‘My China Roots’ Helps Me Realize the Dream of a Lifetime

Throughout my childhood, my mother told stories of living and working in her parents’ Chinese laundry business in Detroit during the early years of the automobile industry. There, she dreamed of a real home and the elegance of her Jane Arden paper dolls. But when her father could no longer afford to support his family during the Great Depression, he sent her to his ancestral village. She held tight to her dreams through hunger, superstition, and the Sino-Japanese War.

These stories riveted me, and I set them down in The Strength of Water, my mother’s immigrant daughter story. Someday, I wanted to visit the Cantonese village where many of the most compelling stories took place.

A Long Wait

However, Mom never wanted to go back. She nearly died in the village from malaria and diseases of malnutrition. Her memories were too dark. And so I thought I would never see it.

However, in 2023, I received an ad from Viking Cruises about a new journey they were offering along the Chinese coast, Shanghai to Hong Kong. My mom had long since passed away, but my Auntie Jeannie, 97 years old, and still remarkably sharp and spry, was interested in joining me with her daughters if I could determine a way to connect the cruise with a road trip to see the village.

I contacted My China Roots, a provider of ancestry research and travel services, serving the global diaspora. My China Roots crafted a custom itinerary to pick up my family from our cruise ship in Hong Kong and take us on an overnight trip to visit not only the village but also other sites of ancestral interest along the way.

Modern China

Viking lived up to its reputation for excellent service and an engaging itinerary. I will never forget arriving at our ship, the Yi Dun, in Shanghai, and walking out on our balcony in the evening. It was past dinner, but a tray of sparkling wine, dessert, and savory snacks was waiting. The view of the Shanghai skyline was one of the most spectacular I have ever seen—a romantic and exhilarating start to our journey.

The last time I had visited China was nearly 40 years prior, when citizens still wore Mao jackets. Communist propaganda films served as entertainment on the Chinese airline.

Changes were breathtaking. Throughout our journey, we encountered evidence of China’s manufacturing might, with cargo ships keeping us company along the coast and cranes lining shores and riverbanks. We visited Shenzhen, which produces 90% of the world’s electronics, as well as Dafen, an oil painting “village” producing 50% of the world’s oil paintings. Shanghai, with its Times Square-like billboards and swanky boutiques, felt like a city of money.

We saw the perks of autocracy that we don’t like to admit. China is one of the safest countries in the world, ahead of countries like Denmark and the Netherlands and far ahead of the U.S. Our tour guide effused, “Feel free to walk about at 2am and know you are safe. We have cameras everywhere. If someone tries to commit a crime, they have nowhere to hide.” I felt both more and less free.

And the Matrix, so to speak, was glitchy. Being behind what I call the Great Firewall of China, I struggled to use Western websites and means of communication, even with VPN apps downloaded to my phone and laptop. Sometimes, websites partially worked and sometimes they didn’t.

Meeting Our Guide

However, all this was but a prelude to the main event. On the final morning of our cruise, we debarked to meet our ‘My China Roots’ guide, Zhang, who invited us to call him Michael. Michael’s English was nearly flawless with a charming Australian accent reflecting his teacher’s origins.

In booking the tour, my only specification had been to visit the village. Beyond that, I knew nothing about the area and left it to My China Roots to suggest an itinerary. They sent a list of possible sites of interest, allowing us to craft a custom trip of two to four days. We chose two days, being concerned that extended land travel would be difficult for my aunt. 

We were impressed with the side destinations which my China Roots suggested, places that not only had special meaning to our ancestry but were beautiful and fascinating in their own right. 

Chikan, a Center for Emigration

The first was Chikan, a riverport town near Mom’s village. The town is surrounded on all sides by the Tan River and is criss-crossed with canals. Historically, it was a regional maritime hub and a center for emigration. Michael suggested that Mom and her siblings possibly began their water journey to the U.S. here, for the Tan River leads to the Pearl River, which they took to Hong Kong. 

By the 2010’s, Chikan’s population had mostly emigrated to larger cities for more lucrative employment. Controversially, the government stepped in to transform Chikan into a tourist destination, attracting income and jobs, but displacing remaining residents.

Today, the town feels like a fairytale, an undiscovered Venice, a painter’s dream. It is a tourist destination designed for the Chinese and East Asians, not aimed at Westerners at all. Consequently, it was extraordinarily affordable. Our luxury room cost $70 for the night, and the venue included a complimentary fruit plate, breakfast buffet and entertainment. 

As I understand it, evening is when the town comes to life with fairy lights everywhere, dazzling heritage performances bringing its history to life and fireworks. How I wanted to see this!

Sadly, by dinner, I felt ill, and while I might have pushed through to see the sights, the following morning was our trip to see the village, the whole reason for this entire vacation. I went to bed by 7pm and hoped for the best.

The following morning, I awoke refreshed, feeling as though I had a cold, but functional. Because of the time difference, it was easy to rise early. My husband and I walked the grounds in the soft morning light of 7:30am, enjoying nearly empty streets, bridges, and views. Chikan is so picturesque and historic-looking that a number of Chinese movies have been shot here. 

Tai Ting Pong

After our morning walk around Chikan, we at last traveled to my mother and auntie’s Cantonese village of Tai Ting Pong (Dajingbang in Mandarin) in Guangdong Province, near Kaiping. We arrived on the outskirts, unsure what to expect. It had been 80 years since Auntie Jeannie was here. Would it be transformed beyond recognition?

We stopped first at what had been the old school, now an administrative building. It was not open, so we only looked at it from the outside. And then, as we entered the village, a middle-aged gentleman pulled up on his moped and inquired, I suppose, who we were and what we needed.

Michael explained that my aunt had lived there when she was a girl. Auntie Jeannie brought out our family tree, which my grandfather had set down for her decades ago, and something magical happened. The man examined the family tree, and pointed to his father’s name on it. We all exclaimed!

The gentleman walked us into the village, and amazingly, it was as my aunt had remembered it and my mother had described it, albeit somewhat modernized. The old houses, made of red clay, had been covered in bricks. The village well had a rail around it, and the fish pond was fenced. A clean public bathroom had replaced the old outhouse. The village altar that my mother had described to me was exactly where I expected it to be, the remnants of joss sticks in cups of sand sitting on its surface.

Other villagers came out, speaking animatedly to our guide and my aunt and joining us in our progress. “One of the American girls!” one of them said. Apparently, the story of my mom, aunts, and uncle immigrating to the village from the U.S. was still known after all these years. Astonishing!

Mom’s Childhood Home

“The fourth path, the fourth house,” my aunt said, describing where she knew her childhood home to be. And there it was. One of the women opened it for us. No one lived there anymore, but neighbors used it for storage and a chicken coop. Taking a photograph with my book out in front, my heart felt full.

I was also touched to learn that our family’s ancestral altar was still in place after all this time. One of the women who used the building continued to maintain it. She insisted my aunt make a burnt offering in honor of our visit.

My aunt, a Christian, hesitated, and I understood. I suggested that she think of it not as worship, but as honoring, similar to placing flowers at a grave, and she agreed. Afterward, the man whom we had first met, invited us to his home, where he proudly showed off his own ancestral altar, elevated to a place of honor above the living area.

Our tour of homes complete, the villagers invited my aunt to sit with them under the banyan tree. Auntie Jeannie remembered the tree from childhood, and they explained that this was no longer the same tree, but its replacement. In the sweltering tropical heat, it was astonishing how much cooler, even pleasant, it was in its shade. The villagers brought out plastic chairs, so the elders could sit and enjoy sharing stories.

While my aunt visited, my cousins and I explored. There were thriving vegetable gardens on nearly every inch of available soil. The rice paddies were dry, as it was past harvest time, but in the distance we could see the hills to which my aunt recalled fleeing during the Sino-Japanese War to hide from Japanese soldiers. Amazingly, one of the villagers was drawing water from the well as we passed by, which felt cinematic.

The Ancestral Hall

For our final destination, Michael took us to Deet Hoy, a city where my mom and aunt had briefly lived when they were not in the village. We thought only that we would explore the city by van, but Michael had arranged an unexpected treat — a visit to the Yee family ancestral hall, a place not open to tourists, but opened to us as members of the clan.

The hall was elegant, stately, and meticulously maintained. In place of honor was a statue of the clan’s founding member with long descriptions of his achievements on plaques.

My cousin applied a translation app and found that one read as follows: “During the Qingli period (1041-1048), the world was neglected for a long time, and the officials were derelict of duty, and the people were poor, and the country was in trouble.

“The son of heaven (the emperor) suddenly thought about the shortcomings. To cultivate Baidu, he set up four reading officials to manage the world’s affairs, and Yu Jing was one of them. Yu Jing envoyed to the State of Liao three times, suppressed the barbarians, established the country in Angang, and made contributions to future generations.”

Baidu translates to “a hundred times” but has a deeper meaning of persistence in pursuit of the ideal. Notably, we say our name as “Yee,” a Cantonese pronunciation, but the translation app wrote “Yu,” the Mandarin pronunciation of the same character

We honored our ancestor. The caretaker lit joss sticks for each of us. We held these in a prayer-hands position, bowed three times, and placed the sticks in pots to send sweet scents to heaven. Finally, we gladly made cash donations for the upkeep and care of the hall. We felt truly grateful to those who preserve and honor our family history.

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A month after this special trip, my book, The Strength of Water, An Asian American Coming-of-Age Memoir, received a wonderful honor. It was named to Kirkus Reviews’ annual list of Top 100 Indie Books. Since then, it has been picked up for republication. The Sibylline Press edition is scheduled for release on November 7, 2025. It includes new vignettes that add richness to the story, an improved format, and a beautiful new cover.

It is available for pre-order as a print book or e-book wherever books are sold online. The audiobook is forthcoming. I cordially invite book reviewers to access ARCs through NetGalley and Booksprout.