Friday, April 27, 2007

Spring 2007 > China > Part IV

BACK TO BEIJING

My slow travelogue crawl through my past adventures reaches it's final destination in China as our train pulled into Beijing West Railway Station a couple of hours earlier than planned. We were welcomed by a voice-over onboard in English, sounding a little like Donald Sutherland, extolling the virtues of the station building with its 'waiting lounges' and 'shop'. To kill time, walking around was the only way to keep us warm on a chilly morning, despite having all our baggage on tow. We tried calling Rob with our phone card from Shanghai, but now it had stopped working all together, so we ended up in a little phone shop that worked out cheaper and easier than a payphone anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, Rob arrived, and we taxi'd it to his rather grand apartment near his university. There we met an assorted bunch of his friends and flat-mates studying in Beijing with him, who were all incredibly nice and friendly - although Lucy apparently had a dark side, having tripped up her mum, who was on a visit, the night before. We had a nice conversation over breakfast, but it was not long before we popped around another friend's flat as it was the birthday of fellow student Barney. And the plan was: GO-KARTS! Unfortunately, getting there was another problem, as the taxi convoy we took were a little clueless about where it was. We had to get out, walk around, call the karting centre number and get a new batch of taxis before we finally headed in the right direction.


It had been a long time since I'd been karting, but it was easy getting back into the swing of things thanks to my recent Mario Kart GP Arcade sessions. My first race was with just myself and a couple of Chinese guys not part of our group, who were so bad they had to quit, leaving me to just scoot round the track on my own time-trial style. The next contest was a full grid, and I did pretty well, crashing just the once, but I was delayed when none of the staff came to help me out, so I had to wriggle my way out myself. Nevertheless, I still leapt three places, so I was happy with my performance. While others continued to kart ahead, Baptiste, Rob, Sabrina and I opted for a game of tag-team pool which must have featured a record-breaking number of jammy pots and flukey shots. This was all followed by a meal at a Japanese restaurant, giving us the opportunity to try out our language skills, but they were completely lost on the evidently Chinese staff. At least we could make some recommendations on what to order (but the potato salad seemed to garner the most praise). However, we couldn't stay long as we had arranged to meet Ilan for dinner.

We made it to Tiannamen Square a little later than planned, but couldn't find her at all. Turned out she was wearing a wig both to try out a new style and to fool us completely. She had been shopping with her friend Wan all day, and the two of them were ready to eat, so we took the subway (which included a very angry argument between two groups of strangers) to a place they recommended. It turned out to be all the way to the station we had just come from with Rob's friends! Never mind - it was a big restaurant with lots of spicy food and strange desserts ('fruit ice' turned out to literally be 'fruit' and 'ice'). We called it a night after making arrangements for heading to the airport, and as we left, we walked past some amazing late-night construction work going on for The Tube, a new building supposed to be ready for the Olympics, but looking increasingly unlikely to be. However, in it's current state, it looked like the crashed spaceship from Alien, and mighty impressive indeed. With the last train already departed, it was yet another taxi back to Rob's apartment, and as the previous partygoers returned one by one, we were soon ready for bed. Well, in this case, it was inside Dracula's sleeping bag on their massive comfortable pink sofa, which was a damn sight better than the hellish train ride from Xi'an.


ALL APOLOGIES

The next day was a chance to visit the last of our Beijing big-hitter tourist attractions - the Summer Palace. Rob joined Baptiste and myself for the day out, and were stunned at just how vast the grounds were. Rob had been before, but hadn't seen any of the buildings we went to at first, having arrived at a different entrance to the one he'd been through previously. We made our way up the hill and along winding steps and rocky paths to reach the main area of the palace, looking across the expanse of Kunming Lake. It wasn't pedalo season, but that probably gave us a better view.


However, pretty much every sign to every beautiful building would helpfully remind us that it was ransacked, destroyed and/or burned down by the Anglo-French Allied Forces during the Second Opium War in 1860. We figured that our party consisting of two Englishmen and a Frenchman would help redress the balance as we were paying to get in this time. Other interesting sights were the Buddhist Incense Tower, the Imperial phone line, the Marble Boat (not as impressive when the water around it had dried up) and a guy doing calligraphy on the ground with a big water brush. We were a little pushed for time, but it was a nice place to spend the afternoon. Once we'd returned to Derby's, we pretty much had to grab our stuff and go to meet Ilan to catch the airport shuttle bus.

Once we were on board the coach, we sat at the back with our massive sacks eating weird sweets (corn on the cob flavour, anyone?) and explaining the concept of "not for toffee/the world/all the tea in China". We arrived at the aiport, checked in our luggage, and headed to the passport check...only for everything to go tits-up. Ilan was refused entry. Apparently, the travel agency in Japan had said that she didn't need a visa if the stay in Thailand was less than fifteen days, but the Chinese officials weren't having any of it. For one and a half hours, Baptiste and I were stuck behind the checking gates hoping it could be sorted, maybe getting a different flight or if it was possible to get a temporary visa - but to no avail. And it got even worse. Because all our luggage had been checked in Ilan's name, when her flight ticket was cancelled, all our luggage (not just her suitcase) was removed from the flight, with no time to have them re-checked. So not only was Ilan now stuck in Beijing, so were our backpacks! Marvellous...With our flight about to leave, we had rush to the gate, leaving Ilan behind, but a promise that we'd get in touch with her and Wan, who she'd stay with until the matter was resolved, once we were in Thailand. We boarded in time, but secretly hoped that there'd be some problem with the flight so we could stick around and help Ilan. Although there was a little delay, we were sadly soon in the air. Bye-bye China...

So my final thoughts on China? Well, I think we experienced the full gamut of emotions during our time there, so overall feelings are decidedly mixed. There were nice people and nasty people, nice places and nasty places; some days were wonderful, others we'd rather forget. I guess a lot of our experiences can be drawn from the fact that China is not readily geared towards foreign tourism. Some people would happily stop for a chat or give us a passing smile and "Hello!", while others would just stop in their tracks and stare at us as if we were hideously deformed. There is little understanding or use of English, but then again, when you have a billion potential Chinese customers, who cares if a couple of poxy Europeans don't come and bother your business? And even when they do, it'd be nice if their sales techniques could be improved, as I'm sure they'd see the benefits.

The current world image of China is that of the new super-power, undergoing the kind of industrial change other parts in the world took centuries to accomplish in a matter of months. And while this is true, it's very clear that China is struggling to catch up with itself at the same time as tackling the problems lying underneath. When the Olympics arrive in Beijing next year, a lot of people coming from across the globe to visit are going to be very surprised to see such poor infrastructure, pollution and anti-social behaviour. I'd still consider returning to China, but I doubt it'll be in search of the hustle-bustle of another city; a countryside trek would be a far more tantalising prospect indeed. But why not check out my entire collection of China snaps on Flickr?

Well, that's it for China. Sorry it's taking so long, but perhaps I'll have more time to finish this journey write-up during Golden Week. And then I can finally write about actual stuff happening to me right now this very minute!

Next time: Thailand! Sun, sea, sand, spicy food and snorkelling!

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Spring 2007 > China > Part III

MAOCHANDISE

Our flight to Xi'an was an early one but went smoothly. Well, one woman appeared to panic uncontrollably a few seats away and/or vomited over herself - I'm not exactly sure, but it involved several cabin crew, a change of seats and a number of tissues. Also, the in-flight snacks included squid slices, which filled the plane with an unbelievable stench. However, we were swift in disembarking and boarding the shuttle bus into town, that drove bumpily through what I felt was the real image of China I had in mind - dusty streets, crumbly towns and endless stretches of space into nowhere.

Our accommodation, the Bell Tower Inernational Youth Hostel, was superbly located, being it next to Xi'an's main post office, overlooking the Bell Tower itself, which was located conveniently at the city's main roundabout, allowing for easy navigation in the direction of all four main compass points. The hostel itself was a wonderful place to stay, with friendly staff, helpful tour arrangements, good social areas, a bar serving great food and drink and comfortable rooms (again, we opted for a twin private room with marginal price difference, which was actually part of a hotel the hostel was seemingly attached to - not 100% certain of the arrangement). Plus, free hour of internet and a free beer every night! The next step was to secure our journey back to Beijing, so we headed to the train ticket booth where recognising that there was a queue in place wasn't on anyone else's agenda but ours. Eventually, we did manage to get a place on board, but unfortunatle we would have to endure a hard seater overnight. Little did we know just how traumatic it would be.

As it was Baptiste's birthday, I bought him lunch at the Hong Kong Restaurant, a vast and virtually empty mega-diner, which also served a peculiar purple drink that tasted exactly like ice-cream wafers. As they were close by, we opted to visit the Bell and Drum Towers central to the local area. As you can imagine, both had a lot of bells and drums respectively, and we were lucky enough to watch a group of musicians rehearse inside. We got to see a more polished display of musical ability at the Drum Tower, with a bunch of young drum-diddlers in bright costume banging away in unison. From both towers, I had a good vantage point of the city's taxis, all a wonderful green colour (the buses were similarly eye-catching, in various hues). It was then just a trip across from the tower to Huifang, the Muslim quarters of Xi'an, with a wonderful tent-roofed market stocked with all kinds of dried fruits, nuts and souvenirs. Even more tantalising was the packed main street with wonderful eateries on either side, with the staff grilling yummy kebabs and cooking spicy bread.

We turned into a covered alleyway that had a such a Middle Eastern atmosphere it made it hard to believe we were still in China. The little shops were selling all kinds of Maochandise, a spin-off of Che-Shirts; basically souvenirs with Chairman Mao's face adorning them, from little alarm clocks with his hand's waving as it ticked to Mao-sacks and Mao-caps. As Xi'an was the start of the original Silk Road, the city is home to a wonderful mix of Chinese and Islamic culture, best represented at the Great Mosque, a fully-operational and beautifully designed prayer complex. The mix of Chinese architecture and Arabic influences was spellbinding, and so SOAS. It was an incredibly peaceful place, home to many birds gently singing masking the sound of traffic from afar. Plus, there was a friendly man at the main gate who knew a surprising amount of English and French expressions.

On our way back to the hostel, the park area between the two towers had filled up with amateur telescopes observing the moon (no doubt because the Chinese New Year based around the lunar calendar), and a very strange one wheel velocipede much like Mr. Garrison's 'IT' from South Park, just without the filthy control mechanism. As it was Baptiste's birthday, the hostel cooked him up a free pizza and we cashed in our free beer tickets. But the beer in question, Tsingtao's very drinkable Hans Beer (with a wolf on the bottle) cost a measly 5 RMB (about 35p) for 500ml, so it didn't break the bank to get drunk in a celebratory fashion. Coincidentally, it turned out to be another hostel guest's birthday that day, a Scotsman by the name of Hamish! So we sat down together, drinking beers, eating pizza and watching Raiders of the Lost Ark. It was exactly the kind of atmosphere you want from a hostel, but rarely get, as we chatted with Adrian and Dominik from Germany, Sylvine from Holland, and a guy who lived in Weston-Super-Mare. We drank into the next day as fireworks went off from the square outside, before calling it a night to allow sufficient sleep in preparation for our tour the next day.


POUR UN PETIT TOUR

As our tour group had swelled from four to eight, we got it cheaper than what we'd originally paid - good news for the student traveller. Our fellow companions were five Swedish guys (who mostly spoke little English and sported a 'couldn't care' attitude and a general lack of interest, making us wonder why they even came in the first place) and Steven from the UK. Our guide was Emily, a young local girl with passable, if far from exceptional, English, who talked almost non-stop throughout the whole day. Mr. Liang was our driver, and we squeezed into his little minibus, the interior of which was decorated with magazine cuttings of local sights, cars and supermodels. As we exited the city gates, it was clear only Baptiste and myself were offering any sign of interest in Emily's historical spiel, but it was not long before we were at out first destination - surprise, surprise, another Friendness Store.

This time silk was on the agenda, what with Xi'an being start of the Silk Road and all. Sure enough, the display cases, specimens and production techniques, all impressive and interesting, soon gave way to talk of washing instructions, choice of styles and special New Year offers. For some reason, I was seen as the prime target (I guess because I tried to be nice and charming while the others scarpered), but as much as I would like to feel nourished like an Emperor with a sleey silk duvet set, pricing, backpack space and common sense dictated that it was not at the top of my 'must-have' list then and there. Back on the bus then to Banpo Village, the remains of a 6000 year old settlement. It was only the very basic outlines of building foundations, but there were impressive pre-JCB ditches and fascinating information on the burial rituals. However, judgng buy the desire to move on, I was clearly the only history student there.

Back on the bus to a factory that manufactured imitation terracotta warriors of all sizes, but imperfect shapes - it seemed like they hadn't gotten arm lengths or hand quite right. Again, no purchases, but I couldn't really understand why we were there in the first place - on the previous tour, we were all staying at hotels, with the others with a family at home; here they were selling to backpackers with tight budgets, luggage restrictions and time schedules. As we departed, Emily asked us if we wanted to eat lunch. I thought that was a rather strange question as we obviously needed to eat some time, but then the grumpy Swedes emitted a resounding "No!", so we were a little hesitant to drag out their day any further. But when it came to crunch time, they said they'd be okay to wait, so we stopped off anyway, at another silk store with an adjacent restaurant and an imitation Egyptian pyramid next door.

Lunch was much the same as the previous tour, except with regional dishes involving spicy noodles and an egg/tomato mix. The driver was a little miffed that it was just going to be me, Baptiste, Steven and one of the Swedes (who actually turned out to be from Norway originally, didn't really know the others and agreed they were being rather arsey - he also was into retro gaming). Part of the deal was that we go on another silk tour, and Emily advised us to pretend that it was all knew to us, so while a different tour guide took us through all the procedures, we feigned surprise throughout. Our host asked us questions, and we played dumb about the answers, but I was a little unsettled the way she kept on referring to us as "my friend". When it came to the inevitable purchase round, she was more desperate for a sale and looked genuinely crestfallen when we wrenched ourselves free.

Finally, it was time for the main event, the Terracotta Army of Qin Shi Haungdi. I had studied the First Qin Emperor in my Introduction to the History of East Asia course at SOAS, writing an essay and answering an examination question about him. You may know him from The First Emperor docu-drama Channel 4 showed a little while ago, or, more likely, from Zhang Yimou's Hero. So I had been looking forward to seeing the warriors for myself. We drove along some incredibly rough roads through rubble-riddent villages to get there, but once we arrived, I was surprised at the size of the surrounding complex. It was a little like a theme-park, with stalls, fountains, a horse-drawn carriage for the punters, and a lot of bad English (one sign for an upcoming redevelopment used the word 'smelody', but I can't recall what it was referring to). After ticket purchase and an X-ray scan, we were allowed entry to Pit #1, a vast aircraft hangar-esque building covering the main site, filled with rows of statues. Unfortunately, it becomes clear that my guide book was perhaps a little out of date. I had deliberately left my camera behind as it stated photography was prohibited at the site, but it turned out photography was okay, which explains why there are no photos of the statues on my Flickr account. Bum. The only camera restrictions were no flash or tripods, but the crowds were flaunting such rules with little care. In fact, working as a security guard there must be a real tough gig - one guy had to deal with someone dropping a bottle of water from above, and then a kid running out through the barrier towards the dig site. Though it made me think how some 2200 years later, we have security guards guarding clay guards made instead of real guards guarding the Emperor's tomb.

With the first pit done, we went to the Circle Vision building for a 360 degree short film about the history of the Terracotta Army, the self-proclaimed Eight Wonder of the World (I thought that was King Kong?). The film was made in the late 80's but the quality of the film had clearly been worn by repeated screenings. However, it was good fun, with lots of staged battles, rituals and construction scenes. Next were the bronze horse and carriage statues, then Pit #2, which was far more interesting than the massive first pit. The lighting was darker (if that makes sense), and many of the figures were broken or had fallen to pieces, creating an eerie battlefield aftermath vibe, with hands sans weapons looking as if they were stretching out to grasp for help, and decapitated hands and dismembered limbs lying around. There was a small platform jutting out over the pit which also gave a great feeling of power and command when you stood on it...absolute POWER! Pit #3 was smaller but very well-preserved, but it's undeniable there are far more treasures to be uncovered in the area - just as long as no tourists are about. As expected, I was the last one to leave each area, but I would have liked to have stayed longer.

Our tour came to an end and we got back to the hostel absolutely knackered. As we zoned out in front of our hotel telly, we caught a very disturbing cartoon on CCTV's Kids channel - it depicted two (possibly orphaned) children during the Pacific War evading capture and outsmarting Japanese troops, featuring two bumbling idiots and an evil fat general with a Hitler 'tash. Considering how touchy Sino-Japanese relations are at the moment, and how the Chinese lay much of the blame on the Japanese, I couldn't believe that such a progamme was on. Not only was the animation terrible, but this was being screened to children at prime-time - what kind of lesson does that teach the kiddywinks? The soldiers even had the modern Japanese flag everywhere, not the Imperial Japanese one. It was as if there were a French cartoon made today depicting Nazi soldiers with German flags instead of swastikas - and even then, it's not like there are the problems involving European relations and dealing with the past as there are here in East Asia. Unbelievable.


After we'd recovered, we went back to the Muslim district for some of the food we'd spied the previous day. Although we went somewhere that advertised an English menu, it didn't synch up with the stuff cooking outside, so Baptiste resorted to pointing at what we wanted. While we weren't brought quite as much as we were expecting, it was cheap and delicious. The skewers were hot, the bread was spicy and the beer was spot-on. We then headed back to the hostel for more beers and chit-chat with the guests from the previous night, including a couple of games of Shithead and a Darts game of Cricket (which I was surprisingly good at, as it didn't require aiming for the triple 20 every time). I then stayed up chatting to Hamish about his proposed visit to Turkmenistan and how now that the president had died in December, it was not going to be as mad a place as it used to be - stories of National Melon Day, the banning of lip-synching, gold statues that rotate in alignment with the Sun...utterly insane.


THE WALLS ARE CLOSING IN

Our final day in Xi'an was spent walking along the top of the city wall. After a jumbo breakfast special care of the hostel (2 slices of toast, butter, jam, 2 sausages, 2 rashers of bacon, tomato, mushrooms, baked beans - all spanning 2 plates) while watching the end of The Matrix Revolutions, we were ready to set off for the South gate. A little narked at the 40 yuan entry fee, we coughed up nonetheless, as it was a beautiful sunshiney day, perfect for a walk. At the start of the trail, there were a number of gaudy New Year displays, including some bizarre models of insects and then dalmatians, so I envisaged a Starship Troopers-esque conflict between the two sets of creatures up the side of the wall. The further we walked, the displays and fun-fair stalls disappeared, and we were left with stretches of wide paths going on for kilometres.


It was a lovely afternoon, and with it being holiday season many people were gathered in the parks at the foot of the wall, doing their own thing, be it kite-flying, letting off firecrackers, playing mahjong or outdoor snooker, or just having a sit-down. It took us about 3 hours to go all the way around to the North gate, going past Xi'an station, which was packed to the rafters, as well as yet another billboard of our favourite bald man, a comedian called something like Bi Lao, who advertises for China Mobile and some yoghurt food, and was a familar face wherever we travelled. His omnipresence even extended to a Madame Tussaud's waxwork in Nanjing Road in Shanghai. And here he was again in Xi'an with his patented cheeky grin and thumbs-up. We got back to the hostel to pick up our bags, say our goodbyes, leave a message on the wall (as was encouraged) and get a load of spaghetti bolognaise before our departure.

Xi'an station was far more hectic than Beijing as it was now well into the holiday season, and people would be returning back to the big cities. We found a couple of seats in the waiting room, but there was clearly a lot of frustrated people around, with one heated argument between a couple of queuers turning many heads. Eventually, it was time to board, and we found our Hard Seater seats occupied by a couple, but there were equivalent seats in the same space which we took instead. While the Hard Seater seat was alright, the problem was the other people. The train had come in from Lasa in Tibet, so everyone had either gotten to or already knew each other. They were all eating rather foul smelling hot noodles, pickled onions and hard boiled eggs, or nibbling on seeds and peanuts, the remnants of which would be spat on the floor (or on me), only to be cleaned by a member of staff applying a wet mop to the carpet. They were also pretty loud, and sang along to songs on their radio until about 2am. I tried to get to sleep by putting on my cap, doing my coat up over my face, but with leg-room nonexistent and reclining not an option, it proved tricky. And once I gotten some shut-eye, I was woken up when the smelly Tibetan woman who had sat next to me at various points complained to a train official that I was in her seat, not that it had bothered her before. Turns out another person had the same seat number on their (clearly forged) ticket as me, and after a wait to see if I'd be ejected off the train, the official came back to settle the dispute. Not sure what he said in Chinese, but I guess it was along the lines of, "This foreigner won't understand and I don't care enough to try and tell him - so forget it". At least then I could get an hour or two of sleep...

Coming Next: Back to Beijing! Derby! Go-Karts! Visa Problems! Huzzah!

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Spring 2007 > China > Part II

LUNAR ANTICS

Shanghai may have been grey, wet, cloudy and foggy upon our arrival, but at least the subway was a lot more modernised than Beijing's lacklustre effort (with cute little cartoons on video screens to amuse passengers). The coming New Year (or Spring Festival as it's known to avoid confusion with our silly calendar) was evident from the endless red lanterns and disturbing Porky Pig look-a-likes displayed in shop windows, with it being the Year of the Pig. We arrived at Caoyang Road to locate our hostel. Having spotted two oblivious backpackers, an elderly man beckoned us towards him, inviting us to follow him. We hesitantly agreed, expecting him to expect something in return, but it wasn't the case - he showed us to the hostel, waved goodbye, and carried on his merry way, making us feel a little bad for being too cautious.

We got to the hostel at 8am only to restart the morning again after a rest, breakfast, showers, and the like. I also got to see the very end of Don't Open The Door!; I can't say a gruesome Z-budget seventies slasher is ideal morning viewing, but I don't know how Chinese TV schedules work. Luckily, we also had CCTV 9, the flagship English language channel in China, in our room, which would prove to turn up some choice nuggets, especially the programmes hosted by the ubiquitous James Chau, who's British lisped tones were a nice break from the Americanised English of other international broadcast networks (and the fan sites dedicated to him suggests we're not the only ones who feel this way). Although it was China's international channel, all news and information was based around what China's role and perspective on the matter was, regardless of relevance. But that's state-run telly for ya!

Once we were ready to go, we had to think about what we wanted to do. Unfortunately, according to a notice in the hostel, if we had turned up just a few days before, we could have been extras in Roger Spottiswoode's new movie The Children of Huang Shi, starring Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh, laughing it up in 30's Shanghai (or at least a recreation), but alas, no such luck. Instead, we headed to People's Square, where we bumped into a in-town-for-business Brit abroad who asked if we knew where there'd be a decent restaurant for lunch. Can't say we were very helpful though, having only just bought a map with little time to study it. We offered a vague compass point to head to, while we went the opposite way to marvel at the magnificent skyscrapers.


I loved the Shanghai architecture - massive modern steel skyscrapers sitting side by side with early 20th Century Manhattan-style hotels lining the inner streets at ground level. It was like Bugsy Malone meets Blade Runner (now there's an idea). We walked around the small parks situated in the big building basin, observing frogs, tai chi and men walking backwards, before a walk down Nanjing Road, a pedestrianised shopping street filled with little tourist train cars. There was no quick and easy Chinese food, with Häagen-Dazs, McDonald's, KFC and Pizza Hut on permanent rotation. We opted for a pizza buffet at Origus, which not only sounds like an unpleasant name but the lady in the foyer did a big spit in front of us. Ah, the spitting...I haven't covered that yet, have I? Well, everyone does it, hawking big loogies and gobbing big flobs of excess salivatated slobber whenever and wherever they please. Acceptable for the old fogies maybe, but it's rather more unsightly coming from a young professional lady. As for Origus, well it weren't that tasty, but there was loads of junk food to pile up onto out red plastic plates.

Today was really a walkabout town day. We headed to The Bund (via the old International Opium Commission) to get a foggy view across to Pudong, then down Fuzhou Road (past Captain Hostel - a nautical-themed hostel we wanted to stay at but was full - and an English country house). We stopped off in a Starbucks so Baptiste could charge his still battery-drained camera, but had to leave by 4.30pm as businesses started to close for New Year. We shifted to Raffles City Mall (the shops all had more staff than customers) and then down Central Huihai and Fuxhui Park. By this time, firecrackers and fireworks were being let off willy-nilly in the streets by any mug with a match. Explosions punctured the sky and flashes could be seen in all directions. It was a little like being in a war, but probably less fun. We headed back through People's Park, with the buildings all lit-up magnificently, to see if any celebrations were happening back at the Bund. But we were disappointed. Everything was lit-up, but a grand fireworks showcase from the country that invented the damn things was not forthcoming. No organised spectacle whatsoever, just scatterings of fireflowers hither and thither in the distance. Shame. We took a walk north, found a few more bangs, but little else. Just as in Japan, New Year is more a time for families than parties. It was time to sub it back.

However, we were caught a little by surprise when we found our connecting station to have closed by our arrival. It was only 9.45pm! We initially thought maybe it was some daft holiday quirk, but that's every day! So we had to walk along the side of the metroline, as more bangs and flashes flooded the air with the smell of gunpowder. When we finally arrived at the hostel, we lay on our beds as zoned out as can be, munching on biscuits and crisps while the world seemingly erupting around us with the sound of fireworks. New Year telly consisted of far from exceptional variety shows, but I managed to unearth a wonderful Stephen Chow movie, The Sixty Million Dollar Man, which I watched most of before I fell asleep. It was funny, but beyond bizarre, mixing Inspector Gadget, The Terminator, Pulp Fiction, Dangerous Minds and The Mask (among other things). It was sillier than a cocktail sausage, but I'd like to see the whole thing some time.


SHANGHAI AND DRY

Shanghai was filled with many friendly folk, some with exceptionally good English (one man appeared from nowhere to discuss Beijing 2008 Olympic merchandise, antique markets and tourist attractions - but not for a sale, just as a topic of conversation!), some capable only of a simple but enthusiastically delivered "Hello!" and others with no vocab whatsoever. But equally, the number of beggers, homeless and handicapped, some pulling your arms and clothes, others not even destitute but exploiting their children for a few extra pennies, was depressing. Of course, London's no paradise in that department, but it was far more uncomfortably in-yer-face here more than anywhere. On the way to the metro, one old begger took hold of my arm and I had to twist and wriggle free. That wasn't a great start, but the rest of New Year's day was going to take an even greater turn for the worse.

As we board a busy subway train, Baptiste's camera was stolen, with no hint or clue as to when or who did it. Understandably he's upset, not so much at the loss of the camera per se, but the many photos of Beijing he'd already taken. We look for a phone to confirm that it wasn't back at the hostel, but with no payphones working, it takes an old station official to lend us his mobile. Despite neither party being able to communicate effectively, he kindly advises us to visit the police station a few stops away. As we wait for the train, he gives us tips on keeping our valuables secure and lifts up my shirt to check our pockets - but in doing so, starts smiling and feeling up my belly. Then he moves onto my face, with the kind of besotted twinkle in his eyes. It's all very flattering, but then again I am being felt up by some sixty-year-old Shanghai subway employee. We'd already been subject to a theft, but now sexual harassment? Regardless, we hopped on the tube into Pudong, where we spent a good hour or so traipsing around the high-rise skyscraper district (home to the Jin Mao Tower and the Oriental Pearl Towel - as it was called on one map) looking for a police station, only to give up when we were advised by a department store worker it would take a taxi trip to get there.

With a fruitless morning behind us, we decided to make up for it in the afternoon by heading to Shanghai Pudong International Airport to arrange our flight to Xi'an in a couple of days, as our internet attempts at booking flopped big time. To cheer us up, we decided to take the MagLev (the magnetic levitation train), which was the closest thing to flying at ground level I've ever experienced. It peaked at 431 km/h, travelling 30km in just 7:15 minutes! Whoosh, indeed! However, our airport ticket purchase wasn't nearly as efficient (but that's Siemens for you). The Shanghai Airlines desk gave us a phone number to call to purchase tickets, so we tried the Shanghai Ticketing Office instead - but I had left my passport back at the hostel as we hadn't anticipated to go there that day. They suggested I try their reservation phone line, as I'd only need the passport number to book. So we headed to the payphones, which require a phonecard I do not have. I manage to purchase one for 50 yuan from the pocket of a lady working at the nearby coffee shop, but when I dial, there's no signal. Turns out I needed to dial without the Shanghai code and it worked fine (well, actually, it only worked that day - subsequent attempts to use the card failed whatever we tried). I finally begin the booking procedure, opting for the English speaking centre, but that didn't necessarily equate with an English understanding centre. For some reason, we had to check in at the airport by 8pm that very day - why the hell does someone have to come all the way to the airport two days before the flight to confirm it? It was just as well we were here in the first place. Then began an extremely long-winded name-spelling competition in which any word I suggested to correspond to the letter in question (be it standard call-centre/army chatter or not) was not the one she was thinking of. For example:

ME: S for Sugar
HER: S for Student
ME: Um...yes, S for Student...
(It Continues...)
ME: E for Egg
HER: English E
ME: Yes, English E...Then, another English E
HER: English E
ME: L for Lion
HER: L for Love
ME: Right...

Lucky I didn't have to go down the Curly 'C' and Kicking 'K' route. Once it had all been confirmed, she drops the bombshell - we have to go to the aiport desk to give them a copy of my passport, defeating the whole object of the phonecall.

ME: But we're at the airport now.
HER: Yes, go to the airport.
ME: But we're already here.
HER: Yes. Airport.

With an 8pm deadline to go and get my passport and come back, we follow the only other option and ring the hostel, ask them to go to my room and get my passport and fax a copy over to the ticketing office. And they do so very kindly, calling back the payphone to confirm this. We rush over to the desk and find that it was faxed to their head office, not the ticket desk! But a quick call and my faxed passport copy finally arrives, our flight is booked and we can finally leave.

Once back in The Bund, we potter down Nanjing Road as shops are closed or closing. It had been an emotionally, physically and financially draining day for both of us, so we ended up in a Taco Bell Grande, greeted by Chinese staff in faux-Mexican attire with an "Ola!". The fajitas were so-so and the Corona served with lemon, but we weren't especially hungry anyway. We returned to the hostel to forget our troubles and watch telly, only to be mocked by continual news reports of Chinese New Year celebrations around the world, with resplendent parades, firework displays and lion dances. All we got was a bit of drumming from afar at the Oriental Pearl Tower. And lots of homemade explosions. Narh.


THE BIG FAT KILL


A glorious change to warm sunny weather welcomed us to the hustle-bustle of Old Town. The wonderful architecture and winding streets of years gone by had been retained in this part of the city, but with New Year holidays still under way, it was abso-heaving-maxi-jammed. There were lanterns and gaudy displays dotted everywhere. We joined the masses squeezed into smoke-filled Chenghuang Temple to see prayer-sticks being burned. We then retreated to the peace of the Yuyuan Garden, filled with little paths around ponds and pavilions and Peking Opera stages. We rejoined the chaos along the Nine Bends Bridge, which was a bit like a voyage through the small intestine after eating a pound of pork. Speaking of which, lunch was calling, so we headed back to Nanjing Road and ducked into Ajisen Ramen for fast no-frills Japanese food, Chinese style, and it was super satisfying.

Later, we visited the New World department store to buy ourselves an alarm clock (which would prove useful for our morning flight the next day) before a trip to the top floor for an afternoon in Sega Park. Once we just about figured out the strange points-based card system, a world of arcade games, rides and interactive experiences was ours for the taking! Well, kind of. We had wanted to check out Dr. G's Cursed Room, a medical horror experience or something, but we were advised by a friendly member of staff that it was all in Chinese, so it wouldn't really be scary (though I wanted to give it a go anyway). He took us around for a bit, talking about football because we were French and English (but also clueless about his passion), before deciding on an immersive F-Zero AX machine. There were a number of sporting attractions too, but most didn't really work, and the boxing game called out numbers in Chinese corresponding on where to hit the punch-dummy, so that was a waste of energy. Aside from the standard arcade games, probably the most fun was the Hexathalon, a WarioWare/Wii-esque tournament of six mini-games testing balance, co-ordination, logic and so on. I thrashed Baptiste, naturallement! We finished our day with an ice-cream, but the highlight of our day ended up being on our hotel TV.

Yes, the first part of the CCTV Cup Final, an English-speaking competition, was being held, and it was one of the most gloriously cringe-worthy yet hilarious pieces of television since David Brent was made redundant in his Comic Relief get-up. Hosted by probably the most famous foreigner in China and CCTV regular Mark Roswell (or 'Dashan' as he is known, literally 'Big Mountain'), the show put seven finalists from various universities across the country through various rounds, one by one. These included a prepared speech on love and duty, a question and answer session, then an impromptu speech and debate on a randomly chosen topic. The panel of judges consisted of various Chinese people and foreigners, including UK TV producer Weng Pulan, a man with a glorious moustache we named Monsieur Moutard, and someone who appeared to be Rowley Birkin, Q.C. from The Fast Show. Unfortunately, the contestants were uniformly crap - these were supposed to be the best the whole of China had to offer? Gordon Bennett! They all had standard foreign English accent (i.e. American), but their sentences frequently made little sense with plenty of dodgy grammar (one talked about students attaining 'konwledges') and self-contradictory statements, especially dealing with controversial subjects, in which their opinions would often go against policies of the CCP as well as what they said minutes earlier. One of them even forgot his speech, yet got an average score in the mid 80s (though the highest and lowest scores, usually given by Mr. Mustard, would be disregarded prior to calculation). The only person in the studio who cut through the waffle was one of the debating panel, Martin O'Sullivan, who I think worked at the British Embassy. He may have looked like Mr. Bean, but his sharp questions and sarcastic demeanour would tear apart the contestants' arguments in seconds. As a result, they'd rarely answer the questions, and just fill the air with nonsensical emptyspeak that typified much pseudo-intellectual foreign (English) language conversation I watched. Of course, I'm in no position to mock their attempts at speaking English as my Japanese ability testifies, but I don't go on best of the best internationally broadcast tournaments and make an arse out of myself. While CCTV's acronym could be suggested as standing for Closed Circuit Television, thanks to it's state-run omnipresence, in this case, it was closer to Car Crash Television. It was just a shame we couldn't watch the following two heats...

Coming Up - Xi'an: Islam meets China in a crazy culture clash!