The Culture of Temperature

Some experiences are so fundamental and ingrained in our upbringing that we barely even notice them. We certainly don’t consider them as dimensions of our culture. We consider them to be simple truths, like ice is cold and fire is hot. It is only when we are confronted with alternative perspectives that we first recognise these dimensions of our cultural outlook. These elements often form the sides of other cultures that surprise us the most. Life in China exposes us to many such instances, an odd example of which are the temperatures people consider to be normal. 　

Traveling through Europe, you occasionally encounter oddities such as cold soup (gazpacho) in Spain, chilled red wine in the south of Italy, or hot Glühbier (or mulled beer) in wintery Germany. These curiosities can surprise and even shock us. However, for the most part these cultural curiosities reflect local climactic or seasonal realities. Things are not so simple when traveling China. 　

One of the first things foreigners discover in China is that instead of water dispensers serving either chilled or room temperature water, they provide either room temperature water or shockingly hot water, with no chilled alternative available. If this were confined to water then most international residents of China would easily survive, but sadly the cultural tendency to drink either hot or room temperature liquids extends much further. Indeed, every foreigner has experienced reaching for a cold soft drink from a shop fridge after a hot and sweaty walk only to realize the fridge is turned off. Even worse is the classic nightmare for so many foreigners, of thirstily ordering a beer, only to realize the bar or restaurant only has room temperature beer. 　

Strangely, the cultural expectations of what might be served hot and what might be served cold can be challenged in both directions. For example, at a hotel breakfast buffet recently I was amazed to see that both fried eggs and scrambled eggs with cooked tomato were left on the side, unheated, chilling at room temperature, while the milk for the breakfast cereal was kept piping hot. Indeed, I have witnessed cold French fries served on multiple occasions, and even cold spring rolls and cold chicken nuggets. I have also seen fruity milkshakes heated. 　

Moreover, there seems to be a cultural expectation in China that different food and drink temperatures are suitable for people at different times based upon their age, the season, their health, and their time of the month. A female friend had her ice-cream forcibly removed by a well-meaning colleague who felt it was dangerous for her due to my friend’s particular stage of the menstrual cycle. I have also heard of people warned to avoid certain temperatures (and spicy food) after being vaccinated. 　

Perhaps the most frustrating challenges are the seasonal heating habits of hotels, shops and airplanes. This involves implementing a heating system that follows arbitrary calendar dates regardless of the actual temperature outside. That is how I found myself needing to transfer rooms late at night in a hotel as the inside temperature exceeded 30 C and there was no mechanism to lower it. Upon changing my room, the hotel manager apologized, but also explained that he knew “foreigners didn’t like it” but how for “us Chinese, it’s totally normal.” 

　

While the idea of a tropical bedroom might sound absurd at first, it seems less unusual when one considers the temperature people fly at in China. Flying in the summer seems to pose no problem, as the modern tendency to air-condition airports and airplanes has been widely adopted. However, in winter months airlines seem to feel the need to convert the inside of passenger aircraft into giant pizza ovens. Having dressed in coats and jumpers to traverse the snowy cities of the north, passengers find themselves disrobing in the cramped aisles of the airplane. Yet no absence of clothing can provide relief from the Sahara-like temperatures. Sweltering, dehydrated, and sweat-stained passengers then suffer the irony of being shown the outside air temperature on the prohibitively tiny television screens spaced every few rows. Invariably the outside temperature is well below zero, and while that would offer its own form of discomfort, it takes all the willpower in the world to resist trying to smash through the small porthole window to allow in the blessed relief of chilled oxygen.