After five years in China， Tessa Thorniley has come to rely on the warmth shown to her son by strangers.
　　One of the great benefits of being an expat mum in China is that wherever you go， people love your kids.
　　In restaurants， walking down the street， in parks， airports， even on planes when most people can not stand to be around a mother and her young， the Chinese will chat and coo and play.
　　They are particularly fond of foreign children as they believe them to be beautiful， with their big eyes and light hair. It is no doubt a similar instinct–a fascination with otherness–that leads me to find Chinese and Japanese babies impossibly cute.
　　Walking the streets of Shanghai after my son was born， waitresses would often pop out of restaurants to peer into my stroller and fawn over the squirming bundle inside. In Beijing， when we eat out， there is usually a friendly waitress who wants to pick my son up and take him into the kitchen or on a tour of the place， which he loves to do and gives us five minutes of blessed peace.
　　There have been odd times when this friendliness has spilled over into being too intrusive. I discovered very quickly after giving birth that Chinese grannies are not shy about stopping a new mum in the street to proffer advice. In the early months of my son’s life， I was regularly confronted by cross elders， in midsummer， and berated for not putting socks on his feet. Keeping the feet warm—at any age but especially for babies–is key to staving off all manner of ills， according to Chinese wisdom. Even when it is approaching 35 degrees celsius outside， babies can catch chills or worse if their feet are not covered， so the thinking goes.
　　However， on a recent flight to Sri Lanka， where we spent Christmas this year， I found myself feeling sad when all of the Chinese passengers disembarked at Bangkok （Thailand being a top destination for Chinese travellers） and a lot of other passengers boarded the final leg of the flight to Colombo. The lady beside me， who had sweetly held on to my son's feet as he slept stretched out slightly too horizontally and spilled over into her chair， was replaced by a large British woman who sat down silently and fell asleep.
　　The woman and her husband who had been sitting behind us and played peek-a-boo for long stretches were replaced by a cluster of Sri Lankan businessmen talking shop.
　　Suddenly there was no one for my son to play with or smile at， making the second half of the journey much harder work for me， my husband and the one or two stewardesses who took the brunt of our discomfort and boredom.
　　It is usually when I leave China that I am made aware of how special it is to be surrounded by people who love children.
　　During one trip back to England， I was taking a wintry stroll in Richmond Park with my heavily pregnant sister， her two-year-old， my mother and my little boy. As we returned to the car park， a woman came bounding towards us with a big smile. "He's beautiful" she said “how old is he？” I started beaming back， until I realised that she was talking about my sister's Ridgeback. He is， admittedly， a fine-looking dog， but it was so odd to me that the children were not the focus of her admiration.
　　There are， of course， plenty of reasons for this behaviour in the developed world， but after five years in China， I now find it strange to be in a country where admiring or interacting with a stranger’s children in public is almost a taboo. ?