Article: The Chinatowns of Europe—food, contrasts, and diaspora

Snapshots of migration

PARIS, FRANCE

I found myself in a bakery on a quiet street in the 13th arrondissement of Paris. The shopkeeper and I exchanged customary ‘bonjours,’ whilst I was immediately drawn to the assortment of not croissants, but egg tarts, mooncakes and coconut buns stacked neatly in piles on glass shelves. Shops like these are plentiful in the ‘Quartier Asiatique’ of Paris, an area between the Seine and the Southern edge of the city. Not strictly just a Chinatown, because the place is a real mash of locals and immigrants mainly from Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia and China who have populated the area. The display cards in the bakery in front of each variety of baked goods, were in French, (traditional) Chinese and Vietnamese, in that order.

Sometimes when I travel, I yearn to get an eye of the main sites, to walk on the grand tree-lined boulevards or to inspect the treasures hidden in their museums. Other times I want to craft an experience of my own and seek something I won’t find printed on postcards. And it is usually abroad, I feel, when I’m immersed in a strange environment, that any sort of familiarity can spark curiosity. That’s why I was drawn to this area of Paris and this bakery.

Display window of a bakery in the ‘Quartier Asiatique’ of Paris

At the display window of the bakery was a shelf with ‘Galette au durian’ (Durian cake) and ‘Galette aux tarot’ (Taro cake)— glossy and golden flaky pastries with fillings that will transport you to Southeast Asia. Right below that were pyramids of jam-filled Ladurée-style macarons under ornate glass domes. And if that wasn’t enough, just below the French desserts were figurines of the Chinese god of fortune, a lady with a Vietnamese nón lá (leaf hat). The juxtaposition of items here shows an incredible melding of culture, but sometimes also the peculiarities it can create. It seemed that this bakery cabinet is more than a display of pastries but a showcase of the contrasts of immigration itself.

Gate with the Chinese character for door (門)

In London, what people tend to head to Chinatown for is to grab a bite or to take a photo under the strings of red lanterns. The Quartier Asiatique here did not bear much resemblance to the hustle and bustle of Shaftesbury Avenue. It was much more peaceful and it felt like a vibrant and liveable community. Stripped of the casinos, traffic and crowds here could hear the gentle chitchat of locals in a variety of dialects, who seemed to be strolling home from a supermarket run. There’s a whole ecosystem here. Apart from the Chinese bakery, there were Vietnamese restaurants selling pho, local estate agents, a Japanese comic shop and a Taiwanese dessert place. Some of these were housed just below a high-rise housing estate— groups of 30-storey tall flats with shades of concrete that somewhat uncomfortably reminded me of my hometown of Hong Kong.

The centrepiece of a Chinatown is usually a gate (paifang). The ‘Arche de la fraternité’ (the brotherhood Arch) has just recently been constructed in 2020 “in homage and in thanks to France and Paris which welcomed many refugees in Southeast Asia in the 1970s.” This was when the Vietnam war, the Khmer Rouge swept the area that used to be called French Indochina. The gate’s red steel pillars were planted on a central square and when viewed from a certain anamorphic angle give the Chinese character for door （門）. Less glamourous and more barebones than the one at Gerrard Street, but perhaps to those moving here it’s the symbolism of shelter, and a new beginning that matters.

In a small shop, a figure in traditional dress holds up a sign saying ‘Disinfectez vous SVP (s’il vous plait)’

High-rise residences in the 13th Arrondissement of Paris

MADRID, SPAIN

The capital of Spain is a city with great art (think Picasso, Velázquez and Goya), parks (El Retiro) and architecture. The city charms and bustles with warmth with yellow and orange buildings lining the cosy cobbled city-centre streets. A bit further away is Usera, which houses one of the few themed metro stations of Madrid (the other being in Chueca, known as the gay district). Red wallpaper adorned the walls of the passageways of this station, from the ground level to the platform that is deep underground. Lining the walls, apart from the meandering dragons and lanterns, were recurring unifying motifs of “Metro somos todos” (Metro we are all).

Passageway in the Usera Metro station in Madrid

Immigration from China to Spain has been recent and mostly driven by socioeconomic reasons and Usera is now Madrid’s unofficial Chinatown. Cultural integration is a hard yet important part of moving to another country but unfortunately is made more difficult because of cultural and language barriers. Common to many people who move abroad are unfortunately stereotypes, and microaggressions that may even undermine sincere efforts to join in. The station art might not mean much to me, but I’m sure it will carry more weight to the generations of immigrants living in the area.

Closeup of the motif– ‘Metro somos todos’ in Usera station

Being south of all the major sites and also a walk across the river Manzanares, Usera is one of the places that you wouldn’t just stumble across randomly. Food has a great part in cultural exchange and is usually a great reason for visiting an area with diverse inhabitants. Indeed, for some immigrants, one of the most immediately marketable skills is the culinary craft of a foreign place thousands of miles away. Before my trip, I was talking to a Spaniard, hoping to get advice for local food to try. To me, she replied, “what’s good about tapas? My favourite is Chinese food.”

Another popular business for people who have recently immigrated are corner shops, where you can buy basic drinks, foodstuffs and household items. Here in Spain, this phenomenon is embedded into the language, such that the name for these stores, in general, is ‘el Chino’ because the shop assistants are frequently of Chinese descent.

Restaurants and stores dotted the gridiron streets of the district. Above the restaurants were typically 3 floors of residences, with balconies that overlooked the streets. Clothes hung on the balcony to dry in the hot and arid air of Madrid and sometimes residents were sitting there, either on their phones or peering down at the shuffling of people beneath. Swap the stores and the signs and the district would probably look like a general neighbourhood anywhere in the country.

What was particularly memorable however was an unexpected encounter with a shop next to the Plaza Mayor, the literal heart of Madrid. It was the combination of the verdant green façade and the sign in glowing neon that caught my eye. At the storefront is a poster advertising a popular rice dish back home with a cheeky Stephen Chow movie reference accompanied by a cheesy slogan that was a play on words in Cantonese. ‘Restaurante Hong Kong 70’ has pumped a momentary surge of nostalgia through me that not many places have been able to create. At that moment I thought about how, despite the vastness of the world, people continue to spread ideas, stories and experiences at pace. I exhaled, and smiled, but then kept on walking to the opposite side of the plaza to do what I originally came here for– to grab a nice greasy bocadillo de calamares (squid sandwich)

Top: Storefront of Restaurante Hong Kong 70, a restaurant next to Plaza Mayor in Madrid

Bottom left: nostalgic poster advertising a classic Cantonese dish

Bottom right: storefront display with dishes and statues