A flower that blooms straight from a bare branch, in the coldest days of winter, sounds like a dream. And yet, this reality has unfurled all around us in its late winter splendor here in Hangzhou.
Plum blossoms always cast a spell on me, no matter how many times I’ve witnessed their winter miracle. It’s not just the beauty of their blooms, which perk up the drab winter landscapes with their stunning colors, especially magenta and carnation pink. It’s also the way they perfume the air with their sweet, delicate fragrance that soothes your weary soul with the promise that, soon, warmer days will come.
In China, people talk of plum blossom spirit. If a flower can weather the winter cold, then surely we can endure hardship — and find ways to thrive.
At a time when we all long for winter to end, the plum blossom emerges as a much-needed seasonal friend.
These days, as I walk outside to enjoy the plum blossoms, I will remember that hope blooms, even in winter — and that some of the most beautiful things in life are willing to brave the cold.
Before Chinese New Year, neatly folded pairs of red clothing occupied a prominent position in my closet, and in my drawer lay a pendant in the shape of a pixiu, a mythical beast that confers protection and prosperity on its wearer. But, I had asked myself, was I ready for the coming Year of the Snake, my Chinese zodiac year? Would these auspicious items help shepherd me through this period in safety?
I grew up in Cleveland in the United States, where the Chinese zodiac was little more than a curiosity I encountered on place mats at Chinese restaurants while waiting for orders of spring rolls, fried rice and sweet-and-sour pork. But living in China has schooled me in the customs surrounding the Chinese zodiac, including warding off bad luck in one’s benmingnian, or Chinese zodiac year, by wearing red clothing or a special talisman.
Sparks fly when a young woman with a Ph.D. in literature has a chance encounter on the Beijing subway with a Beijing migrant who dreams of becoming an actor.
What reads like a romance novel blurb is actually reality for American Tammy Treichel, the author of the new memoir “Hutong Heartthrobs.”
Set primarily in one of Beijing’s iconic residences, the book charts the course of her unlikely romance as well as her beau’s rise from obscurity to becoming a stand-in for Jackie Chan. Anyone in a cross-cultural relationship, especially with someone Chinese, will relate to the many differences, cultural and otherwise, that emerge between the couple throughout the narrative. It also provides a fascinating inside look into breaking into the competitive world of acting in Beijing and what it takes to survive.
It’s my pleasure to introduce you to “Hutong Heartthrobs” through this interview with Tammy. Here’s Tammy’s bio from Goodreads:
Tammy (Tamara) Arehart Treichel is an American with a passion for two things: China and writing. After graduating with an award-winning PhD in English on Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, she worked as a freelancer for various China-related publications. Born in Washington DC, she found a second lease on life and true love in China, where she has lived for over a decade and is working as an English editor at a local news agency in Beijing. Tammy greatly enjoys exploring all things China with her Chinese man, a former security guard-turned-actor named Jackie. They live in an old hutong (alleyway) house in an historic part of Beijing together with three rescue cats and numerous house lizards.
You can buy “Hutong Heartthrobs” online — your purchases help support this blog!
What inspired you to write this book?
Writing is in my blood I suppose, I have been writing and creating characters since I was a child (short stories, mawkish poetry, plays, for fun). My mother is a science writer and we enjoy “talking shop.” I like to tell people that my mother focuses “on the human brain” in her books and articles, whereas I personally am more interested in the “complexities of the human heart.” I suppose we complement each other well!
I did some research and was unable to find directly competitive titles to what would eventually become my memoir, “Hutong Heartthrobs.” When I approached my publisher, Graham Earnshaw, he said he thought the idea of a book that encompasses a Chinese and “Western” point of view, namely that of my Chinese husband Jackie and myself, an American woman, in the framework of a love story could be of value to readers.
How did your husband feel about being spotlighted in your memoir?
Oh, he loves the spotlight! After all, he works in the film industry. So he wasn’t concerned about being one of the main focuses of my book. Of course, I ran everything by him first as best as I could and double-checked facts before submitting my manuscript. I conducted interviews with him about his life story for “Hutong Heartthrobs“; he was dictating to me at the computer from his notes while I typed down his answers in Chinese characters (we communicate in Chinese). I then translated and had a third party (Chinese native speaker who was highly proficient in English) ensure that my translations were correct.
As highlighted in the title of your book, you and your husband grow to love one another primarily while residing in a hutong. What did you enjoy writing about most regarding life in your hutong home?
I enjoyed writing about the ambience of our old, musty hutong house and all the quirks that came with it (electricity outages, house lizards, neighborhood cats wooing each other on the hutong house roof, the old poplar tree)…. it gave me an opportunity to give my story a bit of a poetic touch, and at times a comedic one when I wrote about what was going wrong again with the house. A lot of the drama involving the hutong house involves my reactions to its quirks; it seems at times to take on a life of its own (cf. Poe’s short story “The Fall of the House of Usher” where the house collapses…).
Throughout your memoir, you highlight some of the cultural differences that emerged in your relationship, in very relatable moments. Could you share with us one of your favorites?
I think in retrospect one of the funniest moments was when our night bus was “hijacked” on a Beijing highway by an elderly lady who was angry that she had missed her stop. The people involved (bus driver, security guard, my Chinese husband Jackie and myself) all reacted in different ways. Jackie reacted in a conflict-averse manner, which is typical for him, whereas I was more impatient and confrontational. He also said what he would have done to solve the problem if he had been the bus driver, and his answer pleasantly surprised me and opened up my eyes to different ways of solving the problems that life throws at us. It was, and is, refreshing to learn from him and his take on things. I wouldn’t necessarily say his is always “the Chinese point of view,” but the culture in which we are raised definitely informs our actions and reactions.
What do you hope readers come away with after reading your memoir?
I believe that Western readers will be able to learn more about life in China, both its complexities and rewards from an expat’s point of view, also about the joys and challenges of being in a cross-cultural relationship. For Chinese readers, they might be curious about how a “foreigner” regards their country and tackles life there. And of course, our love story might be a charming read for those who are romantics at heart, as I am. I initially believed that the majority of my readers would be women, but I was surprised at how many men have said they found “Hutong Heartthrobs” an entertaining read as well.
China Daily recently published my column titled Wonders of Wandering off Beaten Path in Zhejiang, detailing some of the delightful hikes Jun and I have discovered in the province. Here’s an excerpt:
On the summit of a mountain over 1,000 meters high in a Zhejiang nature reserve, I glimpsed a work of art on the horizon. Beyond the outstretched boughs of Huangshan pines, silhouettes of mountain upon mountain were painted across the sky in striking blues and grays. The scene belonged in a museum, yet it hung in the sky before us, challenging every notion I had of what a mountain should look like in nature.
How did we encounter such an extraordinary view on a trail so ordinary that it was largely empty, even on this holiday weekend? In the three-plus hours we spent hiking there that day, we saw only four other small groups of hikers. The trail wasn’t even marked on the maps; we wouldn’t have known it existed, had we not passed it during a drive in late January earlier this year. Yet, somehow, this forgotten place possessed a quiet magic of its own, revealed in resplendent moments that took us by surprise.
Head on over to China Daily to read the full piece. And if you like it, share it!
Ruth Silbermayr-Song, the author of the blog China Elevator Stories, was separated from her children in 2019. In 2020, all contact to her children was cut off by her ex-husband, as detailed in an interview on this blog.
Ruth asked me to share an update about her situation:
A few days ago, the court in Austria has declined my request for receiving sole custody of my children and has declined my request to see my children in their summer holidays. I have been allowed a call with my children two days a week, which is much less than the daily calls I have requested. (I have appealed the decision on January 23rd).
My children are not being protected from abuse, and in my opinion, the court’s decision is in violation of basic human rights, such as parents being allowed to parent their own children and being allowed to see their children.
Ruth has created a Change.org petition in German, which calls on signers to back the following text:
I support Ms. Ruth Silbermayr-Song, BA, in obtaining sole custody of her children, Emil and Nino Silbermayr-Song. I speak out against the protection of fathers who abuse their (ex-) wives and children mentally, emotionally, and in other ways, and endanger their children’s well-being. I support the victims (the mother and the children), not the perpetrator (the father).
Over four and a half years. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve been back to the US.
As I prepare to return to the US for a short visit, the staggering amount of time that has separated us looms before me.
I never thought I would be away for so long. Years ago in the US, I often heard stories from Chinese students, of how their visas — and the potential to be denied re-entry to the US during their studies — snuffed out any plans of heading back to China. I remember being shocked to hear that they hadn’t seen their family and friends back home in three or four years.
One year of absence, give or take a few months, was about all I could bear when I first came to China. And once, while working in Shanghai, the one and a half years I ended up waiting to see my family already tested me, and left me aching within.
But since then, life has schooled me in the many ways that the best laid plans — such as regular, yearly international travel to see family and friends back home — can be dashed. Maybe circumstances have rendered the price tag for an international flight far beyond your tight budget. Or a pandemic dashes any further hopes of flying back home.
Being grounded for four and a half years reminded me that international travel is a privilege, not a right.
Now that I will travel home to the US very soon, it feels more like an imaginary story, rather than reality. How do you make up for all that lost time in just a short couple of weeks? What can you say to someone you haven’t seen face-to-face in over four years?
The pure pink resilience of the lotus blooms dazzled us on our late summer walks this year in Hangzhou, including by the city’s renowned West Lake.
Generations of Chinese have admired the lotus as a symbol of purity, as it emerges from the mud underwater without stain. I admire the shades of pink — from light rose to a deep flamingo — in these delicate flowers, which shine even brighter under the intense late summer sunshine, and offer some aesthetic consolation for those brave enough to endure the heat and humidity to gaze upon their beauty.
As summer draws to a close, I’m sharing a few of my favorite photos from strolls beside Hangzhou’s West Lake.
This corner of the West Lake bristles with lotus plants and their blossoms, growing upright toward the brilliant sun beside a pavillion.Up close, the lotus blossom appears as delicate as a porcelain tea cup.I couldn’t believe how tall the lotus blossoms were — some almost rivaled my height!Nature painted an almost flawless landscape that afternoon at the West Lake.The lotus plants and blossoms blanketed entire corners of the lake, with such lovely scenes to savor for both Jun and myself.
What are your favorite flowers of the summer? Where do you go to enjoy them?
For years, I’ve celebrated International Workers Day, May 1, here in China, an annual public holiday. But it was only recently that I learned the curious US connection — that in fact, the US labor movement prompted this holiday.
If you’re an American like me, accustomed to having Labor Day fall in September, this might come as a surprise to you too. Growing up, nobody educated me about the US history associated with the origin of International Workers Day.
Those of you who have studied the US labor movement probably recognize the 1886 Haymarket Affair, when a bomb exploded just as the police were breaking up a labor protest rally ignited by a nationwide push, which began May 1, for the eight-hour workday. Years later, at an international labor conference in Paris, an American delegate proposed setting aside May 1 as a day to remember this injustice.
For years, half of the American Labor movement observed May 1 as Labor Day, while the other half observed the first Monday in September. After the Russian Revolution the May 1 date was mistakenly associated with communism, and in a protest against Soviet policy, May 1 was first proclaimed Law Day in the 1960’s.
It wasn’t until I came to China that I discovered “May Day” and “International Workers Day”. It remains among the most important holidays of the year, and many here use the opportunity to travel, gather with friends and enjoy the spring weather by going outdoors.
What do you think about this? Are you surprised by the US connection to International Workers Day? Do you think Americans are missing out by celebrating Labor Day in September, instead of May, like here in China?
Blogging has introduced me to a host of original and compelling voices, including Ruth Silbermayr-Song, the Austrian creator behind China Elevator Stories.
Ruth built a following by distilling casual encounters and conversations in her daily life in China into fascinating blog posts, which also offered glimpses into her courtship with and eventual marriage to a local Chinese man. Over the years, readers like me followed the adventures of her seemingly perfect cross-cultural family with two lovely kids.
I never imagined that behind the scenes, a darker story was unfolding — of devastating domestic abuse and deceit by her husband, who eventually cut Ruth off from their two children. She hasn’t seen her kids in person since July 2019, and lost all contact with them in July 2020.
I support Ms. Ruth Silbermayr-Song, BA, in obtaining sole custody of her children, Emil and Nino Silbermayr-Song. I speak out against the protection of fathers who abuse their (ex-) wives and children mentally, emotionally, and in other ways, and endanger their children’s well-being. I support the victims (the mother and the children), not the perpetrator (the father).
I’m honored that Ruth offered to do an interview with me, to share her harrowing story. Read on to learn more about her plight.
Your blog, China Elevator Stories went offline in 2017. Can you tell us a little about what happened?
My ex took my blog China Elevator Stories from the web in 2017 without prior notice. I put it online again in 2022 after my sister sent me a link to the archived articles. My blog only recently got hacked—I believe by my ex-husband—since he was the one who took it offline in 2017 and I apologize if my blog doesn’t work properly at the moment. I’m currently working on resolving this issue.
Pictured are Ruth (far right), along with her husband, two children, and the kids’ grandparents.
Many of your readers may remember you were happily married to your husband. Could you talk a little about the end of your marriage and what happened in regard to your children?
I didn’t write about the downsides of my marriage on my blog – which were plenty. My marriage was filled with horrific abuse. By the time I had become pregnant with my first son in Shenzhen in 2013, I had heard, not only once, from my Chinese husband, that he’d have me killed if I ever left him, or if he ever found me with another man. In 2018, we agreed we’d move to Austria by the following year. I originally believed him when he said he wanted us to move to Austria so our children could grow up in Austria, which was something I insisted on, considering how bad air pollution is for a child’s health, how much pressure children are under who go through the Chinese public school system, how little play they get, and the fact that health care in China is much worse than it is in Austria.
You then moved to Europe to prepare for his residence permit in the summer of 2019, having to leave your children behind with your husband because he didn’t allow you to take your children with you, is that correct?
Yes, it is. I moved to Europe in July 2019. I had agreed with my husband to reunite with our children within a time frame of 4 months. He never planned to join me in Austria with our children, though, and deceived me into separating from my children forever, only I did not know it at that time. By the time he told me he’d send our children to a Chinese public school and would not come to Austria with them, it was already too late for me to fly back to China. Soon after, COVID started, and foreigners were not allowed to enter the country. By July 2, 2020, he broke off all contact between me and my children and I have not seen them since. I do not know their whereabouts, what school they go to, which documents they are on, how their health is, or how they are doing.
What were some of the problems you ran into trying to re-establish contact?
I have been fighting to re-establish contact with and see my children for almost 3 years now. In these past years, I had to realize that discrimination against women and mothers is just as extreme in Austria as I have experienced it in China. Austria has been regressing in this regard in recent years. It took me years of having to deal with authorities and courts on a regular basis to realize how bad the actual state of discrimination against women in Austria currently is.
In one of your articles, you write you have been through a lot of victim blaming. Could you share more about it?
I never knew how bad victim blaming could get until I found myself in an abusive marriage and having to deal with one of the worst things that can happen to a mother – having her kids taken from her by deceit, without having done anything wrong and with very little chance of ever seeing them again. The last time really bad victim blaming took place was when I had contact with child protective services in Austria which should have supported me in my fight for sole custody of my children but discriminated against me instead. I have been shocked when I found out that child protective services often act in favor of the abusive, unsafe parent.
Another occurrence was when a public ombudsman I was having contact with sent me various excuses about why they would not help me, including that the Chinese dad now seems to have obtained sole custody, which was not the case, even when it was clear my children were being abused by their Chinese father and that Austrian child protective services were discriminating against me, punishing me for what my children’s dad and his family had done to me and my children. The secondary victimization I have experienced at the hands of authorities, child protective services, and the court has been severe, to say the least.
I find myself having to argue over basic human concepts I consider should be common sense and easy to grasp, simply because people I meet are favoring men and seniority or seek dominance over women. It almost forces you to become a feminist, even if you are not into politics, simply because you were born female.
Have you encountered similar issues in the past in Austria?
Not in the way I do encounter them now. I remember having these problems in China, and in my marriage, but have not encountered them in Austria to such a large extent in the past. Whenever I do speak my mind these days, I usually find myself being punished for it. I find it hard to deal with a society like this and don’t particularly enjoy living in the restrictive country Austria has turned into, within a society that self-censors and oppresses opinions that diverge from the majority opinion that has been indoctrinated into people these past few years.
COVID used to be more of a stranger in China. The virus wasn’t generally lurking next door. We didn’t worry about getting infected when we dined out or ran errands at the bank or visited a tourist spot.
But in early December, China eased restrictions to open up, and soon the virus ripped through my workplace, faster than I ever imagined.
Of the 10 people in my office, I’m one of three who didn’t get COVID. It’s a miracle, as the virus infected every person in the cubicles next to me. Some estimated 80% of the employees at work caught the COVID virus; the same may hold true for the overall population of Hangzhou.
Witnessing the rapid pace of transmission in the office stunned me. It began with a manager, whose mother-in-law was running a high fever. Then others retreated home — many as close contacts who soon came down with the virus. And then the two colleagues who sat directly beside me reported sudden fevers, which sparked fears that I was next. On that day I rushed to get free medicine and antigen tests from my employer, who was rationing Ibuprofen (only two pills per person). Outside the workplace things were worse, from hucksters hawking meds at a premium, to a shortage of antigen tests at pharmacies.
Thankfully, I dodged COVID then, but would still brace for the threat of more cases in the office, including two other people beside me who were infected. By then I was wearing N95 masks, and altering my work routines, such as having breakfast and lunch at home instead of in the office.
Our community grocery group buying outlet soon shuttered — the neighbor in charge caught COVID. I flipped open the apps for other outlets, and couldn’t get groceries on any of the major platforms. One said delivery slots would open at 6 am, which would mean rolling out of bed at dawn to battle with hordes of desperate netizens — and no guarantees of any deliveries. Oranges, lemons and pomelos were going for two or three times the usual prices, inflated after an onslaught of panic purchasing. Jun and I took stock of our pantry and produce, including the veggies and fruits from a recent visit to his parents’ rural home, and determined we could survive for a while without buying much. For the garlic, ginger and onions I needed, we bought online from a lackluster rural supermarket, which charged more than usual and slipped us a partially rotten piece of produce. We cooked a lot of fried rice, a lot of garlic and olive oil noodles, and, thanks to an enormous pumpkin from my mother-in-law, a few pumpkin curries.
Soon the emptied streets and cubicles lent an eerie post-apocalyptic vibe to the world around. I stopped bothering with the GPS to check on traffic because there were almost no cars on the road and no more rush hours. One day, I was the only person working in the office for a morning; outside the windows, I rarely glimpsed anyone wandering the grounds. The absence of people, of vehicles, brought to mind a new twist on the title of that Simon & Garfunkel classic — that I was nearly “the only living girl in Hangzhou”.
The worst week, ironically, led up to Christmas. It was hard to embrace seasonal cheer while wearing an N95 mask that pinched my ears and getting tested daily to confirm I wasn’t positive. When I streamed holiday music, I preferred the bitter cold and austere landscapes of “In the Bleak Midwinter” to the discordant warmth and exuberance of “Wonderful Christmastime”.
Following Christmas, my workplace scrapped its free PCR testing services, in the abrupt way that real Christmas trees get tossed to the curb just after the holiday. A colleague sick with COVID hurt his back that week, but couldn’t get an ambulance to take him to the hospital due to a shortage of beds. I doubled down on my protective measures, which meant continued use of N95 masks, a lot of hand washing, and little contact with people.
In the weeks to come, I started seeing more masked people on the streets, more cars on the road, and a growing number of colleagues reappearing at work. Soon groceries could be bought on major online platforms throughout the day, without an early rise. A local community center promised Ibuprofen to residents free of charge — too late for most, in all likelihood. And my employer urged anyone still negative to get vaccinated as soon as possible.
So, I received a booster shot, together with Jun, in a community vaccination site with a skeleton crew and nobody else waiting. The staff at the entrance reminded us that you can’t get a shot if you’ve just had COVID. “You’ll have to wait six months.” The COVID surge had, among other things, cleared the queue for vaccination.
Now, as the two of us still remain negative in China, we’re the strangers in this post-pandemic world — the few who haven’t gotten COVID.
According to stories in the media, we’ve passed the peak of infections here, though we may have to brace for more waves ahead, including during and after Chinese New Year. But if this pandemic has taught us anything in the past few years, nothing is certain with COVID. So we will continue to keep calm, carry on and wear N95 masks, while hoping for better times.
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