The embassy’s website said that the exam had to be given by an “approved” hospital but did not offer any guidance on what that meant or where I could find one. So I took the form to my family physician, who performed the physical, including all of the tests and lab work required, and gave me a copy to bring with me while keeping the original.

Fast forward to this week. It was time for me to apply for a resident permit, which is required for long stays, and my host arranged for a car and driver to take us to the Bureau of Entry and Exit in Dalian, some 90 minutes away. We presented ourselves and various documents to the official, who quickly flipped through them but stopped when he got to the physical exam form. A long discussion ensued with much head-shaking on the official’s part and tapping of the document in question. After several minutes, my host translated and explained that a copy of the form was not acceptable, and that the original would be required to process the application. We visited several other offices, my host appealing to a series of officials but without success. It would be necessary for my host to return the next day with the original. We departed the immigration office, and went in search of lunch. Here is where the noodles come into the story.

A Chinese acquaintance explained recently that there are four general types of cuisine in China: sweet, salty, hot and bland. The same friend also said that cooked food that is eaten warm tends to be less salty, and food that is eaten cool or chilled will be more salty. Food in China is regional, or perhaps more accurately, provincial. That is, the cuisine varies from one province to another; for example, Sichuan and Hunan provinces are known for their hot dishes and Liaoning, with its proximity to the sea, is known for its seafood.

Food can even differ from one part of a city to another. Our driver that day led us to a small restaurant not far from the immigration office that specializes in a particular kind of noodles—fat, round ones made from rice flour. If you’ve ever tried to eat noodles with a spoon then you know they can be difficult to capture. They tend to slither off of the spoon and land back in the bowl in the best case or the lap in the worst case. Imagine trying to eat noodles with a pair of chopsticks. Although I’ve had some experience with chopsticks in the past and do quite well according to my Chinese friends, these noodles defied me. My dining companions were half way through their bowls and I had managed only to pick out the strips of chicken.

Sometimes observation is the best teacher. Without being obvious, I watched my companions tackle their noodles. The trick, I discovered, was to get one’s mouth close to the bowl, grasp several noodles at a time with the chopsticks, and quickly lift them into the mouth and slurp. Yes, slurp. In China, it’s not only permissible, it’s necessary. Once the bowl had cooled to a comfortable temperature, I succeeded in slurping most of my noodles up.

Fortified with lunch, we climbed back in the car for the trip back home. When I arrived in my room, I checked the suspect health report and learned that in fact, it was also a copy. My host speculated that a local hospital might be willing to endorse the form if presented with the lab reports, which I provided. Alas, no. The only way to process the resident permit would be to have a “body check”—that is, another physical—and submit the results to the immigration office. Next time, body check, Chinese style.