In 2006, during his gap year before starting university, my son Pan set out to discover a “world beyond books”. After spending four months backpacking through Australia and New Zealand, he shared with me his most profound realisation from his travels: the meaning of home.
He told me: “Some people live in luxurious mansions but rarely share dinners or weekends with their families. Others, in crowded cottages, are enveloped daily by the sounds of children playing and the aroma of home-cooked meals. Some reside deep in the mountains, knowing every blade of grass, bird and rabbit, while others traverse busy city districts yet remain strangers to their own neighbours.” His words made me think about the places I have called home.
My first “home” was split between my grandparents’ houses, because my parents, both Chinese Communist party members in the 1950s, had no time for me. I was sent away when I was only 30 days old. I don’t remember much about life at my grandparents’ homes.
My second home was one I will never forget: a political orphanage for children. Fourteen of us were labelled “black children” because we came from families deemed enemies of the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution. For six and a half years we were denied the right to play, speak, or even eat alongside the other children.
My third home was not a place but a journey – travelling between cities and villages to interview Chinese women. I explored the concept of home through their eyes, bridging the experiences of mothers and daughters. This journey was part of my work on the radio programme Words on the Night Breeze, which I hosted between 1989 and 1997.
At the age of 40, I found a true sense of belonging in England. This final home is a physical and emotional sanctuary, where I have been able to reflect on my life’s journey and build a new sense of purpose and connection. For me, my real home is my flat in Queensway, London.
I moved here in the summer of 2002, but three years later, I realised I hardly knew my neighbours or the history of the vibrant street where I lived. When my son talked about the feeling of home, I suddenly felt driven by curiosity. I delved into its past.
Queensway is a shopping street in Bayswater, west London. Early maps depict a road extending north from Bayswater Road across open fields. Queensway was originally called Black Lion Lane. In 1837, it was renamed Queen’s Road to honour Queen Victoria, who had been born nearby at Kensington Palace. However, the name was deemed too common, and a century later it became Queensway.
At the northern end of the street stood one of London’s first department stores, Whiteleys, established by William Whiteley in the 1860s. By the time I moved there the store had become a shopping centre.
Today, Queensway is home to many restaurants, cafes and pubs. And, because food is like a god in Chinese culture, after my son returned from his gap year, he and I embarked on a “taste of Queensway” project. Each week, we explored one restaurant along Queensway, categorising them by country. The goal was simple: to find a different national flavour for our lunch at the lowest possible cost.
We began with Mexican food at the Queens ice-skating rink – delicious. From there, we moved to Moroccan and Brazilian restaurants in Queensway Market, then on to Arabic kebabs, Persian grills, Indian curries, Iraqi stews and Turkish delights. We sampled Russian, Italian, French, Greek, Thai and Malaysian dishes, Mediterranean meze, Korean barbecues and, of course, Chinese restaurants (we counted the six we found as one) and an English pub. We even included McDonald’s and KFC for a taste of American fast food.
My final stop with Pan was a Japanese conveyor-belt sushi spot in Whiteleys. We ordered the cheapest option: a single bowl of fried rice with unlimited tap water. The sushi chef, who happened to be Chinese, kindly prepared an egg-fried rice for us, and said: “I hope this is enough for you both.” He generously put in so much oil and salt that we had to drink four glasses of water. It was easily the most filling (and economical) meal of our taste of Queensway journey.
What we thought would be a quick two- or three-month culinary survey stretched to 27 weeks. To our astonishment, Queensway offered cuisine representing at least 27 countries. No wonder my late husband, Toby Eady, once joked that he was surprised to hear someone speaking English outside our flat. I laughed, replying: “This is London – of course people speak English!” Yet after completing our project, I understood his surprise.
Queensway isn’t just a street in London. It’s a global crossroads, a home for people from all over the world. Together, we bring our cultures, traditions and home tastes to this free and vibrant city. And what a lucky Chinese woman I am, to live in such a rich world of flavours in west London – my real home.
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Xinran is founder of the Mothers’ Bridge of Love and the author of nine books, including The Good Women of China, China Witness, What the Chinese Don’t Eat, The Promise and The Book of Secrets
