You need to get lost to find culture. This was an insight French writer and exhibition curator Christine Cayol shared at a recent Embracing Cultures salon China Daily hosted at the Yishu 8 Beijing Art Center, which Cayol founded.

Her counterpart, Chinese cellist Chu Yibing, who was the first student from the Chinese mainland admitted to the Paris Conservatory, agreed.

"I think getting lost is, specifically speaking, part of the French spirit," Chu says. "Because always knowing where you're going is boring. Getting lost and being happy — that's very French."

It was one of many meanderings toward the philosophical and metaphorical during their discussion about synergies between Chinese and French culture. It was, in this case, inspired by a cohost pointing out both countries' capitals are built on a central axis.

"In Beijing, just like in Paris, you have this very vertical and straight way to organize the city," Cayol says.

"But most of the time, we have very complicated, narrow streets. When you get lost, most of the time, you don't know the direction. And so you have both this idea of clear order of the space and, at the same time, a sort of disorder, and you easily get lost."

Chu points out he gets lost in Paris but never in Beijing's hutong (traditional alleyways), while Cayol says she often gets lost in even the small hutong in which she lives. "It's like a small labyrinth," she says.

From that point, their conversation itself took an unexpected turn from urban planning to how "getting lost" in another country is literally and figuratively a way to stumble upon intercultural intersections.

"Getting lost is a key part of embracing a culture," Cayol says.

"If you want to make everything for sure and certain, and control everybody and everything in your (own) country, well, you don't need to go abroad. If you go abroad, you have to in some way feel a little bit uncomfortable because everything is so new, so strange, that you have this getting lost feeling. If you don't, that means you're not abroad."

Moments before, Chu, who became one of the first Chinese to study classical music in Europe four decades ago, politely interrupted a host when she was introducing him as someone "familiar with both cultures" to interject: "No! No, no. I am still studying."

Learning about learning what the two cultures have learned from each other was precisely the point of the salon, which took place as the two countries are this year celebrating the 60th anniversary of diplomatic relations, following centuries of contact. Among more expectable themes, such as music, food and art as "universal languages", were less predictable motifs, such as synesthesia, listening and time. And the conversation unfolded from lighthearted banter about favorite foods and funny mishaps to deeper discourses tackling abstract theoretical contemplations on humanity.

A few words

Cayol and Chu began by listing words to describe each country.

Chu selected the French words for "thank you", "excuse me" and "goodbye" to describe France.

"These are not just simple words," he says. "They are three big signs of modern, human civilization."

He points out such courtesies function to enrich expansive social bonds.

"Treating your family members and your friends well doesn't mean necessarily you're civilized. Saying 'thank you', 'excuse me' to people you don't know," he says, shows a civilized attitude.

"I'm an artist. My work, my entire lifelong commitment, is for people who I don't know. That, for me, is being civilized."

Cayol selected "art", "Riviera "and "people" for France, and "movement", "energy" and "sharing" for China.

That's because of "the rhythm to move and change and adapt to situations, this kind of energy that I feel when I come to China, when I am living in Beijing, and sharing good moments with people through gastronomy and life, and very friendly ways of sharing moments with people".

Chu's words for China were his favorite foods — gulaorou (sweet-and-sour pork), baochao yaohua'r (stir-fried pork kidney) and congyoubing (scallion pancakes). "I come to Beijing for concerts, for family and for these three dishes," he says.

The cellist agrees that cuisine is another universal language and points out that Chinese has the term jingshen shiliang, or "spiritual food".

He likewise adores French quiche Lorraine, escargot and seafood.

Table talk

This led to a discussion on how food nourishes culture. Chinese and French societies arguably appreciate mealtimes more than many other countries do.

"We're two cultures that spend the most time at the table. It's as simple as that," Chu says.

"French people can stay at the table and forget they have a concert afterward."

When a cohost asks, "So, you've experienced that, where French people forgot to go to your concert?" Chu replies: "No. Not my concert. Their concert. Any concert!"

Cayol points out both cultures have long-standing gastronomic traditions in which delicacies meet discussions for dinner.

"We are two huge civilizations who have this 'language' in common — how to share quality moments with food. Sharing moments with food, thanks to food, thanks to wine, is also a way to share other topics. We love sharing ideas, dreams and emotions about life," she says.

"French people, above everything, we really like to talk. So, having lunch or having dinner together is a way to share ideas, sometimes in a very dynamic way. And we have free discussions.

"If you never have the time to sit down and to have the possibility to enjoy moments, you don't have this pleasure. It's something linked with time."

Finding time

Cayol says her over 20 years in Beijing have taught her a lot about time, in her own life and across cultures.

"I've had an incredible time in China. This can be summarized with one single topic, which is time," she says.

This prompted her to publish the book, Shijian Lide Zhongguoren, in French and Chinese. The English title translates from Chinese as "Chinese in Time" and from French as, "Why Do the Chinese Have Time".

"It's also a symbol of a very huge civilization. Chinese have a very specific relationship with time — much more flexible, much more, I'd say, friendly with time," she says.

"This kind of flexibility is not always so easy for foreigners and especially for Europeans. Sometimes, something is very sudden, and you stop — but now I'm very used to this very flexible way of dealing with time."

Cayol points out Chinese people can be "very rapid" in some contexts and "very slow" in others.

"And when we French are rapid, Chinese are slow. And the opposite — when Chinese are slow, we are rapid … Like tea, you have to infuse a lot of time and to wait, and to wait and to wait."

Her time living in China has also enabled her to learn that tea can teach us about life and time, she says.

She explored these realizations by hosting an exhibition a decade ago featuring a dialogue between Chinese tea and French wine.

"There are many similar approaches. You take time, you discover a lot of things through tea, like through music, like through painting. It's a never-ending process to know more, to have more images in your mind. So, for me, it's a very, very sophisticated way to enjoy life."

Cayol ultimately believes the entire enterprise of cross-cultural engagement is about taking and making time.

"When I came to China, I didn't know anything about Chinese literature. But my choice has been to dedicate time — and deep time — to learn about some Chinese spirituality, Chinese literature, Chinese music, to take this time to study. So, about boundaries, this is a fact that if you're crossing over these boundaries, there are no boundaries anymore," she says.

"But it's a process. It's not immediately, 'OK, I go to China, I go to France, I go to America, and I have this feeling already that there are no boundaries anymore'. There are. There are a lot of differences between us."

These are surmountable, Cayol says, given time.

"The idea, what's very important to me from a philosophical point of view, is to get into this process, to not avoid these differences, these boundaries, but to go beyond," she says.

"But it's not that easy. You need time. You need a strong will. And you need to feel confident about your own culture to be able to go beyond your own culture."

Points of contact

Chu says such universal languages as art, food and music offer entry points. Not many Chinese had heard French music when he moved to Europe decades ago, he says.

"When I was there, I was listening to the sonata of (Claude) Debussy, and I was shocked!" He then switched to Chinese to explain that he heard the folk music of northwestern China's Loess Plateau region, including the sanxian (a Chinese three-stringed lute), in Debussy's piece.

"One-hundred years ago, in French paintings, you could see a lot of influence coming from the East, from China, Japan … a lot of Asian cultural influences. It's the same with music."

Chu has visited countless cities in his homeland and around the world, yet insists: "I have never traveled in China. I'm traveling only in my music. So, I go there to do concerts. OK, I've been everywhere in my country but for organized concerts or … cultural events.

"I'm not really traveling because I get in contact with millions of my compatriots through music. And it's already a huge blessing for me. So, I don't need more."

He believes music not only goes beyond language but even extends to senses beyond the auditory, through its synesthetic power.

"Music is the only human language invented that can be used and be loved without any translation," Chu says.

"It's not just that music has sounds. Music has pictures — invisible pictures. And, also, music has flavors. I think the French have composed the most beautiful ancient music ever."

Defining distinctions

Ultimately, the salon about exchanges between the two societies, in particular, and human universalisms, in general, proceeded to scrutinize the definitions of, and distinctions between, civilization and culture.

"For me, civilization is not only one culture, one country," Cayol says.

"Western civilization is many different cultures. Italian culture, French culture, German culture — are all unique, are different. But, of course, those common points can shape what we call Western civilization. And I would say, Asian civilization, it's a way to mix Chinese culture and different cultures. Civilization is made of this huge, whole, comprehensive way of gathering cultures," she explains.

"Culture is memory. You remember all the works, all the artworks of the past … 100 years ago, 1,000 years ago, and it still remains a very current, dynamic and modern thing. It's about past and present."

Chu views the question through the lenses of his time in China, Europe and the United States.

"It's not which culture has priority, what civilization is right or wrong. It's just the ability to think differently."

All ears

Chu believes listening is crucial to understanding among cultures and civilizations.

"As a musician, I have a huge privilege because music is not an art of speaking. Music is an art of listening," he says.

"If we have the need to have a better understanding between us, the first instinct should not be speaking. The first instinct should be listening. Maybe me first, maybe you first, but somebody should first listen."

Cayol points to the value of meeting in person. That's why she brings French artists to China to experience Beijing for themselves.

"We can talk about very big concepts and directions, but in fact we need to listen to each other. And how do we listen to each other? Again we need to go and to discover: What does it mean, Chinese culture? What does it mean, living in France?" she says.

"Social media plays a key role to spread a lot of wrong ideas about life in China or in France. So, again, artists, they have the key."

Before pulling out his cello, Chu says: "Many people think about listening. No. We don't know how to listen. Listening is not only through ears. It's with your heart, with your mind. We learn through music how to listen."

Then, he played. And everyone listened.