Cambodia Diaries - 27 May2009
The Chinese Way
The day after the HK7’s I boarded a monstrous beast of locomotion or the night train to Shanghai. All 20 hours of it as well and after settling in and watching China unfold outside the compartment window I entered the dining car expecting a Tsingtao beer and maybe some interaction with my new hosts. What I eventually got after arm waving and a lot of calling ‘ne hao’ was a warm Budweiser and a ring side seat to a heated debate between the staff. Not that I did, but heaven help me if I had wanted a second bottle of insipid urine. Welcome to China all the same.
You start arriving in Shanghai long before you disembark and when you do, the sheer size of the place hits you. In a country where a city of less then 5 million is not trying, Shanghai is a massive brut of a thing. I was fortunate to be staying in the apartment of a friend of the Donats of HK and as I stood on Kel’s 28th floor balcony looking out, it was clear that there is much living and business done way off the ground. With its unabated growth currently standing at some 4,000 skyscrapers and ‘rising’ Shanghai is the love child of New York and Berlin – high and loud, wide and proud.
I then went walkabout on a cold afternoon in search of steaming hot dumplings and tea to warm me up, hopefully served by a man with a Manchu ponytail in a former opium den from Shanghai’s decadent past. What I settled out of fear of freezing to death was a latte and a chocolate torte in a Costa Coffee. As I sat there shivering and taking it all in, my mind returned to a meaningless lunch thing I attended whilst working in Liverpool years earlier about the two cities many links. Well after 10 minutes on the main shopping drag, I discovered another similarity, lots of Chinese trying to sell moody DVDs and fake Gucci watches.
I eventually found my dumplings down an old back street. I was the only foreigner in this packed eatery enjoying lunch when my appetite went with the sight of fresh tortoises being readied for the pot. It’s true what they say about the Chinese, they will eat anything bar the table and chairs. It’s also true that in one of the most polluted places I have been to, they love to smoke and they most definitely like to clear their throats, any time, any place with a good old hoick and spit.
On my final night I met up with Richard Young whom I had first met on a stag doo of our mate, Vib Sharma 9 years earlier. I have never been on a bad stag doo, but Vib’s was something else. We met at a terrific venue called Manifesto Mesa which also just happened to be owned by Anita and Charlie, friends of the Donats and not for the first time, I heard foreigners say two things. Firstly, that they loved living in the new China and secondly, when it comes to anything the Chinese government does, it does for China and the Chinese.
Whether that was the view shared by a chap I met later on, is questionable. We caught the tail end of a party thrown by Mark Kitto, a friend of Anita and Charlie’s, who was celebrating the launch of his book China Cuckoo. Kitto was the man who created weekly Time Out style guides on Shanghai, Beijing and Guangzhou and his book is about his experiences of doing business in China, dealing with the bureaucracy before ultimately having his business taken from him. This may well leave a sour taste in one’s mouth and if it did for Kitto, then he certainly fell on that very English of traits: a stiff upper lip to move on with his life.
Another overnight locomotion beast took me to the larger urban mass that is Beijing, similarly modernizing at break neck speed. Unable to check into my hotel, I pushed on round the corner to the fabled Forbidden City and it was a good job I did. For alas, this was a bank holiday weekend and the city of 12 million had invited a few more in for the festivities. I got in to the site as it opened at 8.30am without a soul around. By the time I left it was packed with people marching relentlessly in their tour groups.
A Burberry clad Chinese tour group…probably from Cardiff!!
My departure was hastened by tiredness and a fear that I would destroy the site. After being on the go for 17 hours, I went to a café in the Forbidden City, got myself a cuppa and went to sit on a stool. Alas, I missed it, fell backwards making a hell of a noise and spraying tea everywhere. A couple of locals rushed to my aid and started to lift me up just as I was also trying myself, but getting nowhere due to a lack of traction on the tea puddle floor. When I did get some grip, I went on a second ‘great leap backwards’ taking out a book stand, splaying more tea over a neighbouring book case and all its contents. The real fun for the other diners alerted to all this commotion was the site of the other two locals concluding our clowns audition for the Chinese State Circus by collapsing on the floor and with it; the three of us lay there with an impressive trail of destruction in our wake.
Anything to do with Chinese history sees hordes of Chinese tourists soaking up their heritage. I caught the excellent metro to the Olympic stadium, where scores of coaches were busy ferrying people in and out. The pride the Chinese have in their country and their history is tangible.
Old habits die hard and later that night, I went to the Worker’s Stadium to watch Beijing play. Football has not quite taken off here and the stadium was half full, but the locals were plenty noisy and it seemed everything and everyone was called “shabby”. The referee, linos, opposition, home team players and for all I knew, me. I got back to my hotel and inquired of a couple of the night staff, what ‘shabby’ meant. The two rushed over to shut me up: “It’s very rude word for woman’s…”
They tailed off and I nodded. Odd that in a stadium so heavily fortified with all sorts of security staff, that the locals were nonetheless able to swear like troopers. In fact there are not many places where police, army and Lord knows what else linger, all with a look of zealous determination to carry out orders. Security is everywhere, from x-ray machines at train stations to even entering Tiananmen Square via one. China is not going to let the events of 1989 creep up and catch them unawares again.
Naturally a visit to the Great Wall was on the cards. What I wanted was to avoid the blessed tour groups, which was not going to happen. The travel agent in the hotel insisted it was the only way and was not going to do much to help otherwise. I most definitely did not want trips to jade or silk museums which are actually factory stores. Whereupon the agent reasoned: “But you don’t have to buy anything Sir.”
No surprise then when we stopped at the ‘Jade Experience’ a few agonizing miles from the Wall and opposite a site seemingly earmarked as Disneyland Beijing. This being the bank holiday weekend, the Wall was heaving with humanity and alas, the experience was somewhat ruined, but not enough to dint appreciation of the magnificence of the structure. After a much heralded stop at the Silk Museum, which looked suspiciously like an opportunity to buy silk duvets, when asked if we had any questions I replied “Do you have taxis around here?” I heard a yes and slipped away.
Walled in, good and proper!
The next morning, I went to see the travel agent and laid forth a cogent argument as to why the day previously had been a let down and suggested they just take people to the Wall. “But Sir, how will we make any money out of you?” came the reply. I stood for about 5 seconds on the verge of hyperventilating at the shock of her frankness.
My next stop was a flying visit to Xian, home of the Terracotta Warriors and unbelievable pollution. Time limited, I reluctantly signed up for a tour and headed off with the hotels recommendation for a good place to get a beer and some dumplings. Alas, the best place they sent me to was the Muslim quarter and I ended up joining an American student dining on his own who informed me that anything the Chinese government does, it does for China and her people. My meal arrived, it was huge and I had to get the hungry Yank to bail me out. As I looked around I noted that the Chinese order lots of food, rarely finish it and yes, you do feel hungry 30 minutes after eating here as well.
The Terracotta Warriors tour was another tourist trap with an opportunity to experience jade. The group I was on was a great posse and all of us were ‘jaded’ out, so when we arrived at the factory outlet, I did the demonstration myself. The Chinese guides’ faces were a sight of loathing and fighting a desire to laugh. “Right, I give you special price on anything. Anyone interested? No. Right well let’s get back on the bus!” Mutiny without humour, that’s where it went wrong in 1989.
Xian and her pollution!
My final destination was the stunningly beautiful Guilin or more to the point, the ride down the river. I arrived to find it lashing down and I just happened to enter a bar and strike up conversation with Howard a Welsh lad who informed me that everything the Chinese government does, it does it for the people and good of China. As we parted at 2.30am he confided that he felt more Chinese then Welsh. “No you’re not, you haven’t spat once in nearly 5 hours!” I replied.
My hotel in Guilin (the Eva) was an ‘odd’ place. Brushing my teeth the next morning I noticed condoms for sale amongst the toiletries. Looking closer I discovered one could also buy ‘man love joy oil’ or ‘women love joy oil’. When the hotel said that they wanted you to have a ‘safe’ and ‘happy’ time, nothing was being left to chance. At that point, I wondered how the mother I had checked in with the night previous explained these products to her 9 year old lad, let alone how the tricky issue of asking “Did you use anything in the room Sir/Madam?” was handled.
Everything in China is big and its population officially 1.3 billion ignores the estimated 300 to 400 million unofficial byproducts of the ‘one child policy’. This was a brief 2 week snap shot, but China was nothing like I expected and, if anything, it was more America.
My trip concluded with a few days in Kuala Lumpur with another attendee at The Sharma’s stag doo, Dan Metcalfe and his family. Dan met me at the airport and who should saunter up to us and whisper in my ear: “Hello pup’ but The Sharma himself. He, Renee (Mrs. The Sharma) and Master Kris had come up from Singapore for the weekend as well. I was as touched as I was delighted to see them all and as with most things Sharma related, we enjoyed several cold ones.
The Sharma, Steve, Dan and me (with a silver medal from 1964 Olympics)
But as I debriefed the Metcalfes and Sharmas about my trip I concluded: “Thing is, whatever the Chinese do, they do it for China you know!” and indeed China will likely do so in a country near you in the not too distant future.
Cheers
JH |
