Chapter from the book "23 Reasons to Fall in Love with Hangzhou", written by Natasa Vujicic
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Through Hefang Street, turning left from McDonald’s on the corner, in Nanshouyu Street (南寿玉街) we came across Hu Qingyu Tang No. 2 Traditional Chinese Medicine Clinic (胡庆余堂名医馆). During that first visit, we didn’t even know it was a clinic, let alone how familiar we would become with it. All we could see were the huge, daunting doors, with inscriptions to each side and above the frame. It seemed like an important, if not sacred, place. We couldn’t resist taking a peek.
Once inside, we saw a range of mushrooms, plants, and small animals on display—traditional Chinese remedies. It was overwhelming and we felt almost like intruders entering an alchemist’s laboratory. We barely dared to speak louder than a whisper, and felt incredibly lucky just to stand there in the middle of all those wonders. All the while, we were half expecting to get kicked out. But people seemed to go about their own business, either not even noticing us or simply trying to pass around us, hurrying off to finish their errands. Even the ladies in white coats measuring ingredients seemed completely unfazed by our presence. Not ready to push our luck any further, we decided to quietly take a few photos and sneak out.
A few months after that first visit, we were looking for a German tutor for our son. After a long search, we finally found one—who was also studying to become a doctor of traditional Chinese medicine and was working at that exact same clinic. Encouraged by him, we sought advice at the clinic on treating our son’s asthma.
While some people might consider this an ordinary visit to a doctor, it was a bizarre experience for us. With ten other people in the room, my son got seated in the chair opposite the doctor. The doctor took a look at his palms and at his tongue, and then five or six random patients also took a look and made some comments. It seemed that my son’s tongue sparked some discussion, which died as abruptly as it started, and we were finally ready to hear the diagnosis from (at least according to our knowledge) the only doctor in the room. He prescribed a tea, which would be concocted in the clinic’s pharmacy and then delivered straight to our home in a day or two.
Once the tea arrived, my son took one sip and vomited out his whole dinner. The tea was horrendously bad to drink. But he got used to it eventually, and after a month his asthma slowly disappeared. During the rest of our stay in China, he never had another bout of bronchitis, or even a bad cold. The inhaler we kept at the school nurse’s office kept expiring, unopened.
Whether it was the fear of drinking that potion again or the efficacy of the potion itself, we do not know. All we know is that is he was healthy again.
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