Spring 2007 > Thailand > Part I

HAPPY LANDINGS

We arrive at Bangkok's new Suvarnabhumi Airport past midnight, which is all very stylish and swish, although it is apparently already falling apart, with a runway starting to crack up, and ghost stories a-plenty after a construction worker was trapped in a pillar of cement. A 'visa-upon-arrival' counter mocks our situation and while it's a long shot, we wait to see all the bags claimed before making our own lost baggage claim. The staff are extremely helpful and well-spoken, and we give them our details and are advised to get in touch with them once we can confirm the situation in Beijing (thinking about it now, we never called back - I hope they're not still looking for our lugggae). Obviously, the first things Parn wants to know when we meet him are "Where're your bags?", and, more importantly, "Where's Ilan?". Much exposition later, and we're in a taxi to his Bangkok pad, which was the perfect place to put our feet up (or inside the iSqueez massage machine, which sent Baptiste into fits of giggles on Vibrate mode). After a little Thai TV (featuring my old Japanese favourite, Medical Horror Check Show with 'Beat' Takeshi, and the karaoke channel with some bizarre old man chasing ladies in the forest and a Pan-Pan look-a-like), forty winks seemed the sensible option.

The following morning, we managed to get in touch with Ilan, and it turned out she would be able to come to Thailand (with our bags) thanks to a speedy visa application. Problem was it would be after we were due to head to Koh Samui, so we had to get a few supplies to tide us over until we returned. So, thanks to Parn's mum's personal driver (who would aid us throughout our Bangkok adventures), we headed to a nearby mall to do some shopping like all the cool kids do in Thailand. What struck me immediately was just how open every place seemed to be to different popular cultures, with American, British, French, Japanese, Australian and Korean brands, TV shows, bands, chains everywhere, not to mention Thailand's homegrown produce. First port of call was Hairworld, where Baptiste and I thought it was about time we got the snip. Baptiste ended up with a geeky bouffant and I looked like an English footballer, but over the course of the holiday, our respective 'dos settled a little better (Baptiste eventually having a touch of Louis Theroux about his look). I also picked up a couple of smart shirts there before we took the Sky Train to Siam Square for more shopping. Department stores varied from the big and flashy to the small and cheap, and we stocked up on various essential casual and beach wear, with Baptiste opting for a very zen kung-fu get-up. Much of our purchasing took place in MBK, which had vast floor space dedicated to big-name boutiques as well as smaller stalls. It also had quite a large cinema on the top floor, which proved just how much the Thais love movies - plenty of stands and posters advertising big releases from home and abroad (and many in their original language and/or with English subtitles - nice to see English being used again).

It was dark by the time the driver picked us up for a night-time tour around town. We drove through a night market which we would return to later, and through Chinatown, still showing the signs of New Year celebrations and an amazing amount of restaurants specialising in shark fin soup. Then there was the infamous red-light district, with a surprising amount of Japanese signs around - it wasn't actually as seedy as I had expected (or maybe hoped). And on the way home, we passed the Jade Palace and the King's Palace, but they weren't lit-up as we would have liked (i.e. at all). However, the amount of images of the King posted around was staggering - his face was almost omnipresent, from portraits in shops, to vast banners down the sides of skyscrapers. It represented just how respected he is and how loyal his subjects are.


AMARI SAMUKUNAI

Monday morning, and an early wake-up call as we had another flight to catch - this time, heading south towards a short break on the island of Koh Samui. But first, a change of clothes were in order, as this, being a Monday, was the day people were encouraged to wear yellow polo shirts with the King's emblem on (and if you're in a government job, you pretty much wear it every weekday). Mine was a little small and faded, but did the job nonetheless. We met Parn's mother at the airport and boarded the plane after a quick pad thai. The in-flight magazine proved to be a source of great entertainment thanks to it's cover article about how to take pictures of your girlfriend on holiday, which Baptiste committed to memory in a very short space of time.


Parn's father and the local police met us on arrival (to guide us, not arrest us), and we zipped past luscious scenery to make it to the ferry on time (which they actually delayed for us anyway). The boat itself was an old Japanese vessel based on the signage, and we were rewarded with stunning views and a beautiful sunset as it set sail. We arrived on the island an hour or so later, and were swiftly taken to a nearby beach resort for a lavish seafood supper on the beach. Endless amounts of spicy soup and platters of various crustaceans were brought out to us and we struggled to keep up (my piss-poor shell removal not helping matters much). The local law enforcer then drove us to the Banana Fan Sea Resort on the other side of the island where we would be staying. It's night-time by now, so the beach is empty, but the nearby tourist bars and clubs are packed. Our room is actually where the manager stays on his visits, so we have all the luxuries we could desire.

Once unpacked, we all head into town for ice-cream, then myself, Parn and Baptiste are led around town by one of the local cops. Well, he was more like your Western-style Sheriff, who would patrol the town, chat with his contacts and if anyone had a complaint, would get it sorted sharpish. And he kept his gun in a bumbag. While we have a few other essentials to buy, he advises us it's better and cheaper to go to Tesco tomorrow morning. Instead, we decided to have a look around the clubs, but they were surrounded with terrifying caricatures of womanhood, some of whom were certainly not 100% female. I don't really know what my ideal woman is, but I know now what my ideal woman isn't - these lank-haired, big-lipped, jewel-encrusted, leather-wrapped, long-nailed she-beast harpees, beckoning us to come join their party...shudder. We ended up in a reggae bar on the other side of town for a couple of beers, but there was a daft MC nattering over the music and a lot of middle-aged men getting pissed and dancing the kind of slow-motion bop dads do to reggae music. We left after about an hour - according to our cop the next day, there had been a stabbing that night at that bar, between a boyfriend and his girlfriend (at least they weren't strangers). The rest of the clubs in town were a bit too hectic for our tastes, so we retreated to a more laidback bar for drinks and snacks. And even though we were still technically full from all the fruits de mers we had consumed earlier, that didn't stop an impromptu Burger King before bed around 3am.

Today was our first full holiday day - and we started off in perhaps the most beautifully located Tesco in the world, with the bright hot sun basking down on a lush palm tree forest. With some more cheap beach-wear bought and bagged, we were off to another part of the island for a proposed scuba diving session. However, when we arrived, I was a little anxious about the lack of an instructor or any signs of scuba gear whatsoever. I was a little disappointed but, at the same time, incredibly relieved to discover it would be a snorkelling session instead, so we took a little boat out towards the bay of a small island, home to all kinds of tropical fish. To get them excited, we tossed them instant noodles that sent them into a feeding frenzy. We then got the chance to take a dip with them, but the coral towards the bay meant the water got very shallow indeed. I also decided to see for how long I could stalk an individual fish before it got lost in a shoal. After an hour or so, we headed back to shore for drinks and I realised just how horribly sunburnt I had become, having applied suncream but only after I'd gone swimming, so there had been much skin-sizzling during my snorkelling. I was pretty red across my back and shoulders, and was already beginning to flake up. Baptiste and Parn, on the other hand, had gotten off with only a few minor scrapes and cuts. Still, the sun was starting to set, so we decided to head onto Chaweng (sounds a bit like "Schwing!") beach by our hotel for jet-ski fun.

Jet-skiing was a wonderful experience. We had about half an hour to zip across the waves as much as we liked, and there was a great feeling of freedom as we bounced off crests and weaved through each other's splash-trails (or whatever the gnarly terminology is). It was far more exhilirating an experience than playing Waverace had suggested. However, I took a wave at a bid of a bad angle and fell off backwards, my last word before hitting the water a simple "Woah". Afterwards, we had a variety of varyingly disappointing barfood from 'Bob's Bar', which took ages to arrive as well. We then took advantage of the 'no longer as hot as is it was earlier' weather for paddling, swimming, sand-slinging and sand-sumo, with Parn beating Baptiste triumphantly. We returned to the hotel to wash and change before having some Thai green curry at a nearby restaurant and a visit to My Friendly Thai massage. I opted for the aloe vera treatment to soothe my sunburn, but it was a general body MOT, involving popping my toes, smearing lotion across my sweaty, hairy pores and getting rubbed quite close to my private triangle. We were all super-relaxed until Parn's mobile (which wasn't fixed to his ear in a rare moment of non-natter) killed the mood with an unexpected ringtone.

Our time in Koh Samui had been short but it was the first time my trip had felt like a genuine relaxing break from my time studying at university in Kyoto. We left the next morning after breakfast to return to Bangkok, to be reunited with Ilan. And our bags!

See pictures of Koh Samui here and here.

Coming soon - return to Bangkok and the journey to Phrae!

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!

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!

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!

Spring 2007 > China > Part I

BEIJING BOUND

I don't know how many people apply for re-entry permits on the day of travel with luggage in tow, but it was a good thing that mine was done and dusted within fifteen minutes as I hadn't been able to get one the day before as National Foundation Day was being observed. Nevertheless, Baptiste, myself and Ilan (who's idea of backpacking appeared to be dragging an almost monolithic suitcase around) caught the train to Kansai International Aiport without a hitch. I guess it wasn't peak travel season, as the airport was near-empty, as was our flight, which left ten minutes early anyway.

China Air was to be our airline for the trip, but I can't say I'd recommend them at all. The food was okay, the service unexceptional, the Chinglish news headlines amusing - but their take-off and landing and frequent turbulence didn't fill me with much confidence. Having bagged the window seat, I got to see China from above, but all I could see were vast expanses of brown dirt, puncuated with identikit blocks of skyscrapers, often regimented in colour coding like giant Lego. The airport staff provided us with endless forms to fill in for our enjoyment, but we were approved entry with no hint of resistance (although later experiences ran far less smoothly). Once processed, it was time to 'queue' for a taxi and throw ourselves head first into Chinese society - how we could have ever done it without Ilan, I have no idea, as a typical Chinese conversation sounds more like a vicious argument or bile-spewing rant than a polite exchange of words.

We were heading to Beijing Train Station but the ride there took an unbelievable length of time, with very long expressways that took us past crumbling shacks at the foot of neon-lit skyscrapers (and Tesco in the distance). Queueing is not a recognised activity among most Chinese, and the same rules do not apply for the highway code. Indicating is optional, road markings and lanes are merely suggested guidelines, the horn should be used as frequently as possible and if the jam is too bad, use of the pavement is advised. We were told the traffic situation has gotten especially bad over the past decade, with many abandoning bicycles for cars, and forgoing the admittedly useless public transportation network (in which you have to take a bus to get to a subway station, with an archaic ticketing system anyway) for taxis. This despite the fact that all the roads are massively wide, yet every hour feels like rush hour. With the swell in road-use, the pollution has gotten worse, with smog masking hilltop views and dirt lingering in the air. This was to greet us upon our arrival at the train station, as a cold wind blasted grit into our eyes and down the back of our throats. Hundreds of people had massed at the ticket booths to buy up seats for their impending migration home for the holiday season, and we were extremely lucky to get soft sleeper tickets for our Beijing to Shanghai leg.

Tired and cold, we taxi'd to Soiran's brother's university. Soirin greeted us with a warm welcome and some recently learned English (surprising even his sister) and took us to an on-campus, but yet still huge and ornate, restaurant to eat and meet his friends, all with varying levels of English ability. Soirin seemed very interested to know what our opinions were on Karl Marx and Taiwan, but we weren't really in the right frame of mind to begin a debate on such hot topics. Instead, we were introduced to another Chinese custom in which, rather than everyone saying "Cheers!" at one time, you must perform the act one on one multiple times offering a different reason for raising your glass each time. Every conversation seemed to begin or end with yet another "Cheers!". After food came the search for accommodation, and with no nearby hostels accepting foreign gents such as Baptiste and I (can't blame them), we ended up in a cheap nice hotel. We then ended the evening with a bout of karaoke, and while English songs were few and the microphones kept breaking, our sore throats at the end were proof of something.

The next morning was hurried as our Chinese friends had found us a new place to stay. Their ex-headmaster apparently knew the manager of the Redwall Hotel near the Forbidden City, and, for some reason I'll never figure out (maybe he thought we were international cultural ambassadors or I was an Olympic official, scoping out Beijing in lieu of London's plans in 5 years time), we were allowed to stay for three days. Free of charge. And this wasn't some run-down dirty hostel - this was a rather swish upscale hotel! However, this was all on one condition: that we have lunch with them in the hotel restaurant. Well, it's not like we could or would refuse, so we were all ushered into the private backroom for a lavish feast. Not only were the headmaster and the hotel manager's family and friends in attendance, but at the head of the table was a member of the Chinese army! Now, it's very hard being thrust into these opulent dinners with such esteemed company, especially when you don't understand the language, so you are mostly silent, but also because you're being presented with unusual food you are not used to and actually don't like especially - how the hell do you deal with it without seeming rude and ungrateful? After numerous cheers and toasts (they pressured us into choosing beer, only for them to all drink apple juice instead), dish after dish appeared on the table. I stomached the giant jelly mushroom starter as best I could, but I was almost finished off by a rogue chili that left me breathless and tear-jerked for a good five minutes - I don't think anyone important noticed, thankfully. But I genuinely can't say I like spicy foods now as a whole since my visit to China and Thailand - they really do cross the boundaries of taste there! Luckily, there was a good deal of vegetables and genuine authentic Peking Duck to satisfy everyone.

Lunch finished abruptly, and the rest of the day was spent in one of Beijing's many shopping emporiums, filled with stalls offering various goods of varying legitimacy. I settled on a new (if crap) watch for my travels, which started out at 68 yuan (about £4.50). I've never enjoyed haggling - I feel like the shopping experience should be a joyous one shared between supplier and consumer, not a depressing argument where you try and out-stingy each other - but in China it is de rigeur. After I gave a few dummy near-walkoffs, I got it down to 35 yuan, almost half price. I told Ilan, but she was not impressed, saying I should have got it down to 20-25 yuan. I thought I did good for a novice, but there's just no pleasing some people. We finished up in a Beijing 2008 souvenir shop (one of many around the country) and a Starbucks (one of many around the country), before a quick evening visit to Tiannamen Square.


What a place to spend Valentine's Day, indeed! It was rather chilly, but the dark blue sky, black birds and white lights made for some lovely snapshots. The Gate of Heavenly Peace, with Mao's image still lovingly adorned upon it, had a large police and guard presence, as it also did pushy souvenir vendors flogging their wares. In what would come to typify our journey in Beijing and Shanghai, at every turn someone would pounce upin us to desperately sell their tacky goods. Ilan advised us to brush them off with a simple smile, dismissive wave and a 'xie xie' ("thanks", but in this context "no thanks"). This worked most of the time, though they'd usually answer back in Chinese as we walked off - obviously some sort of insult flung at us, but we didn't understand, so who cares? It seems that the Chinese people we met were either really rude and aggressive or incredibly nice and friendly. Sometimes it was hard to judge which was which, but more on the nice ones later...

The So siblings had to catch a flight back home, so we bid our farewells, and continued to have a peek around Tiannamen Square at night. After about an hour, we walked back to the hotel, which must have taken close to another hour, as it became very clear that Beijing is a very, very big city. We found a fast-food restaurant nearby offering bowls of yummy beef rice and some very familiar tasting warm soya milk, and then went to a dodgy DVD/CD shop, filled with boxsets with bad blurbs and print jobs. It was not long before we returned to our lovely new hotel for a good sleep before our early wake-up for our busy tour the next day.


AND ALWAYS LET YOUR CONSCIENCE BE YOUR GUIDE

We woke at 6am to catch our 7:20am tourist bus as we were to take in the ancient sights outside Beijing. We were joined by a rather moody and pushy Indian couple, and Johannes, a friendly German in his late 40s with four kids, but still on a fun vacation (with Australia next). Our tour guide for the day was Wendy, a saucy Chinese lady in her mid-40s, with a good command of English and a wicked sense of humour. Her topics of conversations included: the Emperor's laziness as a result of his 1000 concubines (and comparing him to Bill Clinton); eunuchs; 'Audi' Schroeder (four wives = four rings); monkey brains, and how eating them makes you smart; Chinese vodka, and dragon-tiger soup (made from snake and cat). As we left Beijing city, we drove past the new Olympic buildings, including the main Bird Nest stadium, the bubble-walled swimming pool and the swish velodrome. However, our main ports of call were to be the Great Wall and the Ming Tombs, but beforehand, we were introduced to another interesting feature of Chinese tourism - the Happiness Store.

Dressed up like a factory museum, you are led on a little tour, explaining the history of a particular Chinese commodity (in this case, jade), then you get a look at the manufacturing process, before being ushered into the gift shop. Now, most museums have a gift shop, but in this case the gift shop IS the museum - everything's for sale and everyone is trying to sell you everything. Maybe it was because this was our first such retailer, but we found the jade factory the least pushy of them all, and we were quite happy to indulge them with some little purchases, given that we had little time to look for souvenirs elsewhere. Obviously there are all sorts of behind-the-scenes dealings between shops, tour operators, hotels and the government, but they really have to practice their sales techniques better. The customer is more likely to be turned off a purchase if they feel like they are being bullied, tricked and cheated - maybe others would submit and pay to get them to go away, but you shouldn't have to. Sort it out guys!

We arrived at the Badaling section of the Great Wall around 9-ish. The sun was out, the weather was fine, and the stretch of the wall across the length of the valley was virtually empty. And for no reason at all, there was a camel sitting in the car park. Us brave young souls picked the hard section to climb up, and rock hard it was too. The first section practically killed us, as if we were climbing the tip of an upside-down iceberg. An iceberg made of STEPS. Some were one brick high, while others were three or more, making for very uneven, calf-and-thigh destroying strikeforce impact. The numerous watchtowers offered some respite as a place to catch our breath, but we made it to the top of the peak, making us great men in the eyes of Mao. Getting back down was just as tricky though, and falling head over heels was an all-too-real possibility. But we made it to the bottom without injury.

Lunch was at another of those tourist stores, but with a restaurant attached, offering cheap but quite nice local dishes to a endless stream of tourist groups doing the same circuit. It's not what either of us would have wanted to do ideally, but money and time restrictions applied. Next were the Ming Tombs, home to various Ming emperors. Not sure which one we visited, but it was filled with traditional Chinese architecture that was at first interesting and pretty, but most places used the same designs and colour schemes, so looking back, it was rather ho-hum. Still, it was worth going just to hang out and joke around with Wendy. She enthusiastically pointed out the three 'woman trees' that grew out of the stonework, which would offer us concubines if we gave them a stroke. Knowing my luck, I had a sneaking suspicion I'd end up with concublokes instead. And while the colour schemes were repeated ad infinitum, the predominace of red (for happiness) got us thinking about the succesful US brands like Coca-Cola and KFC that had made in-roads to China. Heck, McDonald's Golden Arches represent the offical yellow colour of the imperial household. Our final stop was a little teahouse back in town, where we got to sample various Chinese tea and buy them (yes, that old tactic again). But it was a genuinely pleasant finish to the tour, and the various flavours were rather lovely.

Our tour had reached an end, but there was still a whole evening of entertainment ahead. We were going to head to the Drum and Bell Towers, but we got hopelessly lost on the way (it would turn out we made just one wrong turn) and ended up in Bei Hai Park as the sun was setting, which was a nice enough replacement anyway. The lake was still super frosty despite it not being too cold now, but just dry (the reverse of Hokkaido). There we met a father and his son (armed with a toy wooden sword) who spoke with us for a long time in English about all sorts of things as we walked around the edge of the lake - international trade, US slang, the tourist business. And while the odd word would defeat us (it took us a long time to register the word 'niche'), they were good company as we said our goodbyes and pressed on north. We headed to the bar and restaurant area around the hutongs along Qin Hai and Hou Hai, which had a wonderful cosompolitan atmosphere missing from the centre of town. Fireworks were being let off here and there (some right next to us from the fronts of businesses), adding to the vibrant feel, even if it was only Thursday night. We settled on dinner at the Alpha Omega Club, which featured live traditional music, followed by a funk-soul band (playing all the regional standards, as well as "Fever"). It had been a long hard day, so we rewarded ourselves with a load of junky food, with chicken nuggets, french fries, steak and black pepper sauce and a Hawaiian pizza (with banana). It weren't cheap, but we wanted to splash out - we were on holiday anyway, so why not? Once we were back at the hotel, we copped Zs pretty quickly - even if we were both coughing like crazy from the pollution and previous ailments.


BIG EMPTY

Some lucky kanji guesses at the bus stop got us transportation down to the Temple of Heaven, where the Emperor would have once performed various rituals for the benefit of the whole nation. We entered at the East Gate and were greeted with a gathering of old folk down the Long Corridor, having a nice sing-song. It seems parks are where people come to just do whatever they like, from tai chi to impromptu music performances, with audiences welcome but not necessary. We decided to take a very long walk down towards the South gate to enjoy the temple the right way round, but were met with very large walls blocking the route and the odd cypress wood. Nevertheless, we passed through the various stages of the temple site, from the Circular Altar to the Imperial Vault of Heaven (complete with Echo Wall which supposedly allows you to communicate with another on the opposite side of the courtyard, but we were either doing it wrong or it didn't work or there were too many people or all three). And then the long walk to the Hall for the Prayer of Good Harvests. It was at this point that Baptiste received the dreaded 'change battery screen' of death. We bought some choccie biccies to cheer us up and then spent a long time trying to find a way out of the park and then trying to find a place to eat, but the latter proved fruitless. If we were going to make our train to Shanghai and fit in the Forbidden City, we'd have to rely on biscuits for now.


Luckily, the Forbidden City was situated next to our hotel, so getting back to our bags wouldn't be a problem. Still, we didn't have time for an English-speaking guide, be they flesh and blood or the sultry voice of Roger Moore on the headsets offered. Our favourite spot in the Forbidden City was actually right at the start; a small garden filled with pavilions and gnarled trees. We walked through the length of the city's walls from north to south, with vast expanses and temples, huge squares, amphitheatre-esque tiers and a river running through. The main halls were closed to the public, undergoing restoration in time for the Olympics, but they had handily put up a replacement image across the scaffolding. Against our better judgment, we were yet again ensnared in the whole buy-me trap, as we offered a few minutes to look at an art exhibition which turned into 'students' from a Mongolian art school trying to sell their work (i.e. mass-produced prints) - we left quickly, rudely and unimpressed, with it all wearing a bit thin.

Once we exited the Forbidden City, we took a quick walk up Coal Hill to see into the whole complex, but the fog and smog and sunlight hindered visibility somewhat. However, we did get to eavesdrop on a Japanese tour guide - it's great, because they won't think you understand so you can leech off free guide info. Unfortunately, it has to be said that both of these grand sights were pretty underwhelming. Oh, they were big and nicely constructed and world famous and all, but it all felt somewhat soulless and uninspiring. I guess when something is so big, the personal touch is lost, but even then, I was expecting to be wowed by the Forbidden City at least, but left with a feeling that can only be summed up with 'meh'.

We returned to the hotel to pack up and check out (no bill!), then hopped in a cab to the train station with great difficulty thanks to big bags and little room. A quick meal at Yoshinoya (a Sinnified fast-food version of it anyway) before we joined the masses at the station waiting room. I asked one of the station officials for information, but he seemed more interested talking to me about sport. As soon as anyone finds out I'm English, all they want to talk about is football, which leaves me just smiling and nodding and not contributing, and probably makes them feel like they're getting the language wrong when they aren't. For instance, this guy was telling me how the Chinese team and an English team had just 'fought' each other. I just thought he meant it in the sense of competing. It was only a few days later when I found about the actual QPR Vs. China's Olympic Team brawl (BBC coverage / Fox Soccer Report) with kung-fu kicks a-plenty he had been referring to. He also said Bruce Lee was his hero, so I thought the use of wording was appropriate.

We huddled en masse onto the train and found our room occupied, but it turned out to be a mix-up on their part and not ours - though quite a bit of rubbish had been left behind. Nevertheless, we had the whole room to ourselves, and we relaxed in our beds, staring out of the window into the night, watching cities pass by and fireworks pop in the air. It was my first time travelling on an overnight train, so I had all the giddy excitedness usually attributed to those a quarter my age. But I did eventually get some sleep, as we were to arrive in Shanghai the following morning...

Coming in Part II: Shanghai - skyscrapers, vagabonds and hover trains!