Mengla, China
I've known it all the time: The day would come that I'd have to leave China. Now that the day has arrived I wish I could still put it off. I leave behind love, many new friends, memories, a country that I've got very attached to. I planned on spending half a year here, just to study and travel and ended up staying almost one full one. Maybe I've wasted some time. Maybe I could have done my travels, my studies in a much shorter time but I'm sure that given a second shot I'd do it all again. This country has become something like a new home.
Surely, it's not all perfect - I've discovered good and bad things about China. People can be very nice to foreigners but may also try to cheat you because you're a foreigner. And at some point you do get tired of random people shouting "Hello!" after you while you try to navigate traffic. Girls may be attracted to you but that may only be because foreigners tend to have money (note that I said "may"). Some people have habits that can put a foreigner off - spitting, jumping queues, jaywalking. Then again, you can't expect to travel half-way around the globe and find that things are the same as at home. Things are changing rapidly. That's what makes China both annoying and exciting. Annoying because of constant construction works but exciting because you see things happening (especially before the Olympics). And what may look like complete chaos at first glace actually follows it's very own set of rules. Once I got used to that I've actually felt quite safe - safer for sure than in some other countries. Then, of course, there's the food: The Chinese are proud of it and with good reason. If anywhere it's possible here to eat cheaply but still well. That's one thing I'll miss for sure.
So, what remains for me now is just this elegy for my stay. It's been an amazing adventure - in many ways. I'm glad, happy, thankful I've had this chance, this opportunity. I'd like to thank all the amazing people that have made my stay so memorable - I won't list names (there would be too many anyway) but you know who you are. Thank you! I'll miss you all! I wish you all the very best. I will be back, though I don't know yet when.
Showing posts with label China. Show all posts
Showing posts with label China. Show all posts
Monday, 11 August 2008
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Love and Marriage
Jinghong, China
I'm married. Surprised? It actually came as quite a surprise to me, as well. It was fairly unexpected. Now before certain friends and family members have a heart attack, bang their heads against various pieces of furniture and start writing frantic emails questioning my sanity let me clarify a few things:
It's not at all how it seems. It's not actually for real. But it was a nice surprise. The girl, Iris, is a very lovely person. I met her here in Jinghong, just walking past in the street, saying hello. We started talking and liked each other. She's the reason I ended up staying a lot longer than I originally intended. One day we went to a minority village near here and were picked among other tourists for a ceremony they were performing. We didn't even know the purpose of the ceremony because nobody spoke Mandarin with us. There was a lot of hooting and dancing. We were each given a cup of some strong rice liquor. Then among more hooting led to another hut where we were given another cup of the same liquor. Then the young man that seemed to play the role of the village chief tied a red ribbon around our right wrists. Only now a Chinese speaking guide explained that we were now married and were not supposed to take the ribbon off anymore. It had all happened so fast it took a moment to sink in. Then we were escorted to a bed a huddled together among loud cheers.
The funny thing is that even though all this was just for show it feels real. She's a wonderful girl and I'm happy I can share this memory with her. It's very sad that I can't stay. We both know that. Maybe that makes us try to enjoy every moment. We got together after only knowing each other a day, got married five days later. A few days later I'll have to go and we don't know what the future will bring. But one thing is for sure - the red ribbon will stay with me. Whatever the future may bring, whatever God may have in store for us, I won't forget you, Iris.
I'm married. Surprised? It actually came as quite a surprise to me, as well. It was fairly unexpected. Now before certain friends and family members have a heart attack, bang their heads against various pieces of furniture and start writing frantic emails questioning my sanity let me clarify a few things:
It's not at all how it seems. It's not actually for real. But it was a nice surprise. The girl, Iris, is a very lovely person. I met her here in Jinghong, just walking past in the street, saying hello. We started talking and liked each other. She's the reason I ended up staying a lot longer than I originally intended. One day we went to a minority village near here and were picked among other tourists for a ceremony they were performing. We didn't even know the purpose of the ceremony because nobody spoke Mandarin with us. There was a lot of hooting and dancing. We were each given a cup of some strong rice liquor. Then among more hooting led to another hut where we were given another cup of the same liquor. Then the young man that seemed to play the role of the village chief tied a red ribbon around our right wrists. Only now a Chinese speaking guide explained that we were now married and were not supposed to take the ribbon off anymore. It had all happened so fast it took a moment to sink in. Then we were escorted to a bed a huddled together among loud cheers.
The funny thing is that even though all this was just for show it feels real. She's a wonderful girl and I'm happy I can share this memory with her. It's very sad that I can't stay. We both know that. Maybe that makes us try to enjoy every moment. We got together after only knowing each other a day, got married five days later. A few days later I'll have to go and we don't know what the future will bring. But one thing is for sure - the red ribbon will stay with me. Whatever the future may bring, whatever God may have in store for us, I won't forget you, Iris.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
Pride and Prejudice
Jinghong, China
This entry is backdated. I was in no shape at the time to write this.
Iris had told me a friend of hers wanted to invite us for dinner. He belongs to one of the local ethnic minorities. Part of the village is actually a minor tourist attraction where you can learn about the minority and their customs. The friend would give us a tour and treat us to a local dinner.
Now I don't even know why I was in a bad mood nor when it started. I just remember I was there and I wasn't happy. The thing is I was treated very politely. Iris's friend offered us tea while we sat down to chat. At the same time there was nothing for me to do while Iris and her friend talked about school and other friends I didn't know. Sometimes they would use the local dialect which I couldn't follow. It could well have been my ego acting up. You get used to being the center of attention here, so much that you come to expect it and get disappointed if people ignore you. I'm sure I've mentioned that before, so I don't want to exclude that possibility. At the same time I didn't like the way the other guys were smiling at me. They were showing off their skills, working hard, expertly cutting up various vegetables with big knives. Iris was praising their work. I felt I had nothing to compete with them for her attention. So, it may well also have started with jealousy.
Her friend gave us the promised tour. His wife joined us. They took turns telling us about the village while we walked around the traditional stilt buildings. This was the touristy section of the settlement. Unfortunately, the music and dance performances were already over for the day. There was only one other small group of Chinese tourists with their guide. It was in the main house here that Iris and I got caught up in the ceremony that left us officially married. For a short while I got carried away and forgot about my misgivings.
They soon flared up again. Worse than before. I almost felt something like hostility towards Iris's friends, even though they had spent the last hour or two cooking up a feast of a dinner for us. Something inside me was ranting that they were trying to make a point, prove something. Maybe it wasn't all groundless. In China (more so than in Europe, I think) there is a certain status gain associated with being the host. Men literally squabble over who picks up the bill at the restaurant. The one who pays gains kudos. The guest is treated very politely, like the king of the round table, but in a sense it is to a certain extent at his expense that the host looks good. I had been in the situation before and didn't like this kind of social game. It still makes me feel belittled in a way that's hard to put into words. Perhaps I'm also frustrated because I still can't play along since I'm not used to it and don't understand the social mechanics fully. So I got myself worked up into a virtual fury. In the end Iris noticed something was wrong but it was too late.
We had dinner. The plates covered the whole table. There were various meats and vegetables, all highly spiced. The highlight was a cooked animal that one of Iris's friends had shot in the forest. I noticed small hand-like paws but everyone denied it was a monkey. This leads me to believe it must have been some kind of lizard. It was quite tasty. Then came the alcohol and it marked the beginning of the end. They had beer and some home-made rice liquor in an unmarked plastic bottle. This was my moment to shine! We Germans can take alcohol. They offered me beer. I almost hated them for it. The girls drank beer! I drink what you drink. No, I don't want less than you. 干杯！ We knocked the glasses back. Their home-made brew ran through my system like liquid fire. Not only that it was very strong but it was spicy hot like the local dark red chillies. I have never tasted anything comparable. It was vile. Soon our host poured another cup. 干杯！ Down went the next cup. The sensation wasn't any better. It was still vile. But I couldn't back down. Soon after this my memory starts getting a bit hazy. I don't remember how many cups of this literal firewater followed. I do remember that my stomach felt worse after every cup, every mouthful even. I drank more slowly now but tried to keep up. I remember the guys laughing, having fun - who knows at what. I remember Iris's worried look. She tried to stop me but initially I just brushed her aside. Did she think I couldn't take it? That I wasn't as much a man as they were? She was only drinking beer but was also getting tipsy I think. Eventually, I followed her advice but switched to beer (I think). It was dark already. I don't recall how long this went on. I remember one of Iris's friends (who presumably hadn't been drinking) loaded us in his car to take us back to Jinghong. I remember snippets of looking at the ceiling of a dark car moving through the night, saying something about feeling better or not being drunk. I must have passed out. The next conscious memory is me leaning out of the car door, almost painfully vomiting into the gutter of a paved, well-lit street. The horrible stuff still felt spicy, burning in my throat as I spit it out. It felt like the retching would never stop. Somehow, the driver must have dropped us off. I remember making it to the bathroom of my hotel room just in time before I threw up again - all over the floor this time. I had to steady myself on the sink. After another eternity, when the nausea subsided, I finally felt a bit better. Even my head had cleared a little - enough to give me the presence of mind to flush the bathroom floor and clean up the mess (God bless the Chinese for having bathrooms where you can do that).
I woke up some time during the day feeling literally like shit and hating myself. I've rarely ever felt so miserable. My head felt like it was twice the size, there was a taste in my mouth as if something had died in it, all sounds were muffled as if they passed through cotton wool and I had no appetite whatsoever. And I was probably lucky that I had thrown everything up. Imagine this shit still being in my system! Nonetheless, for an entire day I wanted to die quietly in a corner. Iris kept me company but I don't think it was much fun. I was angry that I had let myself go like that and frustrated that I was wasting an entire day for this reason.
The final insult came when Iris confessed that our "kind" driver from last night had actually made her an indecent proposal. "After your friend has left how about we have a few drinks together and you come to my place?" Something like that he had said. Even while I was still in the car with them! I was angry again. Some fine friends she had! Invitation or no, I seriously don't want to meet any more of them.
And I'm never touching alcohol again.
This entry is backdated. I was in no shape at the time to write this.
Iris had told me a friend of hers wanted to invite us for dinner. He belongs to one of the local ethnic minorities. Part of the village is actually a minor tourist attraction where you can learn about the minority and their customs. The friend would give us a tour and treat us to a local dinner.
Now I don't even know why I was in a bad mood nor when it started. I just remember I was there and I wasn't happy. The thing is I was treated very politely. Iris's friend offered us tea while we sat down to chat. At the same time there was nothing for me to do while Iris and her friend talked about school and other friends I didn't know. Sometimes they would use the local dialect which I couldn't follow. It could well have been my ego acting up. You get used to being the center of attention here, so much that you come to expect it and get disappointed if people ignore you. I'm sure I've mentioned that before, so I don't want to exclude that possibility. At the same time I didn't like the way the other guys were smiling at me. They were showing off their skills, working hard, expertly cutting up various vegetables with big knives. Iris was praising their work. I felt I had nothing to compete with them for her attention. So, it may well also have started with jealousy.
Her friend gave us the promised tour. His wife joined us. They took turns telling us about the village while we walked around the traditional stilt buildings. This was the touristy section of the settlement. Unfortunately, the music and dance performances were already over for the day. There was only one other small group of Chinese tourists with their guide. It was in the main house here that Iris and I got caught up in the ceremony that left us officially married. For a short while I got carried away and forgot about my misgivings.
They soon flared up again. Worse than before. I almost felt something like hostility towards Iris's friends, even though they had spent the last hour or two cooking up a feast of a dinner for us. Something inside me was ranting that they were trying to make a point, prove something. Maybe it wasn't all groundless. In China (more so than in Europe, I think) there is a certain status gain associated with being the host. Men literally squabble over who picks up the bill at the restaurant. The one who pays gains kudos. The guest is treated very politely, like the king of the round table, but in a sense it is to a certain extent at his expense that the host looks good. I had been in the situation before and didn't like this kind of social game. It still makes me feel belittled in a way that's hard to put into words. Perhaps I'm also frustrated because I still can't play along since I'm not used to it and don't understand the social mechanics fully. So I got myself worked up into a virtual fury. In the end Iris noticed something was wrong but it was too late.
We had dinner. The plates covered the whole table. There were various meats and vegetables, all highly spiced. The highlight was a cooked animal that one of Iris's friends had shot in the forest. I noticed small hand-like paws but everyone denied it was a monkey. This leads me to believe it must have been some kind of lizard. It was quite tasty. Then came the alcohol and it marked the beginning of the end. They had beer and some home-made rice liquor in an unmarked plastic bottle. This was my moment to shine! We Germans can take alcohol. They offered me beer. I almost hated them for it. The girls drank beer! I drink what you drink. No, I don't want less than you. 干杯！ We knocked the glasses back. Their home-made brew ran through my system like liquid fire. Not only that it was very strong but it was spicy hot like the local dark red chillies. I have never tasted anything comparable. It was vile. Soon our host poured another cup. 干杯！ Down went the next cup. The sensation wasn't any better. It was still vile. But I couldn't back down. Soon after this my memory starts getting a bit hazy. I don't remember how many cups of this literal firewater followed. I do remember that my stomach felt worse after every cup, every mouthful even. I drank more slowly now but tried to keep up. I remember the guys laughing, having fun - who knows at what. I remember Iris's worried look. She tried to stop me but initially I just brushed her aside. Did she think I couldn't take it? That I wasn't as much a man as they were? She was only drinking beer but was also getting tipsy I think. Eventually, I followed her advice but switched to beer (I think). It was dark already. I don't recall how long this went on. I remember one of Iris's friends (who presumably hadn't been drinking) loaded us in his car to take us back to Jinghong. I remember snippets of looking at the ceiling of a dark car moving through the night, saying something about feeling better or not being drunk. I must have passed out. The next conscious memory is me leaning out of the car door, almost painfully vomiting into the gutter of a paved, well-lit street. The horrible stuff still felt spicy, burning in my throat as I spit it out. It felt like the retching would never stop. Somehow, the driver must have dropped us off. I remember making it to the bathroom of my hotel room just in time before I threw up again - all over the floor this time. I had to steady myself on the sink. After another eternity, when the nausea subsided, I finally felt a bit better. Even my head had cleared a little - enough to give me the presence of mind to flush the bathroom floor and clean up the mess (God bless the Chinese for having bathrooms where you can do that).
I woke up some time during the day feeling literally like shit and hating myself. I've rarely ever felt so miserable. My head felt like it was twice the size, there was a taste in my mouth as if something had died in it, all sounds were muffled as if they passed through cotton wool and I had no appetite whatsoever. And I was probably lucky that I had thrown everything up. Imagine this shit still being in my system! Nonetheless, for an entire day I wanted to die quietly in a corner. Iris kept me company but I don't think it was much fun. I was angry that I had let myself go like that and frustrated that I was wasting an entire day for this reason.
The final insult came when Iris confessed that our "kind" driver from last night had actually made her an indecent proposal. "After your friend has left how about we have a few drinks together and you come to my place?" Something like that he had said. Even while I was still in the car with them! I was angry again. Some fine friends she had! Invitation or no, I seriously don't want to meet any more of them.
And I'm never touching alcohol again.
Sunday, 3 August 2008
How I met Iris
Jinghong, China
How likely do you think is it to walk into somebody in the street and just become friends? Not a fellow backpacker, not anyone you pay for a service but just a random person.
I was walking outside Manting Park in Jinghong thinking about whether it would be worth paying for the ticket to go in.
Out comes a girl struggling with two small dogs on a leash. I smile at the way they pull her forward barking wildly. It seems more like they are walking her than the other way around. She notices my smile, smiles back and says: "Hello." I say "hello" back and then: "Do you need help?" She actually stops and we chat about her dogs. In the end, we walk a bit together and I take the leash for her. I realise the dogs are really strong and want to go everywhere - at the same time. We talk and walk around town. She shows me the church she goes to - she's a Christian. She teaches at a school nearby but she's free because of summer holidays. I end up having dinner with her and two of her friends. And just before that we make plans for visiting a Dai Minority Park together tomorrow.
This trip keeps surprising me.
How likely do you think is it to walk into somebody in the street and just become friends? Not a fellow backpacker, not anyone you pay for a service but just a random person.
I was walking outside Manting Park in Jinghong thinking about whether it would be worth paying for the ticket to go in.
Out comes a girl struggling with two small dogs on a leash. I smile at the way they pull her forward barking wildly. It seems more like they are walking her than the other way around. She notices my smile, smiles back and says: "Hello." I say "hello" back and then: "Do you need help?" She actually stops and we chat about her dogs. In the end, we walk a bit together and I take the leash for her. I realise the dogs are really strong and want to go everywhere - at the same time. We talk and walk around town. She shows me the church she goes to - she's a Christian. She teaches at a school nearby but she's free because of summer holidays. I end up having dinner with her and two of her friends. And just before that we make plans for visiting a Dai Minority Park together tomorrow.
This trip keeps surprising me.
Friday, 1 August 2008
Making an Impact
Jinghong, China
I've always wondered how many of the English translations in China get written. Yesterday, I had the unique chance to be part of that process.
It was quite surprising actually. And tiring considering that I haven't done a day's work for a while. Hehe.
It all started innocently when I mentioned to the girl at the reception of my guesthouse here that their sign at the roadside and at the door (the guesthouse is in a backyard) are not the same. One reads "Dai Building Inn", the other "Dai Garden Building". According to the Lonely Planet (another time that it proved less than useful) I was looking for a guesthouse named the former but couldn't find it because the sign at the road was different (and hung way to high and out of sight). So I mentioned the signs were different. I was taken aback by the question: "What should it say then?" Well, considering the Chinese “傣家花苑小楼” (literally: Dai Family Flower Garden Small Building) I said that the name next to the road was the correct translation. Oh, she reacted, but the other sign was also told us by a foreigner. Well, not every foreigner that may speak some Chinese can also speak proper English. I was even more surprised that she and her husband (?) immediately went about changing the erroneous text on the inner sign. They kept coming back to me asking how to spread out the English words and where to put which word. It turned out that it worked out too long for their sign, so me and my Australian room mate started thinking about how to say it. In the end, we came up with "Dai Garden Lodge" which seems to fit the meaning and the sign and also, we agreed, sounds nice. They eagerly wrote everything down and disappeared.
Later, my room mate wanted to buy a boat ticket (it is possible to take a boat from here along the Mekong River to Thailand). When the staff at the ticket counter realised I spoke Chinese and English they quickly conjured up a notice sign about procedures at their port, written in Chinese on one side and English on the other. Could we have a look at the English side, please, and check it for mistakes. We looked. We looked again. The heading was something like "The beard to the tourist to know". We both do have beards but what did that have to do with anything. It went on in this style. Chinglish. I'm sorry to say that we couldn't help but laugh. Most of it was almost incomprehensible. The girls looked at us embarrassed. Could we try to help them work out a better translation? It looked like a lot of work. Now? Here? Err ... we were about to wind our way out of the situation when fate came to their aid. It started pouring down. A literal rain storm. Hmm... might as well do a good deed. I do hate to see Chinese at the butt end of international jokes because of bad English translations. "And they say that a hero could save us..." We dug into the forest of grammatical anomalies and unknown Chinese characters and only emerged hours later. We wiped the sweat off our foreheads. Now the heading says "Notice to the Traveler". I won't guarantee that any of it will hold up legally in English but now it's understandable. It's actually English. We were rewarded with a huge dinner and Dai performance. And some seriously strong local firewater.
When we got back to the guesthouse late in the evening the sign on the inner door read "Welcome to Dai Garden Lodge".
Talk about making an impact.
I've always wondered how many of the English translations in China get written. Yesterday, I had the unique chance to be part of that process.
It was quite surprising actually. And tiring considering that I haven't done a day's work for a while. Hehe.
It all started innocently when I mentioned to the girl at the reception of my guesthouse here that their sign at the roadside and at the door (the guesthouse is in a backyard) are not the same. One reads "Dai Building Inn", the other "Dai Garden Building". According to the Lonely Planet (another time that it proved less than useful) I was looking for a guesthouse named the former but couldn't find it because the sign at the road was different (and hung way to high and out of sight). So I mentioned the signs were different. I was taken aback by the question: "What should it say then?" Well, considering the Chinese “傣家花苑小楼” (literally: Dai Family Flower Garden Small Building) I said that the name next to the road was the correct translation. Oh, she reacted, but the other sign was also told us by a foreigner. Well, not every foreigner that may speak some Chinese can also speak proper English. I was even more surprised that she and her husband (?) immediately went about changing the erroneous text on the inner sign. They kept coming back to me asking how to spread out the English words and where to put which word. It turned out that it worked out too long for their sign, so me and my Australian room mate started thinking about how to say it. In the end, we came up with "Dai Garden Lodge" which seems to fit the meaning and the sign and also, we agreed, sounds nice. They eagerly wrote everything down and disappeared.
Later, my room mate wanted to buy a boat ticket (it is possible to take a boat from here along the Mekong River to Thailand). When the staff at the ticket counter realised I spoke Chinese and English they quickly conjured up a notice sign about procedures at their port, written in Chinese on one side and English on the other. Could we have a look at the English side, please, and check it for mistakes. We looked. We looked again. The heading was something like "The beard to the tourist to know". We both do have beards but what did that have to do with anything. It went on in this style. Chinglish. I'm sorry to say that we couldn't help but laugh. Most of it was almost incomprehensible. The girls looked at us embarrassed. Could we try to help them work out a better translation? It looked like a lot of work. Now? Here? Err ... we were about to wind our way out of the situation when fate came to their aid. It started pouring down. A literal rain storm. Hmm... might as well do a good deed. I do hate to see Chinese at the butt end of international jokes because of bad English translations. "And they say that a hero could save us..." We dug into the forest of grammatical anomalies and unknown Chinese characters and only emerged hours later. We wiped the sweat off our foreheads. Now the heading says "Notice to the Traveler". I won't guarantee that any of it will hold up legally in English but now it's understandable. It's actually English. We were rewarded with a huge dinner and Dai performance. And some seriously strong local firewater.
When we got back to the guesthouse late in the evening the sign on the inner door read "Welcome to Dai Garden Lodge".
Talk about making an impact.
Friday, 25 July 2008
The Luckiest Puppy
Lijiang, China
At Mama Naxi's friendly guesthouse (I really recommend it!) I just rediscovered a liking for dogs. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not talking about exotic Chinese cuisine. The family are keeping a little puppy. It's tiny, maybe a few months old, gets exciting about everything (including its own tail), chases random things (also including its tail) and always wants to lick or bite things (especially people that stroke it) but has no force in its jaws yet (thankfully, but it's teeth are sharp). It pads around clumsily, jumps and yelps or pokes its little, moist nose at you wanting attention. And everybody loves it. There's not a single person at the guesthouse who will not go "aww" over it or give it some love. Wherever the little thing appears people stroke it, feed it or pamper it in some other way.
I generally like dogs but I was never good at handling them. Nor did I have any wish to cuddle them. But this little puppy melted my heart. I'm sure this was what the word "adorable" was invented for.
It must also at this moment be the luckiest little doggy in all of China.
Sunday, 20 July 2008
More than meets the eye ...
Kunming, China
Sometimes there is more than meets the eye. This is not about Transformers but about Joseph. Here's why.
I met him in the Green Lake Park in Kunming. He spoke English and was eager to communicate. He was a teacher, he said, very interested in languages. Since I am too (that's why I'm here, right?) it was easy to talk to him. Still, something made my alarm bells go off. Maybe his eagerness, the fact that he stuck around even when I talked to other people. Maybe he seemed to be waiting. But then again, many Chinese are eager to practice their English and/or talk to foreigners, so I talked to him and ignored my suspicions for the time being. He wanted to make friends, he said, so I wanted to give him a chance. Then he suggested going to a tea house and drink some tea and chat. That again made my spider-sense tingle. Stories of girls that take foreign guys to tea houses and serve them astronomical bills reared their heads. But this was a middle-aged man. Would he? We arrived at his friend's tea shop and he began ordering Pu'er and another expensive tea. I dropped the hint that this stuff might be expensive and he just waved it away. So we drank tea with the owner - it felt a bit odd but hey, I've had stranger encounters.
Then a western girl walked past and Joseph recognised her. Hadn't she walked past before I wondered. She greeted him. My friend, he exclaimed, mentioned something like he was making new friends. She continued smiling saying "... and he's a con-man. He'll end up charging you 100 yuan." Had I heard that right. She was still smiling. How had they met? In the same way as me and him, he had picked her up in a park. She repeated her warning then said: "Come let's have a coffee and get to know each other." She got up to leave. I took the hint, excused myself and left. Interestingly, my new "friend" did nothing to stop his new-found friend from leaving so soon.
After leaving she said that "Joseph" was well-known. He had taken her to the same tea shop, promising free tea, then when it was time to leave had confessed he had no money to pay and asked her to pay 100 yuan so that he would not loose face in front of his friend, the owner. She later heard from a colleague - she was working in Kunming - that the same had happened to her, too. People had written about him in forums. He had been active in Lijiang but become too infamous among foreigners there, so he had moved to Kunming for fresh victims. I was shocked. And grateful, too. Rebecca had indeed walked past once, then called her friend and told her what she had seen. Her friend had then told her to go back and get the "poor guy out of there". If not for her I might also be 100 yuan the poorer.
So, no matter how much kindness you've experienced from locals in China not everyone is honest. Sometimes there's more to people than it seems. And if a friendly guy named Joseph invites you for tea in Kunming it might be better to decline. Thanks a lot for bailing me out, Rebecca.
Sometimes there is more than meets the eye. This is not about Transformers but about Joseph. Here's why.
I met him in the Green Lake Park in Kunming. He spoke English and was eager to communicate. He was a teacher, he said, very interested in languages. Since I am too (that's why I'm here, right?) it was easy to talk to him. Still, something made my alarm bells go off. Maybe his eagerness, the fact that he stuck around even when I talked to other people. Maybe he seemed to be waiting. But then again, many Chinese are eager to practice their English and/or talk to foreigners, so I talked to him and ignored my suspicions for the time being. He wanted to make friends, he said, so I wanted to give him a chance. Then he suggested going to a tea house and drink some tea and chat. That again made my spider-sense tingle. Stories of girls that take foreign guys to tea houses and serve them astronomical bills reared their heads. But this was a middle-aged man. Would he? We arrived at his friend's tea shop and he began ordering Pu'er and another expensive tea. I dropped the hint that this stuff might be expensive and he just waved it away. So we drank tea with the owner - it felt a bit odd but hey, I've had stranger encounters.
Then a western girl walked past and Joseph recognised her. Hadn't she walked past before I wondered. She greeted him. My friend, he exclaimed, mentioned something like he was making new friends. She continued smiling saying "... and he's a con-man. He'll end up charging you 100 yuan." Had I heard that right. She was still smiling. How had they met? In the same way as me and him, he had picked her up in a park. She repeated her warning then said: "Come let's have a coffee and get to know each other." She got up to leave. I took the hint, excused myself and left. Interestingly, my new "friend" did nothing to stop his new-found friend from leaving so soon.
After leaving she said that "Joseph" was well-known. He had taken her to the same tea shop, promising free tea, then when it was time to leave had confessed he had no money to pay and asked her to pay 100 yuan so that he would not loose face in front of his friend, the owner. She later heard from a colleague - she was working in Kunming - that the same had happened to her, too. People had written about him in forums. He had been active in Lijiang but become too infamous among foreigners there, so he had moved to Kunming for fresh victims. I was shocked. And grateful, too. Rebecca had indeed walked past once, then called her friend and told her what she had seen. Her friend had then told her to go back and get the "poor guy out of there". If not for her I might also be 100 yuan the poorer.
So, no matter how much kindness you've experienced from locals in China not everyone is honest. Sometimes there's more to people than it seems. And if a friendly guy named Joseph invites you for tea in Kunming it might be better to decline. Thanks a lot for bailing me out, Rebecca.
Saturday, 5 July 2008
It's a Small World
Guangzhou, China
You won't believe me this and I have no proof of it. So, just take my word for it.
Remember the English guy I mentioned meeting on my tour of the Terracotta Army near Xi'an? The one that also wanted to see the Tomb of Emperor Qin Shi Huang? Actually, I barely did until today.
I just walked into him on the bank of the Pearl River. A tall foreigner. But there was something familiar about him. Still, I walked past. It was him who actually came after me. "Haven't we met before?", he asked. Then it came to me, too. Xi'an, tour, etc.
He lived in a nearby town and was doing business in China. I'm sure he had told me that before. I was still too surprised. Consider the odds meeting again even in the same city (as it did happen in Xi'an, actually). Now consider the odds of meeting again within a country as big as China. What a small world!
You won't believe me this and I have no proof of it. So, just take my word for it.
Remember the English guy I mentioned meeting on my tour of the Terracotta Army near Xi'an? The one that also wanted to see the Tomb of Emperor Qin Shi Huang? Actually, I barely did until today.
I just walked into him on the bank of the Pearl River. A tall foreigner. But there was something familiar about him. Still, I walked past. It was him who actually came after me. "Haven't we met before?", he asked. Then it came to me, too. Xi'an, tour, etc.
He lived in a nearby town and was doing business in China. I'm sure he had told me that before. I was still too surprised. Consider the odds meeting again even in the same city (as it did happen in Xi'an, actually). Now consider the odds of meeting again within a country as big as China. What a small world!
Thursday, 3 July 2008
The Real Kung Fu
Zhuhai, China
Here in Zhuhai I found the most awesome fastfood restaurant ever. I've never seen it anywhere else in China. It's a Chinese chain (at least I assume that) called 真功夫, which translates to "Real Kung Fu". Their logo above these characters is a pop-art-like impression of Bruce Lee in his famous fighting stance wearing the yellow and black training suit he wore in his last movie "Game of Death". I don't really have much else to say - just that it's totally cool! I haven't eaten there yet but I definitely will. I might just not get a chance here because I'm staying with a friend and she wants to cook for me tonight. Maybe there's a shop in Guangzhou, as well.
Update: I found another branch inside the Guangzhou train station. I had dinner there. The food isn't special and probably doesn't do justice to Canonese cooking but I still think the place rocks. The staff wear yellow or black T-shirts with the logo. I actually asked one of the girls at the counter if I could buy one. She said no. I almost begged her. I'd take any old one, no matter if it's used or dirty. I was so sure they must have spares for staff to wear. She was very friendly even though I'm sure she thought I was weird. She politely told me she was sorry, there wasn't one for sale. Oh well, in the end I kept my napkin as a souvenir.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
Moving Pictures
Hong Kong, China
My time in Hong Kong hasn't been exactly as expected. I was quite excited to get here after watching so many films set in this city.
A friend, a guy from Beijing who I met in London and who works here now generously offered me his couch in his apartment.
The first day was gorgeous: my friend and me went on a boat trip with some of his colleagues and work contacts. "No stay in Hong Kong is complete without a boat trip", he said. So, there was sun and beach and fresh sea food on one of the outlying islands. It almost felt like Malaysia already.
A day later the typhoon hit. We were lucky that only the edge of the storm grazed Hong Kong but the sun was gone. Every day ridiculous amounts of rain would pour down turning bridges to waterfalls and the park next to my friend's apartment block into a swamp. On the way to the MTR we literally had to wade through puddles on some days (flip-flops are useful not only in the sun). Only in the afternoon the weather would clear up a bit. I guess, a stay in Hong Kong is not complete without one of the famous typhoons either.
Now, my friend leaves for work very early in the morning - as early as 7:45! He also has no spare key, so I have to leave with him and can't come back in until he gets back fairly late at night. The only place you can reach by roofed walkways without getting soaked is the nearby shopping mall. And since this is Hong Kong and people have Internet at home there wasn't even any friendly neighbourhood net bar. Imagine my frustration!
The first rainy day I paced myself into a fatigue up and down escalators across the various levels of the mall waiting for shops to open and something to happen, checking the weather at intervals. Then I spent the rest of most of the morning at a little restaurant along with a number of elderly men, who also seemed to have nothing to do, sipping 粥 (rice porridge), nibbling on 油条 (fried dough) and watching the news in Cantonese.
Only on the second day did I find the multi-screen cinema. They had cheap matinees. And suddenly the rainy mornings didn't seem quite as bleak anymore. So I managed to catch M. Night Shyamalan's new one, The Happening, and a very sexy and cool Angelina Jolie in Wanted. I could have become a regular. Besides, the girl at the ticket office was quite cute. They should have Hong Kong cinema classics with Chow Yun Fat or Leslie Cheung in the morning to get me in the mood of heading out. I still want to find the building they used for the roof-top scene in Infernal Affairs. Come to think of it I spent a lot of time in that cinema and only ever ventured out after lunch. Then again, faced with the choice of getting soaked and I haven't been to the cinema for such a long time.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
For Your Own Safety
Hong Kong, China
I'm in Hong Kong, at last. I've really been looking forward to this. Sadly, I couldn't just have a smooth, perfect stay. Seems, that would be asking too much.
After a gorgeous boat trip with my friend Mr. T and some of his colleagues to some islands I wanted to get some money. Paying for the trip and my initial Octopus Card (like London's Oyster Card but with more ... arms, I guess) had eaten up most of the cash I had changed on entering. I was left with just a handful of Hong Kong Dollars and a few hundred Chinese Yuan.
When I went to the cash machine in downtown Causeway Bay, however, the machine refused to give me money. Had I gone to the wrong bank or the wrong branch? These things go through your head. Seen globally Hong Kong is a small place, maybe not all local banks allow you to use foreign cards. It was a weekend, so all banks were closed. Over the next day I tried all the various banks and their ATMs that I passed. No, no and no. The machine would always eject my card and print the same little advice slip saying "transaction rejected" and an error code. No reason. Just rejected. Now, there was no way I could already have spent so much as to completely exhaust my funds. And I made sure all the ATMs here have the VISA symbol on them. I had entered my PIN correctly, too. But then what was the problem? I was down to 10 dollars and getting really annoyed. I had been using the card all over China just to be rejected in a much more international place like Hong Kong!
On Monday, I walked into a branch to ask. The manager himself came out to talk to me. I guess, that's foreigner treatment in action again. I showed him the printout and he went to check. Turns out it wasn't their ATM or bank that was rejecting my transaction but my bank in UK, Lloyds TSB, was. Damn it, that meant at least one international phone call to Lloyds's help line. Could they help me make that call? They couldn't since it was not an overseas branch of their own bank but a completely different institution.
By now I had told my friends what was going on. Without any further comment Lingyun had just gone to an ATM, withdrawn 2000 dollars and pushed them into my hands. "Give it back to me when you can." Technically, I hate asking for or borrowing money, especially from friends. I don't want to owe them anything. Makes them seem more like business relations. But what choice did I have? I was damn lucky I had them.
Lingyun also let me use her phone to make the call to the help line. A man picked up, I explained my problem. He would connect me to their fraud department and would I please hold. I held. I was pacing around the lobby of Lingyun's office building at Three Exchange Square. A woman picked up, I explained my problem again. The solution was as simple as it was stupid. Apologising and calling me "sir" she explained that this was one of their "random security measures to protect me against fraud". She would unlock my card right away. Random security measure?! I was calling from Hong Kong, I was thousands of kilometers away from home, my cash was running low and their "random security measure" had disabled my only means to get more money! How did that help me? She was sorry for the inconvenience. Inconvenience my ass! I'm lucky to have my friends here. I didn't say that, of course. Wouldn't have much use anyway. She's just a pawn. So, to prevent further inconvenience I explained I will still be travelling other countries in the region. Could I give her a list of countries to put into their computer system to prevent any further randomness. I was apologised to and called "sir" some more but there was no way she could do that. It shouldn't happen anymore for the next three days, after that I was welcome to call their 24-hour help line for assistance. I was also welcome to pay the fees for the call. She didn't say that, of course. Could she do anything else for me at all today? No, I think Lloyds TSB had already done enough damage. But I didn't say that either.
So, with a lot of things left unsaid it took until this morning to finally make a successful withdrawal. So, it seems I can at least pay back my monetary debt to Lingyun. I hardly dare to think what will happen after I return to China, let alone places like Cambodia where I don't speak the language and don't know anyone either. Then I'll be screwed. I just hope I'll have a telephone handy and enough cash to pay for the call to the help line.
I'm sure my anger is not at all justified and this is all for my own safety. But surely there must also be better ways of protecting me and my money than randomly blocking my transactions and cutting me off from vitally needed funds when I'm abroad. Especially when I'm abroad. Or is this a way to force people to call their expensive overseas help line and make them some additional money? Come to think of it this isn't the first time it has happened to me either. When I went to Malaysia in 2006 my card was also rejected. Thankfully my girlfriend's card wasn't. Oh well, at least we'll be safe. Pennyless but safe.
Friday, 20 June 2008
An Arm for a Wing
Shenzhen, China
One of my major aims when coming to Guangdong Province and Hong Kong was to try the Cha Shao Pork and Cantonese roasted duck that I learnt to love in my favourite Chinese restaurant in Woking. Would it be even better here? So after my nap in the park and a bit of strolling around I hunted around central Shenzhen for a restaurant that had the characteristic window display. It wasn't that easy, actually. Also, in China there are so many restaurants that you never know how to pick a good one. Eventually I picked one and was shown upstairs. They did have very tasty duck. They also had a slightly intoxicated old man in a corner who was curious about the foreigner who could speak Chinese.
He invited me on a beer, joined me at my table and we chatted - a bit awkwardly on my part since I couldn't often understand him because of his strong southern accent and I needed the waitress, whose Mandarin was clearer, to "translate" for me.
After my meal came the main event: He asked me to arm wrestle him. I'm not very strong, so to save myself the embarrassment I tried politely to decline but he insisted. So, the table was cleared, we aligned our arms, locked hands. "Please Mister Wei", he requested politely (I had introduced myself with my Chinese name), "go easy on me. I am an old man. Do not hurt me." I didn't think that likely but acknowledged. "Slowly", he said. So I gently started to press. I pressed harder. Frankly, in the end I pressed as hard as I could. Just his arm didn't budge. It was like wrestling one of the stone guardian lions. "Mister Wei", he said still smiling a polite smile, "please do not be courteous. You have to try harder." There was no sign of strain in his voice. Then in one easy motion he brought my hand to the table. I do believe with a bit more force he could have broken it. Even so it felt like he was twisting it off. To save myself at least a bit of face in front of him (and in front of the waitress) I explained that I had spent most of my life in front of a computer while he had worked in manual labour most of his. He accepted that and it was time for my getaway.
I would have liked to think that hefting that 30kg backpack around would have improved my fitness at least a tiny bit. Or maybe it has and God knows what would have happened otherwise ...
One of my major aims when coming to Guangdong Province and Hong Kong was to try the Cha Shao Pork and Cantonese roasted duck that I learnt to love in my favourite Chinese restaurant in Woking. Would it be even better here? So after my nap in the park and a bit of strolling around I hunted around central Shenzhen for a restaurant that had the characteristic window display. It wasn't that easy, actually. Also, in China there are so many restaurants that you never know how to pick a good one. Eventually I picked one and was shown upstairs. They did have very tasty duck. They also had a slightly intoxicated old man in a corner who was curious about the foreigner who could speak Chinese.
He invited me on a beer, joined me at my table and we chatted - a bit awkwardly on my part since I couldn't often understand him because of his strong southern accent and I needed the waitress, whose Mandarin was clearer, to "translate" for me.
After my meal came the main event: He asked me to arm wrestle him. I'm not very strong, so to save myself the embarrassment I tried politely to decline but he insisted. So, the table was cleared, we aligned our arms, locked hands. "Please Mister Wei", he requested politely (I had introduced myself with my Chinese name), "go easy on me. I am an old man. Do not hurt me." I didn't think that likely but acknowledged. "Slowly", he said. So I gently started to press. I pressed harder. Frankly, in the end I pressed as hard as I could. Just his arm didn't budge. It was like wrestling one of the stone guardian lions. "Mister Wei", he said still smiling a polite smile, "please do not be courteous. You have to try harder." There was no sign of strain in his voice. Then in one easy motion he brought my hand to the table. I do believe with a bit more force he could have broken it. Even so it felt like he was twisting it off. To save myself at least a bit of face in front of him (and in front of the waitress) I explained that I had spent most of my life in front of a computer while he had worked in manual labour most of his. He accepted that and it was time for my getaway.
I would have liked to think that hefting that 30kg backpack around would have improved my fitness at least a tiny bit. Or maybe it has and God knows what would have happened otherwise ...
14 Hours
Hong Kong, China
What do 14 hours mean to you? My next major stop is Hong Kong. I'm crossing into Hong Kong Special Administrative District from Shenzhen on foot because express trains from Guangzhou or Shenzhen itself are expensive. On foot I can just take the MTR on the other side of the check point.
14 hours is the time it takes from Hangzhou down to Shenzhen by train. It's the over-night train. What I hadn't known is that it's the time students go home for holidays. So when I went to the ticket office at Hangzhou West Station there were no sleeping berths left. No seats either. I must have been out of my mind when I told the clerk to go ahead and sell me a 无坐 (no seat) ticket. How bad could it be?
I also didn't expect that there would be hardly any floor space left either. Imagine this: All seats occupied, some shared by two people, people standing or sitting on most of the available floor space; the over-head racks, the space under and sometimes between seats and a lot of the remaining floor occupied by luggage. Even if you have a seat you hardly have space for your feet. You end up more cowering than sitting, cramped together into a bundle. And thus the train races off into the night.
At times like these I'm impressed with the stoic patience with which Chinese people bear these conditions. Of course, what can you do unless you can afford the expensive express trains? I can't (it's not in the budget) and the other people in the coach can't either. So, what would you do with 14 hours if you had hardly enough space to think?
The first few hours are all very well. You chat a bit, you have a bowl of noodles and some tea, you listen to some music. A cute student girl offered to share her seat with me, so I sat on the corner of her seat for a while - with her soon falling asleep against my shoulder.
The next few hours start getting longer. You're tired because you've been out and about all day. But you can't sleep with nothing supporting your head and only half your butt on the seat. Your neck starts getting stiff. Songs start repeating. I felt bad for taking up the girl's seat. After all, she had paid good money for it. So, I moved to the floor. When you're so exhausted you don't care anymore who might have spit on it. If you wedge your feet under the opposite row of seats just so and lean your head against the edge of the seat behind you like so, it's actually quite comfortable. Just that every now and again you have to move because people want to go to the toilet or to get water. Conversations have died down. Most people have dozed off.
Then time really goes into slo-mo. Minutes drag on like hours. Your music becomes tedious because it's always the same. You feel you've listened to every track at least ten times before. Sometimes you doze off for a few minutes but keep waking up because of the uncomfortable position. You just wish you could fall asleep and wonder how all the other people in the coach do it. You keep glancing at the clock. You're happy when you pass the half-way point. But after an eternity and a half there are still five more hours to go. By this time I had ended up lying rolled up on the floor, my head resting on the small backpack. All reservations about dirt had gone out the window.
The last three or so hours I spent in a daze. I think I actually fell asleep for a while. Then people started waking up again and getting their morning noodles. Of course, this happens just when you feel you've gotten comfortable.
In the end, I somehow managed to drag my luggage out of the train. I even chatted with a girl I had met when helping her with her luggage. She had come down to Shenzhen to see a friend. We decided to have breakfast together but when I came back from depositing my backpack for the day she had disappeared. Just as well, since sleep was the foremost thing on my mind anyway.
What do 14 hours mean to you? My next major stop is Hong Kong. I'm crossing into Hong Kong Special Administrative District from Shenzhen on foot because express trains from Guangzhou or Shenzhen itself are expensive. On foot I can just take the MTR on the other side of the check point.
14 hours is the time it takes from Hangzhou down to Shenzhen by train. It's the over-night train. What I hadn't known is that it's the time students go home for holidays. So when I went to the ticket office at Hangzhou West Station there were no sleeping berths left. No seats either. I must have been out of my mind when I told the clerk to go ahead and sell me a 无坐 (no seat) ticket. How bad could it be?
I also didn't expect that there would be hardly any floor space left either. Imagine this: All seats occupied, some shared by two people, people standing or sitting on most of the available floor space; the over-head racks, the space under and sometimes between seats and a lot of the remaining floor occupied by luggage. Even if you have a seat you hardly have space for your feet. You end up more cowering than sitting, cramped together into a bundle. And thus the train races off into the night.
At times like these I'm impressed with the stoic patience with which Chinese people bear these conditions. Of course, what can you do unless you can afford the expensive express trains? I can't (it's not in the budget) and the other people in the coach can't either. So, what would you do with 14 hours if you had hardly enough space to think?
The first few hours are all very well. You chat a bit, you have a bowl of noodles and some tea, you listen to some music. A cute student girl offered to share her seat with me, so I sat on the corner of her seat for a while - with her soon falling asleep against my shoulder.
The next few hours start getting longer. You're tired because you've been out and about all day. But you can't sleep with nothing supporting your head and only half your butt on the seat. Your neck starts getting stiff. Songs start repeating. I felt bad for taking up the girl's seat. After all, she had paid good money for it. So, I moved to the floor. When you're so exhausted you don't care anymore who might have spit on it. If you wedge your feet under the opposite row of seats just so and lean your head against the edge of the seat behind you like so, it's actually quite comfortable. Just that every now and again you have to move because people want to go to the toilet or to get water. Conversations have died down. Most people have dozed off.
Then time really goes into slo-mo. Minutes drag on like hours. Your music becomes tedious because it's always the same. You feel you've listened to every track at least ten times before. Sometimes you doze off for a few minutes but keep waking up because of the uncomfortable position. You just wish you could fall asleep and wonder how all the other people in the coach do it. You keep glancing at the clock. You're happy when you pass the half-way point. But after an eternity and a half there are still five more hours to go. By this time I had ended up lying rolled up on the floor, my head resting on the small backpack. All reservations about dirt had gone out the window.
The last three or so hours I spent in a daze. I think I actually fell asleep for a while. Then people started waking up again and getting their morning noodles. Of course, this happens just when you feel you've gotten comfortable.
In the end, I somehow managed to drag my luggage out of the train. I even chatted with a girl I had met when helping her with her luggage. She had come down to Shenzhen to see a friend. We decided to have breakfast together but when I came back from depositing my backpack for the day she had disappeared. Just as well, since sleep was the foremost thing on my mind anyway.
Thursday, 22 May 2008
What do you mean: closed?!
Shanghai, China
I realise I've started taking net bars for granted. I've come to expect them everywhere and all the time. To give it a more mystical note: they just are. But seriously, most neighbourhoods have at least one; many are open 24 hours or at least until very late. Some people practically live there. After arriving in Shanghai today this habit almost exploded in my face.
I have the good fortune to have a friend in this expensive city, a Chinese girl (yes, another) who I know from my university days in UK. And since net bars are everywhere I had never bothered to write down her phone number nor her address. Get to Shanghai, go online, check your gmail account for the number - that was the plan.
Only when I got to a net bar outside Shanghai North train station they all shook their heads. "You can't go online here." I gave them a funny look. "Is this a net bar?" "Yes." "So, I can use your computers here?" "There's no Internet." I was very close to asking the guy if the Internet was closed today. In the end I gave up and left. There were a few words I couldn't understand. Maybe they were having technical troubles. But hey, there's always the next net bar.
Strangely, the answer was the same. "You cannot go online today." I got a bit impatient. "Do you mean to say that all of Shanghai has not connection today?" "All of China cannot go online." Something in my head refused to understand. "It's because of the earthquake", somebody outside told me. Now that one I know. I was in the damn quake. But that was about two weeks ago and several thousand kilometers away! I went up again to try one more time. It was true, both net bars were surprisingly empty. I could count the customers on one hand. Still, there were some. "How about them", I asked a girl that worked there. "They are not online." I pointed out I had seen Internet Explorer open but she insisted that they were not online at all. In the end, I changed my strategy. I just wanted to use a computer, I told her. It didn't matter if I couldn't go online. To this she finally agreed and I got my token and password. You could go online, of course. But seeing the same background picture on all screens - black with a few lit candles - I began to understand. I've had the bad luck of arriving here during the three-day national mourning period for the victims of the earth quake (the death toll is still rising - we're in the four figures). My friend confirmed this later. During this time the government discouraged or prohibited the use of net bars.
At least I managed to negotiate my five minutes net time and met Charmaine. Otherwise, this might have been a very complicated three days.
I realise I've started taking net bars for granted. I've come to expect them everywhere and all the time. To give it a more mystical note: they just are. But seriously, most neighbourhoods have at least one; many are open 24 hours or at least until very late. Some people practically live there. After arriving in Shanghai today this habit almost exploded in my face.
I have the good fortune to have a friend in this expensive city, a Chinese girl (yes, another) who I know from my university days in UK. And since net bars are everywhere I had never bothered to write down her phone number nor her address. Get to Shanghai, go online, check your gmail account for the number - that was the plan.
Only when I got to a net bar outside Shanghai North train station they all shook their heads. "You can't go online here." I gave them a funny look. "Is this a net bar?" "Yes." "So, I can use your computers here?" "There's no Internet." I was very close to asking the guy if the Internet was closed today. In the end I gave up and left. There were a few words I couldn't understand. Maybe they were having technical troubles. But hey, there's always the next net bar.
Strangely, the answer was the same. "You cannot go online today." I got a bit impatient. "Do you mean to say that all of Shanghai has not connection today?" "All of China cannot go online." Something in my head refused to understand. "It's because of the earthquake", somebody outside told me. Now that one I know. I was in the damn quake. But that was about two weeks ago and several thousand kilometers away! I went up again to try one more time. It was true, both net bars were surprisingly empty. I could count the customers on one hand. Still, there were some. "How about them", I asked a girl that worked there. "They are not online." I pointed out I had seen Internet Explorer open but she insisted that they were not online at all. In the end, I changed my strategy. I just wanted to use a computer, I told her. It didn't matter if I couldn't go online. To this she finally agreed and I got my token and password. You could go online, of course. But seeing the same background picture on all screens - black with a few lit candles - I began to understand. I've had the bad luck of arriving here during the three-day national mourning period for the victims of the earth quake (the death toll is still rising - we're in the four figures). My friend confirmed this later. During this time the government discouraged or prohibited the use of net bars.
At least I managed to negotiate my five minutes net time and met Charmaine. Otherwise, this might have been a very complicated three days.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
The Sensitive Side
Wuhan, China
This is about another French guy, another fellow traveller who was my roommate at the hostel in Wuhan. Compared to his macho-countryman in Xi'an, however, he was very different.
We met in the morning when getting up and decided to hang out and explore the city together. We went for spicy noodles - a specialty since Wuhan is the capital of Hubei Province, which is known in all of China for its exceedingly hot and spicy food. Suffice to say breakfast was fiery. We spent the day walking around the city, around the lakes where the university is, through the old town to the river. We talked about many things and, watching lovers by the lake, I was surprised that we could also talk about matters of the heart, relationships and love - topics that I've always shied from discussing with other men because there is always the pressure of seeming cool or "manly". Relationships and especially feelings aren't things that men talk about - by convention. But with him it was different. We saw couples by the lake and remarked on how travelling can be lonely sometimes. He asked me if I had had any relationships while travelling. He had heard other travellers talk about it but he had had no luck. I told him about my feelings, of how I missed Vero, of how I was unsure of how to go on. The topic came naturally and I felt comfortable opening a bit - even though (or maybe because) he was a stranger I hadn't known before this morning. I felt that from him I didn't need to fear judgement or ridicule. It was a relief to speak that freely.
Late at night we were still sitting on the bank of the mighty Yangzi River having a beer and he told me his sad tale - of his girlfriend in France, who he had told not to wait for him because he'd be away for 6 months and how heart-broken he had been when he had read her email saying she had, in fact, not waited for him and was seeing another man.
In the end, I never did get his details but in a way I would still like to tell him thank you. I wish there were more guys like him around.
This is about another French guy, another fellow traveller who was my roommate at the hostel in Wuhan. Compared to his macho-countryman in Xi'an, however, he was very different.
We met in the morning when getting up and decided to hang out and explore the city together. We went for spicy noodles - a specialty since Wuhan is the capital of Hubei Province, which is known in all of China for its exceedingly hot and spicy food. Suffice to say breakfast was fiery. We spent the day walking around the city, around the lakes where the university is, through the old town to the river. We talked about many things and, watching lovers by the lake, I was surprised that we could also talk about matters of the heart, relationships and love - topics that I've always shied from discussing with other men because there is always the pressure of seeming cool or "manly". Relationships and especially feelings aren't things that men talk about - by convention. But with him it was different. We saw couples by the lake and remarked on how travelling can be lonely sometimes. He asked me if I had had any relationships while travelling. He had heard other travellers talk about it but he had had no luck. I told him about my feelings, of how I missed Vero, of how I was unsure of how to go on. The topic came naturally and I felt comfortable opening a bit - even though (or maybe because) he was a stranger I hadn't known before this morning. I felt that from him I didn't need to fear judgement or ridicule. It was a relief to speak that freely.
Late at night we were still sitting on the bank of the mighty Yangzi River having a beer and he told me his sad tale - of his girlfriend in France, who he had told not to wait for him because he'd be away for 6 months and how heart-broken he had been when he had read her email saying she had, in fact, not waited for him and was seeing another man.
In the end, I never did get his details but in a way I would still like to tell him thank you. I wish there were more guys like him around.
Halls of the Dead
Yangzi River, China
The first day was all about the dead. Even before we entered the first of the Gorges we stopped at what was announced as the "City of Ghosts". What was this? The Lonely Planet didn't have the answer. I had to trust the guides. It was to be a large Taoist temple complex dedicated to the god of the underworld. That sounded cool. Besides, who wouldn't like to be able to say: "I've been to the City of Ghosts"?
I was a bit disappointed with the guided tour. My Chinese vocabulary is still quite limited when it comes to culture and religion. The tour guide just went through her regular routine - in machine-gun-Mandarin. It seemed to be more of a nuissance to her having a foreigner in her group. When she was giving out the tickets outside the entrance she called all Chinese tourists by name. When I told her my Chinese name (under which I was registered) she didn't even listen, just said to her colleague: "Give the foreigner his ticket." Had I heard that right? It may be a small thing but it upset me. So much that I wanted tell people about it but my phone had run out of credit.
The attraction itself was a mixed experience. Ways up to the temple buildings were lined with bizarre, otherworldly guardians of the dead. I loved taking pictures of them and would have loved even more to be able to ask someone about them. The temples themselves, however, were far from spectacular. Workers were rude and much of the grounds had been converted into a cheap underworld freak show made up from (now broken and decayed) paper mache stand-ups. There was even a ghost ride but that was just too cheesy. How much had I paid for this again - 80 RMB??
The next excursion was late that night and, sadly, quite a waste of time. This was to be the Temple of Zhang Fei, ally and oath brother of Liu Bei during the period of the Three Kingdoms. After his assasination his body was buried here while his head rests somewhere in Sichuan Province. A common thing in those days apparently to bury head and body seperately. This was also where I first met Jacques.
We arrived so late that it was already pitch black outside. Photos were difficult because of the lighting, some of the temple was already closed and it was not really a historic building either. Aside from a pretty sculpture of the "oath in the peach garden" and a few lessons on Three Kingdoms history there was not much to gain from this place; after half an hour we were out again.
The way that led up to the temple was lined with souvenir sellers. That wasn't so surprising. They would offer you anything from rusty confiscated Japanese swords to plastic toys for kids. What I found interesting was that a lot of sellers here offered volumes of erotic pictures, Chinese centerfolds. I can't remember seeing them for sale anywhere else and certainly not this openly and in such numbers. They didn't even looks like the kind of smut you'd expect to be sold under the counter. Something like you'd expect to see in the Playboy magazine, I guess. It was interesting to observe how other tourists would discretely peek at them. Few would probably admit to picking one up, so I won't either.
Afterwards me and Jacques still spent another hour eating some food bought at the landing, drinking a beer and getting to know each other. I knew I was going to regret this - the next day would start very early.
The first day was all about the dead. Even before we entered the first of the Gorges we stopped at what was announced as the "City of Ghosts". What was this? The Lonely Planet didn't have the answer. I had to trust the guides. It was to be a large Taoist temple complex dedicated to the god of the underworld. That sounded cool. Besides, who wouldn't like to be able to say: "I've been to the City of Ghosts"?
I was a bit disappointed with the guided tour. My Chinese vocabulary is still quite limited when it comes to culture and religion. The tour guide just went through her regular routine - in machine-gun-Mandarin. It seemed to be more of a nuissance to her having a foreigner in her group. When she was giving out the tickets outside the entrance she called all Chinese tourists by name. When I told her my Chinese name (under which I was registered) she didn't even listen, just said to her colleague: "Give the foreigner his ticket." Had I heard that right? It may be a small thing but it upset me. So much that I wanted tell people about it but my phone had run out of credit.
The attraction itself was a mixed experience. Ways up to the temple buildings were lined with bizarre, otherworldly guardians of the dead. I loved taking pictures of them and would have loved even more to be able to ask someone about them. The temples themselves, however, were far from spectacular. Workers were rude and much of the grounds had been converted into a cheap underworld freak show made up from (now broken and decayed) paper mache stand-ups. There was even a ghost ride but that was just too cheesy. How much had I paid for this again - 80 RMB??
The next excursion was late that night and, sadly, quite a waste of time. This was to be the Temple of Zhang Fei, ally and oath brother of Liu Bei during the period of the Three Kingdoms. After his assasination his body was buried here while his head rests somewhere in Sichuan Province. A common thing in those days apparently to bury head and body seperately. This was also where I first met Jacques.
We arrived so late that it was already pitch black outside. Photos were difficult because of the lighting, some of the temple was already closed and it was not really a historic building either. Aside from a pretty sculpture of the "oath in the peach garden" and a few lessons on Three Kingdoms history there was not much to gain from this place; after half an hour we were out again.
The way that led up to the temple was lined with souvenir sellers. That wasn't so surprising. They would offer you anything from rusty confiscated Japanese swords to plastic toys for kids. What I found interesting was that a lot of sellers here offered volumes of erotic pictures, Chinese centerfolds. I can't remember seeing them for sale anywhere else and certainly not this openly and in such numbers. They didn't even looks like the kind of smut you'd expect to be sold under the counter. Something like you'd expect to see in the Playboy magazine, I guess. It was interesting to observe how other tourists would discretely peek at them. Few would probably admit to picking one up, so I won't either.
Afterwards me and Jacques still spent another hour eating some food bought at the landing, drinking a beer and getting to know each other. I knew I was going to regret this - the next day would start very early.
Friday, 16 May 2008
Cruising the Great River
Yangzi River, Chongqing to Yichang, China
By many standards this is a must-do while in China - cruising the mighty Yangzi River (known here as the Long River - 长江). Downstream from Chongqing all the way to Yichang the river cuts through mountains forming a series of deep canyons, the Three Gorges. The river also forms the southern border of the territory the Han civilisation originates from. The cruise was high priority on my list of things to do. I had actually already booked it at the hostel in Xi'an for fear of not getting tickets (a worry that I keep having). The meeting point here (a hostel by the river) was not easy to find in the maze of alleys. Then, of course, there was the fright and big excitement of the earthquake. When things quieted down a bit I was led on board.
Now, this was a Chinese tour, supposedly less expensive than pure Western-organised ones. It actually turned out quickly that I was one of only three Westerners on board. This was a pleasant surprise; after Xi'an being full of backpackers I do enjoy such a purely Chinese environment. The other two were a young French man and a middle-aged American man. They didn't speak any Chinese at all, so in the days that followed it became common for the ship's attendants to call on me to translate. An interesting job - and of course a big boost for my ego.
Jacques, from Paris, turned out to be a very pleasant, quiet guy, who was easy to talk to. We ended up meeting for a chat and hanging around the ship during the day and having a beer or two before bed time in the evening. He used to be an accountant in Paris and had given himself a year and a half off. He'd been traveling a lot. Actually he had come all the way from Turkey to China on land. Obviously, he had a lot of interesting stories to tell - all without being pretentious at all.
The American guy - I never bothered to remember his name - turned out to be quite the opposite and faithful to the cliche. He'd been traveling extensively, he'd seen it all, done it all, knew it all. I was called to help his room mates communicate with him. He wanted to know some "good Chinese musicians". I translated, chatted politely. He had been to many countries, talked about some as if he had personally discovered them. Mongolian throat-singing? Yes, he knew that. In fact, he had "some excellent throat-singing right here" on his mp3 player. He reminded me of people that frequent the most expensive restaurants in town and then argue why the must be the best (because of the price). It actually made me wonder what else he did except traveling. In the end, I lost interest in his exploits and just translated.
In my free time, of which there was still a lot, I stayed on deck or went to the games room where many Chinese passengers played cards or Mah Jongg. This actually required an extra fee for the top decks and the games room, which I grudgingly paid. But I had watched people play and was eager to try it for myself. I quickly found out, however, that noone was willing to let a rookie foreigner join their game. So I watched and chatted with the pretty attendant girls. At least, one of them took some time to explain some rules and even play with me when there were no other customers. Eventually, I would just get kicked off the tables, though. It even almost got ugly once because a few other players just came up and just started shuffling the pieces I was still using. Only later I was told they had in fact booked the table - none of them actually mentioned it. Well, no use complaining, I wanted to be treated like a local. I guess, this kind of rudeness is what my Chinese friends used to complain about.
The rest of the time was filled with excursions. These were not included in the price and turned out quite expensive - plus, I was told to book and pay for them in advance. There were also quite a lot and the Lonely Planet for once had fairly little opinion to give on them. In good faith I signed up for those that sounded like culture. I had been reading the epic historic novel Three Kingdoms and some of it is set here along the river. That had me quite excited. The sights were to be sorely disappointing, though. So let this be a warning to those that will come after me.
As I wave Chongqing's night lights goodbye follow me through along the mighty Yangzi and through the Three Gorges.
By many standards this is a must-do while in China - cruising the mighty Yangzi River (known here as the Long River - 长江). Downstream from Chongqing all the way to Yichang the river cuts through mountains forming a series of deep canyons, the Three Gorges. The river also forms the southern border of the territory the Han civilisation originates from. The cruise was high priority on my list of things to do. I had actually already booked it at the hostel in Xi'an for fear of not getting tickets (a worry that I keep having). The meeting point here (a hostel by the river) was not easy to find in the maze of alleys. Then, of course, there was the fright and big excitement of the earthquake. When things quieted down a bit I was led on board.
Now, this was a Chinese tour, supposedly less expensive than pure Western-organised ones. It actually turned out quickly that I was one of only three Westerners on board. This was a pleasant surprise; after Xi'an being full of backpackers I do enjoy such a purely Chinese environment. The other two were a young French man and a middle-aged American man. They didn't speak any Chinese at all, so in the days that followed it became common for the ship's attendants to call on me to translate. An interesting job - and of course a big boost for my ego.
Jacques, from Paris, turned out to be a very pleasant, quiet guy, who was easy to talk to. We ended up meeting for a chat and hanging around the ship during the day and having a beer or two before bed time in the evening. He used to be an accountant in Paris and had given himself a year and a half off. He'd been traveling a lot. Actually he had come all the way from Turkey to China on land. Obviously, he had a lot of interesting stories to tell - all without being pretentious at all.
The American guy - I never bothered to remember his name - turned out to be quite the opposite and faithful to the cliche. He'd been traveling extensively, he'd seen it all, done it all, knew it all. I was called to help his room mates communicate with him. He wanted to know some "good Chinese musicians". I translated, chatted politely. He had been to many countries, talked about some as if he had personally discovered them. Mongolian throat-singing? Yes, he knew that. In fact, he had "some excellent throat-singing right here" on his mp3 player. He reminded me of people that frequent the most expensive restaurants in town and then argue why the must be the best (because of the price). It actually made me wonder what else he did except traveling. In the end, I lost interest in his exploits and just translated.
In my free time, of which there was still a lot, I stayed on deck or went to the games room where many Chinese passengers played cards or Mah Jongg. This actually required an extra fee for the top decks and the games room, which I grudgingly paid. But I had watched people play and was eager to try it for myself. I quickly found out, however, that noone was willing to let a rookie foreigner join their game. So I watched and chatted with the pretty attendant girls. At least, one of them took some time to explain some rules and even play with me when there were no other customers. Eventually, I would just get kicked off the tables, though. It even almost got ugly once because a few other players just came up and just started shuffling the pieces I was still using. Only later I was told they had in fact booked the table - none of them actually mentioned it. Well, no use complaining, I wanted to be treated like a local. I guess, this kind of rudeness is what my Chinese friends used to complain about.
The rest of the time was filled with excursions. These were not included in the price and turned out quite expensive - plus, I was told to book and pay for them in advance. There were also quite a lot and the Lonely Planet for once had fairly little opinion to give on them. In good faith I signed up for those that sounded like culture. I had been reading the epic historic novel Three Kingdoms and some of it is set here along the river. That had me quite excited. The sights were to be sorely disappointing, though. So let this be a warning to those that will come after me.
As I wave Chongqing's night lights goodbye follow me through along the mighty Yangzi and through the Three Gorges.
Monday, 12 May 2008
The Day the Earth Trembled
Chongqing, China
I believe I have to thank God for this. And when I say this it's more than just a few idiomatic words. If I hadn't changed my mind at the last minute I would be in Chengdu now and there's no telling what might have happened...
The ground shook. Gently at first, then stronger. Earthquake. The hostel building I was in is built on wooden stilts. It quivered. Nobody here had seen or felt this before. People ran into the street in fright. A flood of others came running down the steep alleyways. Staff shouted at me to get out an run. I don't think anybody knew where they were running. I'm also not sure why I wasn't frightened. In fact, I've rarely been so calm. I looked back at them and quietly wondered why they were so scared. The only thing I felt was excitement: this was my first real earthquake. Maybe I instinctively knew that this was weak, that there was no real danger to us. I even sent a friend a text message saying: "Wow, cool, there was just a small earthquake here."
A little later, reports started coming in from Sichuan Province, the place where I had intended to go. On my ship down the Yangzi we also saw the first TV images. Numbers were coming in and rising fast. Tens of thousands dead or missing. In Germany that's entire towns. It wasn't cool anymore. I now feel embarrassed for that text message. May God help these people.
I believe I have to thank God for this. And when I say this it's more than just a few idiomatic words. If I hadn't changed my mind at the last minute I would be in Chengdu now and there's no telling what might have happened...
The ground shook. Gently at first, then stronger. Earthquake. The hostel building I was in is built on wooden stilts. It quivered. Nobody here had seen or felt this before. People ran into the street in fright. A flood of others came running down the steep alleyways. Staff shouted at me to get out an run. I don't think anybody knew where they were running. I'm also not sure why I wasn't frightened. In fact, I've rarely been so calm. I looked back at them and quietly wondered why they were so scared. The only thing I felt was excitement: this was my first real earthquake. Maybe I instinctively knew that this was weak, that there was no real danger to us. I even sent a friend a text message saying: "Wow, cool, there was just a small earthquake here."
A little later, reports started coming in from Sichuan Province, the place where I had intended to go. On my ship down the Yangzi we also saw the first TV images. Numbers were coming in and rising fast. Tens of thousands dead or missing. In Germany that's entire towns. It wasn't cool anymore. I now feel embarrassed for that text message. May God help these people.
Triple Hot
Chongqing, China
A lot of things are hot about this city.
The weather to start with. The sun has been beating down even despite the haze.
What makes it hotter still are the girls. Chinese people say girls from Chongqing are the most beautiful in all of China. In Chinese they are nicknamed 辣妹子 literally meaning "spicy girl". Their beauty, so people say, comes from the humid air around here or the spicy food, either of which is supposed to be good for your skin (which one it is depends on who you ask). Whatever the reason, girls here are gorgeous. Especially their legs. It's nice walking through the city watching girls showing them off. They get them from all the stairs that lead up and down the hills the city is built on (porters are in high demand here). Anyone that walks those on a daily basis must be toned. And they walk as if their reputation gives them confidence or maybe it's rather the other way around.
Oh, did I mention spicy food that makes you sweat? Hell yeah, I sweat! That's the other thing about Chongqing: the city (with the neighbouring Sichuan Province) is home to some of the spiciest food in China. Specialties (名菜) include 水煮鱼 (fish boiled in chilli broth) and 火锅 (a kind of hot pot or fondue). A local girl I met took me to one of her favourite hot pot restaurants. It was a popular place packed with people of all ages. We were lucky to find a table. Even though this time I already knew what was coming I still marvelled at how much chilli (and the small, mean 花椒) you can put into a single pot. I ate bravely - and I did enjoy it - but I did also consume large amounts of water and soya milk in the process. Don't laugh - you try it!
A lot of things are hot about this city.
The weather to start with. The sun has been beating down even despite the haze.
What makes it hotter still are the girls. Chinese people say girls from Chongqing are the most beautiful in all of China. In Chinese they are nicknamed 辣妹子 literally meaning "spicy girl". Their beauty, so people say, comes from the humid air around here or the spicy food, either of which is supposed to be good for your skin (which one it is depends on who you ask). Whatever the reason, girls here are gorgeous. Especially their legs. It's nice walking through the city watching girls showing them off. They get them from all the stairs that lead up and down the hills the city is built on (porters are in high demand here). Anyone that walks those on a daily basis must be toned. And they walk as if their reputation gives them confidence or maybe it's rather the other way around.
Oh, did I mention spicy food that makes you sweat? Hell yeah, I sweat! That's the other thing about Chongqing: the city (with the neighbouring Sichuan Province) is home to some of the spiciest food in China. Specialties (名菜) include 水煮鱼 (fish boiled in chilli broth) and 火锅 (a kind of hot pot or fondue). A local girl I met took me to one of her favourite hot pot restaurants. It was a popular place packed with people of all ages. We were lucky to find a table. Even though this time I already knew what was coming I still marvelled at how much chilli (and the small, mean 花椒) you can put into a single pot. I ate bravely - and I did enjoy it - but I did also consume large amounts of water and soya milk in the process. Don't laugh - you try it!
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Wet, Wet, Wet
Mount Hua, near Xi'an, China
The first time was going up. The heat was sweltering. Maybe that was an omen, an indication what was to come. I met a friendly Australian and another French guy. Had they checked the weather forecast? I had forgotten. So had they. The clouds were thick and didn't bode well.
Trying to be optimistic we started the ascent. We sweated a lot. I actually used up most of my water on the first half of this stage. We pitied the workers who had to carry supplies up the mountain to the hotels and shops. Some of them had badly bent or hunched backs. They probably do this every single day.
We continued on until after dark. By the time we reached the first guesthouse my shirt was only a wet rag. Tired I still managed to haggle the price down by a third. Then we heard the news: the forecast said rain for the next day. Now having lived in England and Wales I was prepared to take this with a pinch of salt. I'm used to it raining at any time without much warning - the world has climate, England has weather.
But here, in the heart of China, it turns out that forecasts are quite reliable. When we woke up before dawn it was raining steadily. Crap! I hadn't brought anything remotely weather-proof. Don't bother climbing the peak now, the hotel staff told us, you won't see a sunrise today. Early risers or late climbers were already coming down from the peak, drenched and discouraged. Among them was another French guy. Damn, half of France was out here! He told us how slippery it was. We gave up our plan and went back to bed.
Later that morning the other two decided to join the second French guy on the way down. They would not climb the peak. Not me. I wasn't going to give up now - weather against me or whatever. So, I bade them farewell, bought a crappy, completely overpriced rain poncho and set off on stage two. The poncho didn't do much good. If the rain didn't get in I started sweating under the cheap rubber. The outcome was roughly similar. The climb wasn't easy - at times I was really worried I'd just slip clean off the wet rock face and into uncertain depths. Technically, there were not even many views to be seen. Still, the mountain shrouded in clouds as it was had something mysterious about it. After all, this is one of the holy Taoist mountains. Rain and fog normally indicate the presence of a dragon. And up here with the mists drifting in and out of view between the peaks and trees I was prepared to believe it. Besides, the peak is my highest one yet: 2135 meters. I'm happy that I didn't miss that chance.
The first time was going up. The heat was sweltering. Maybe that was an omen, an indication what was to come. I met a friendly Australian and another French guy. Had they checked the weather forecast? I had forgotten. So had they. The clouds were thick and didn't bode well.
Trying to be optimistic we started the ascent. We sweated a lot. I actually used up most of my water on the first half of this stage. We pitied the workers who had to carry supplies up the mountain to the hotels and shops. Some of them had badly bent or hunched backs. They probably do this every single day.
We continued on until after dark. By the time we reached the first guesthouse my shirt was only a wet rag. Tired I still managed to haggle the price down by a third. Then we heard the news: the forecast said rain for the next day. Now having lived in England and Wales I was prepared to take this with a pinch of salt. I'm used to it raining at any time without much warning - the world has climate, England has weather.
But here, in the heart of China, it turns out that forecasts are quite reliable. When we woke up before dawn it was raining steadily. Crap! I hadn't brought anything remotely weather-proof. Don't bother climbing the peak now, the hotel staff told us, you won't see a sunrise today. Early risers or late climbers were already coming down from the peak, drenched and discouraged. Among them was another French guy. Damn, half of France was out here! He told us how slippery it was. We gave up our plan and went back to bed.
Later that morning the other two decided to join the second French guy on the way down. They would not climb the peak. Not me. I wasn't going to give up now - weather against me or whatever. So, I bade them farewell, bought a crappy, completely overpriced rain poncho and set off on stage two. The poncho didn't do much good. If the rain didn't get in I started sweating under the cheap rubber. The outcome was roughly similar. The climb wasn't easy - at times I was really worried I'd just slip clean off the wet rock face and into uncertain depths. Technically, there were not even many views to be seen. Still, the mountain shrouded in clouds as it was had something mysterious about it. After all, this is one of the holy Taoist mountains. Rain and fog normally indicate the presence of a dragon. And up here with the mists drifting in and out of view between the peaks and trees I was prepared to believe it. Besides, the peak is my highest one yet: 2135 meters. I'm happy that I didn't miss that chance.
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