He had been talking a mile a minute since the four of us sat down together in the loft of a small teahouse off Chang'an Jie. Now, he suddenly paused for a second before piercing me with twinkling eyes: "I don't like to talk," he said. The irony was blinding. We had to take this old-school Beijinger to task, because he clearly relished in his duty as the unofficial story-teller for his posse.

Yet he insisted, stating the westerner's typical straight-forwardness was a point of difference that he found appealing. "Chinese people are very guarded, very shy, kind of embarrassed to be open," he said with conviction.

It certainly was not the first time I had heard a similar assessment of the Chinese character. A young tutor, another native of Beijing, told me that although she may not understand the words they were speaking, she could tell a group's nationality from the manner in which they bantered. The table of foreigners was always the loudest, she said, singling out Italians and Brazilians for distinction as the most jovial of the lot. "Chinese people like that. It's like they're having more fun," she said.

The Chinese, in estimations like these, are quiet, modest, and unwilling to draw much attention to themselves. These ideas extend to beginner's language textbooks, which list the most self-effacing expressions to be used in response to compliments, teaching the student that the western way of gracious acceptance is not how it is done here. But, in my experience, pegging the Chinese this way falls way short of the nation's contribution to global decibel levels. In any public place, people gossip and chatter at top volume - on the phone, across the canteen, during all eight hours of a long-distance bus haul.

Shopping, for example, is a headache waiting to happen. Whether at the vegetable market or at a glitzy mall, the aural assault is guaranteed by a cacophony of wails from vendors competing for customer attention, themselves screaming over pop tunes blasted from screeching sound systems.

And you can hear a good restaurant before you see it. That sudden silence when diners turn their attention to what is on their plates is unknown -- at least on those occasions when the baijiu is in free-flow. Instead, the noise kicks up a gear with every round of toasts, which are not the real deal unless all the party is on its feet and cheering. After the final loud slurps of the meal, it is game on jostling for the karaoke microphone - not exactly the chosen leisure pursuit of church mice.

Even in the parks, sound levels seem set to maximum from early in the day. Morning warriors pose and flow, flick fans and swords, slap and shuffle backwards - all the usual fitness pursuits. But there are as many who come to exercise their vocal might. Besides the choir of oldies who command permanent central space, there is the solo jogger who forgos an iPod in favor of belting out his own brand of Peking Opera while pounding the pavement. Whether this amateur maestro can hold a tune is irrelevant - it is all about being loud and proud.

Contact the author at viva_goldner@yahoo.com.au

(China Daily 09/27/2007 page15)