In the modern city, Chinese people yearn for the ancient village | column Roland Smith

But for many, this new existence is no fun. Because these people grew up in an atmosphere that knows us, where people visited each other every day. Now they live in gigantic residential towers where many people don’t even know their neighbours. And although the big city offers many conveniences, there is a great desire for the small.

Visiting the Liu family in a medium-sized city in the southern Chinese province of Fujian, I notice that everyone in the living room is wearing a thick winter coat. It is the beginning of February, the time of the Chinese New Year. And although it is usually much warmer here than in the Netherlands, the winter evenings can be quite chilly. But we’re inside, in a brand new apartment complex.

I see a gigantic air conditioner with heating function in the corner of the room. But the thing is off. What also doesn’t help is that the windows and doors are wide open all evening.

Why the hell doesn’t this family, friends of ours, turn on the heating?

So I keep my winter coat on while we sit down for dinner. Eating fresh dumplings can warm me up a bit. But why the hell doesn’t this family, friends of ours, turn on the heating? And why don’t they close the windows?

I don’t want to be rude, so I ask very carefully: “Is that air conditioner new?” I am told that the appliance is indeed new, and that it was included in the purchase of the apartment. A gift from the real estate company to attract buyers to this new complex.

My subtle hint is not understood, and the house remains cold all evening. During dinner it becomes clear to me why: this family lives physically in the city, but mentally still in the village. And in the village the doors and windows are always open. Anyone can drop in for a chat, a game of cards or a drink. And no one has heating. When it gets too cold, a campfire is lit in the courtyard.

“People don’t even greet each other in the gallery!” the pater familias laments

The friend who invited us to eat here explains that none of these family members are really happy with this new house. Especially the elderly find it difficult to get used to the distance. “People don’t even greet each other in the gallery!” the pater familias laments.

So people try to preserve as many aspects of the old life as possible. The table we are eating at is old. And I don’t mean ‘classic’, but old and worn out. It is a large round dining table made of cheap wood, unpainted. It’s the kind of table you see a lot in the Chinese villages.

And the Liu family dragged the heavy thing to the new apartment. The table swears against the new marble floor, but they don’t care. It is familiar to them, just like the wooden stools we sit on.

As we walk around the block after dinner I ask our friend, in his late 20s and single, why they moved here, if village life suits them better. “They bought this for me,” he says. “All the savings were scraped together, a mortgage was taken out and then we all moved here together.”

He says it in a gloomy tone, and I can see why. It is very important to his parents that he gets married and has children. And in order to get married, it is essential that he own a new home. In traditional regions such as Fujian, it is customary for you to be linked to a life partner by your parents.

And often the woman’s parents make a whole bunch of demands: they want their daughter to marry someone who has their affairs in order, so they don’t have to worry about her future.

He prefers to keep quiet from mom and dad that he doesn’t really want children at all

And so the Liu family bought this new apartment. In the hope that dear son will live here with them, and with his future bride, and have children. He prefers to keep quiet from mom and dad that he doesn’t really want children at all. That discussion will come up sometime.

Until then, they are all trying to make the best of it here. In this chilly city, where you sit with the windows and doors wide open, waiting for neighbors who just won’t come by.