Eating a Chicken Head ...... Sichuan, China 5/2005

The rickety mud caked bus swayed and lurched its way around another hair-pin turn.

Part frozen with fear, a little sick to my stomach, but more than anything I was mesmerized by the dramatic landscape of southern Sichuan. Down far below an aggressive river pounded, it surrounded by rugged jagged red cliffs, and set off by the vivid green of the occasional rice paddy.

Where was I? I was not sure, somewhere between the villages of Puge and Xilou.

But what was certain was that I ached to get off the bus and just walk and feel this big remote landscape. Not knowing the phrase for “let me off” I through an array of body gestures got the driver to understand I wanted off. The locals seemed amazed that I wanted to get out in the middle of nowhere.

For five hours I would walk along the narrow dusty mountain road which ran high above the churning river below. But unfortunately, my stomach was churning as well, I was very hungry.  Checking my map, I was hoping one of these tiny mountain hamlets would have a restaurant where at least I could get some rice and water.  However, no such luck…so on I walked.

Then as good fate would have it a bicyclist streaked by me going downhill and then stopped about 100 meters in front of me.  This action of the bike stopping was nothing unusual, for during this time I had been walking, not only on this outing today, but all through my travels in Sichuan, the local people were always so kind and curious and wanted to know who I was and where I was headed.

But this man was different.  In perfect English he yelled back to me, “Do you speak English?”  “What is your name?”  “Can I help you?” I replied in kind to all the above and as I finally reached him, he a slight man of about 30, very neatly dressed, I introduced myself and he said his name was Mr. Wang.  “My friends call me Johnnny, I am a school teacher of English in the village outside of Puge down the mountain.”  “Johnny, nice to meet you, you speak very good English.” “I hope I do, it is important as I must teach the school children.”  He had such a nice way about him, very earnest and sincere and looked you straight in the eyes when speaking.

He then read my mind.  “You must be tired and hungry.  Please get on the bike I ride you back to my school and we can have some food.”  “Thank you, yes, I would like that.” However, getting on the handle bars with my backpack did not work so we changed positions, he sat on the handlebars and I road him in with the backpack on me. The ride was thrilling going downhill around the curving mountain road. In about fifteen minutes or so we arrived at a village and from here we got off his bike and walked to his school.

Crossing a basketball court Johnny directed me into the one story building, down a dark hall, where we entered a room where sat several Chinese young adults at desks.   “These are teachers of our school,” I nodded approvingly and giving them my best “Ni hao ma’s,” then went around the room and shook hands with each.  The teachers ranging in ages from early 20’s to mid 30’s and about half male and female.

And then as if setting the mood or saving the best for last, Johnny crossed the room and positioned in his own corner was a dark handsome man of about 35, “This is our headmaster, Mr. Wu” Johnny saying it with a sense of pride and respect.  Mr. Wu got up, he made an impressive presence being about the same height as me and built very solid, shaking my hand firmly and in broken English said “Pleased travel to our school.” Johnny then added, “The headmaster very smart, though he speaks little English.”  Headmaster Wu nodded with agreement regarding the poor English.

It felt good to sit down take my pack off, loosen my boots and have some tea.  As I spoke with Johnny and answered questions from some of the others teachers, outside it seemed that the entire student enrollment had crowded around the window to see the foreigner.  The students numbering about seventy, and ranging in ages from eight to fifteen years old pressed in on the barded window with their hands sticking through.  I would turn now and then and slap their hands with gusto.

All the voices seemed to ring out in clear English and one especially distinctive “You like basketball?  Who is your favorite NBA team?” I turning and addressing the young man wearing a Chicago Bulls baseball cap, but covering my ears at the same time “Detroit Piston fan, but do not tell me who is winning the playoffs.”  This referring to the current NBA Eastern Championship was being played as I traveled and I was attempting to travel China and not know the outcome as I was having it taped at home.

This is an amusing story in itself, as traveling across Sichuan in its most remote corners, from here in the south to the far west Tibetan border…hamlets with no more than a yak and a pool table in the main street would have the TV with the NBA broadcast.  I would cover my eyes not wanting to know the outcome.  And believe it or not I made it all the way home not knowing the outcome, and upon arriving I immediately gorged myself on eighteen straight hours of taped basketball in an all day all night marathon.

“They are very curious about you.  In this area as you can imagine we get very few tourists.”  When I asked Johnny how few, he went on to say that about seven or eight years ago there was a man from Switzerland, but none since.

I must admit this made me feel good hearing this and did not surprise me. I like to get off  into remote areas and often I discover that my most rich travel experiences come from places like this, places that are out of the way, not on every travelers must see list.  It brings a more authentic feel.  The town of Puge was located deep in southern Sichuan across the river was China’s Yunnan Provence.

This area was a stronghold for the Yi people.  The Yi is one of China’s largest ethnic minority groups.  China has some 52 ethnic minority groups (minority groups are those people living in China that still practice in their own unique culture. Speaking their own language, have their special dress and customs) It was this reason, to search out the Yi people that I had traveled to this far corner of China.  The minority groups of China have always fascinated me and the provinces of Sichuan and Yunnan contain the majority of them.

As I sipped on my tea and eating a rather tasteless cookie some of the teachers would ask questions to me.  During this time the children continued to crowd the window and I noticed Mr. Wu the head master listening quietly.  Most the questions that the other teachers asked were the common sort, “How are you enjoying travel?” “Where are you from in the USA?” “Do you have wife?” “Do you have children?”

Then Johnny noticed that the head master was speaking to him and said to me “The headmaster wants to ask you a question.”  And each time the question was always introduced by Johnny and stated with not “he” wants to ask you a question, but the “headmaster” wants to ask question. And what penetrating questions they were as Johnny would translate.

“How would you compare the quality of living in Shanghai to New York?”  “How do most Americans view China?” “What are your feelings on the Bush Administration?”  “Do you think it is right for America to be so obsessed with China’s Human Rights?”  And with each answer the head master would take it in, showing little emotion, nodding and sometimes but not always following up with another question on my answer, his response spoken not in Mandarin, but in the Yi native language.

I as well would ask the questions.  “Johnny could you ask the headmaster how he feels about China’s dynamic financial growth, and if he feels rural China is benefitting?” “What percentage of the school children will stay in the Puge area compared to those that go to the big city like Shanghai or Beijing?” This question was answered with a spirited “I stayed, I grew up right down the road from here” but was soon followed with a more realistic answer that he felt unfortunately that the most talented would move on.

This verbal sparring between the headmaster and me went on for what must have been an hour. I enjoyed the conversation immensely.  And then after what seemed to be about five minutes of silence, Johnny bringing me more cookies and introducing me his most prized English student, a tall lanky boy of 15 named Chang who amongst the text books he carried was To Kill A Mockingbird. Just as I began to comment on the book Johnny interrupted and announced “the headmaster wants to know if you are interested in Yi minority?”

I answered his question with a most enthusiastic yes and explaining that this is why I was here, to explore the Yi culture.  He beamed and nodded.  But soon his smile went away as he explained to me the difficult plight of the Yi people and the children.  “We have 387 children at the school and very few Yi, maybe forty.  The Yi is very poor they cannot afford the education.”  When I asked about he cost for a student, he broke it down exactly, 180 Y per term, three terms making it 540Y for the year or $67. This does not sound like much but when the average Yi family makes only $250 a year it is a significant cost.

Johnny then began to smile, he during this time sitting right next to me in a simple chair and began nodding like he had some good news for me “the headmaster wants to request you visit his home and his wife will prepare you a traditional Yi dinner.” I answering in Chinese Mandarin, “Thank you very much …very hungry.”  Immediately they responded teaching me to say this phrase in Yi.

The headmasters house was simple it residing right across from the school, the basketball court seeming to separate the two.  The three of us sat on a large sofa, which seemed to dominate the cramped room.   Soon the headmaster’s wife appeared with their 2 year old son named Hao, he sporting a STAR WARS baseball cap.   His wife, named Li had a stocky short build, she had a pleasant enough smile but she did not carry the attractiveness of her husband the headmaster.  Within minutes we had three large bottles of Blue Sword, the beer of choice in this area of Sichuan, on the small coffee table and the headmaster began making toasts in Yi.  All during this time by the way we were engulfed by some thirty or so students who formed a semi circle around the sofa each straining their necks to get a closer look at the foreigner.

Then all of a sudden the headmaster spoke to Johnny at length in Yi and then went outside for about ten minutes and then returned and began speaking with Johnny again.  The headmaster did not look happy.  Johnny then explained, “the headmaster wants me to tell you that he is disappointed that he cannot find a lamb to kill for you, as this is the traditional Yi custom.  That when a traveler comes many miles a lamb is killed and eaten, the headmaster feels bad about this.”  Johnny continued as he said, “There are no lambs in the village now, however, we will kill a chicken for you, a fresh chicken if this is OK.”  I nodded yes, this is fine, and looking at the headmaster I thanking him for the kind thought about the killing of the lamb, and that I loved chicken.  Johnny translating this message to the headmaster who nodded slightly but still looked miffed that there was no lamb to be found.

So for the next couple of hours while the headmaster’s wife prepared the special Yi dinner we spent this by continuing our beer drinking toasts in the living room. After the fifth large bottle of Blue Sword, the headmaster gestured we leave and we ambled out into the village and its one street.  By this time we not only had many of the students with us, but townspeople as well.  We played three or four games of pool as what seemed to be the entire town watching on and making lots of colorful comments and then made our way back to the headmaster’s house.

We were now seated in the headmaster’s dining room which was more inviting, more spacious, and having better light than the room we sat before.  Johnny was now pouring a wine of some sort, he stopping to say “the headmaster wants you to try special Yi wine” We all rose clicking glasses and saying the Yi phrase for toasting.  The taste was bitter but I smiled, showing my appreciation as if I was tasting a fine French vintage.

And then as then as Li walked in, I could smell the delicious chicken broth before even seeing the dish.  And there it was the chicken presented very graphically its head swimming in the broth, the claws sticking out.  It was here that I brought out my camera to take a photo of this delicacy and Johnny and the headmaster to capture this festive moment.  However, Johnny shook his head said “the headmaster does not like to be photographed, many Yi feel this is not good luck.” I was disappointed to hear this but certainly respected their wishes.

The headmaster rose raising his glass high and looking at me and spoke in Yi.  Johnny translating, “The headmaster values your friendship and would be honored if you took the chicken head.”  So with the up most reverence the headmaster placed the chicken head in my bowl.  So there it was, the chicken head, all in tact, the eyes, the beak resting in my bowl staring back at me.  My mind was racing, how does one eat a chicken head?  Do you use chop sticks, or just pick it up and naw on it?  Where was the meat per say, the head looked so severe, the skin so tight. Where does one even begin to bite? I let all these questions rest as I thanked the headmaster and his wife Li very much, this time speaking in Yi instead of Mandarin.

I could feel all eyes on me as the headmaster, Johnny, and the headmaster’s wife watched me with extreme close interest as I began to eat or try to eat the chicken head. With chopsticks I fumbled the chicken head about, it dropping back into the bowl and splashing the broth on the table. “You are fortunate that you have such a good chicken head to eat, this is a very fine head,” remarked Johnny.  This being my first chicken head eating experience I had no sense of comparison, but nodded approvingly.

OK concentrate, I thought to myself as pressed the head carefully but not too firmly between the chop sticks, its beak looked sharp and those eyes so direct, it was a bit unnerving to say the least. There, I had the chicken head positioned for biting and as I leaned in to bite, the chicken head popped off the chopsticks landing on the floor.  Oh how humiliating, the ultimate in poor table manners when it came to eating a chicken head.  A hush seem to come over everyone, and as the headmaster’s wife came around the table to help me, I in my embarrassment was flustered and to compound this bad experience I somehow in my attempt to pick the chicken head off the floor kicked it and it went sliding along the floor as if a hockey puck, it hit the wall and then scooted to the staircase and tumbled down.

I looked at everyone putting my head in my hands and saying “I am so sorry, so embarrassed.”  Johnny telling me it was OK.  The headmaster’s wife appeared back with the chicken head wrapped in a towel.  Johnny then added, “the headmaster says the chicken head was washed, but don’t feel you have to eat if you don’t want to.”  With such inappropriate behavior on my part, now more than ever I wanted to devour that head, to show that I was truly appreciative of their efforts.  I gestured to the headmaster if I could just pick up the chicken head with my hands and he nodded yes.  Into my hands the chicken head came, now I had full control, not spending time to overanalyze the right place to bite, I just bit, getting bits and pieces of the tough skin.  I continued on for a good ten minutes hardly stopping to acknowledge my host, determined to show my fervor for this delicacy.  Then I leaned back and let loose with an enthusiastic “delicious!!!” 

They both nodded approvingly and Johnny saying that “the headmaster wants you to take the chicken head with you.” Johnny adding, “There is often more meat can be eaten on it the next day, in some ways even better.”  As saying this, Li now appeared next to me presenting the claws of the chicken as I watched the headmaster take the first suck.  He waived his hand as conducting an orchestra and at once we all began to suck on these.

Despite the exoticness of the chicken head and claws, there was very little meat on them and with all my nibbling and sucking I was still very hungry.  My hunger pangs vanished quickly as the headmaster’s wife now carried out a steaming dish of double cooked pork.  This dish when I tasted it was so good I felt I was going to pass out.  In all my travels of China this is clearly one of my favorite dishes. 

Oh yes, now my stomach was singing.  We stayed at that table probably for four hours it was now about 10pm and we had eaten a lot of food and drunk a great deal of Blue Sword and wine.  We were all feeling the effects, but the headmaster stood and made a final toast as Johnny translated “the headmaster feels we have formed a special friendship and we want to always continue this.”  The headmaster went on to say “You must come next year to the Torch Festival in July, a very special event and we promise to kill a lamb for you.” 

I felt blessed.  And that night Johnny invited me to sleep at his house.  But instead I opted to sleep outside on top of the school in my sleeping bag, with the approval of the headmaster of course. I felt so blessed. The sky crammed with stars. I thought of today again, the “unknown” which travel brings on and the riches it delivers.