I got off the bus in a fairly good mood today. Then I saw a dead cat on the pavement, and do you know, my good mood just vanished...
So yesterday, as I repeatedly pointed out to my fed up students, was the wedding day of Prince William. They really have no interest in this event. Their monarch was kicked out a century ago and even when there was an Emperor, he had so many wives that one more was nothing to shout about.
Although I did hear that in Nanjing a Chinese couple had a wedding modelled on the royal one, complete with fake royal guards and a horse-drawn carriage.
I persuaded my bosses to let me off work an hour early ("it's my culture!") and got a taxi to the Shangri-La hotel, which had a big screen showing the event. I had to spen 10 minutes waiting for a taxi and when one did turn up, the driver insisted on smoking and singing along loudly to the radio, before picking up other customers. And he didn't drive up to the hotel entrance so I had to walk...
Once inside my posse of fellow Anglo-Saxons, Europeans and confused Asians (Korean Michael: "why are you so excited? I don't care if my president gets married!") parked near one of the television screens which normally shows endless catwalk shows. I happily bitched to Ghrassan about how daft the trees in the abbey looked, let's be honest there is this fantastically beautiful church and they plonk bushes in it to block everyone's view, how boring and un-original Kate's dress was (she seemed to have Grace Kelly's old dress) and how bald William was getting. The Italian Laura couldn't stop laughing at that one... Ghrassan opined that I was jealous and that it was not fair to criticise her on everything. Jealous? Moi?
What DID Princess Beatrice, or Eugenie whichever, have on her head? It looked like something Lady Gaga would wear.
Kate's parents looked lovely though, although I distrust the siblings on sight.
If there is one thing I have learnt from my teaching job is that time, no matter how slowly it goes, nonetheless goes. And that I can fill it with babble quite fluently.
2011-04-30
2011-04-26
Honky Konky and Casinoland
Becka and I took the metro to the island of Lantau, which is twice the size of Hong Kong island but only contains 30,000 people as much of it is national park. The rest is Disneyland and the airport. Becka and I snubbed the theme park and took a spectacular cable car over the hills to go and see the largest seated buddha in the world.
We went, we saw, we left.
These things never leave much impression on me. It didn't seem that big.
Then we caught the bus down to Mui Wo, which was a small town by the ferry terminal. We had a paddle in the sea and then lazed on the beach. It was a very relaxed atmosphere, with kids playing volleyball nearby. The odd expat heaving his belly somewhere. The opposite of China! I had missed greenery... And I'm not used to the sight of kids playing together not under parental supervision.
Mui Wo is a nest of expats so Becka and I wolfed down some fish and chips (real thing too! My first in nearly 8 months!) and apple crumble (not as good as mine) before a ferry home.
Lantau gets my approval.
The terrible twosome then became the terrfic trio as Becka and I were joined by a school friend of mine called Cat. Cat is what a Chinese person would call a 华侨, huaqiao, or "oversees Chinese". However the last relative to have a Chinese passport was a grandmother and neither her nor her parents can speak anything other than English/French.
This does cause a slight problem as everyone thinks she's Chinese so blather on in Cantonese/Mandarin at her until they slowly trickle to a halt as she stares blankly back. Then the white girl chips in with "她不会说汉语"
The first day together we took the world's longest escalator up to the midlevels. Hong Kong is basically a collection of skyscrapers huddled along a coastline, with steep hills rising behind. Hence the escalator, which runs up in the day and evening and down in the morning rush hour. However when we reached the top we had to resort to walking and spent half an hour slogging up the steep slope to the top. We had to stop for a rest every two bins (there were bins at very regular intervals) as Cat was tired from flying and Becka and I are just wusses. Eventually we made the summit and were rewarded with a shopping complex of starbucks and haagen-dasz. We elbowed our way past mainland tour groups, grabbed some ice cream and took in the view. It was a fairly clear day so we could see quite far, once the Americans had moved. Then we pootled down the other side through some leafy woods before catching a bus to a district called Aberdeen- which had been a secret ambition of mine to visit. It's called Aberdeen!
We went to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and while the woman didn't seem to speak Mandarin, we got our meaning across. I asked for "xuebi", sprite, and she went "Ah! Sibbi!" which was close enough...
On our last day in Hong Kong Becka and I went to church for Easter Sunday. It was an Anglican one, St John's Cathedral, and as we arrived late, had to stand at the side. The service went on for ever so Becka bailed halfway and sat outside in the sun. I stayed to the bitter end and was rewarded with bits of blessed water flicked at me. It did go on a long time.
It provided a fascinating opportunity for people watching. There were the very devout Philipino looking women heads bowed praying as well as upper-middle class white people, with blond children in tow. The archbishop himself was running the show and had a beautifully colonial accent. He rhymed "whom" with "home". He kept taking his hat off, then putting it back on which require a vigorous flick to get the tassels to go the right way. Some of the service was read by an indian woman in a pink sari, other bits by a white man who had picked up somewhere that pauses=good reading so insisted on pausing for 5 seconds every sentence.
Afterwards we got posh chocolate and posh bread from a deli (a deli! Don't have those in Qingdao!) and went to a "park" near the church. I say park, it was a few metres squared. Becka and I found a rock to perch on by a pool and happily munched away and read the newspaper. We were surrounded by bunches of Hong Kongese women who were lolling around chatting, eating, playing cards and generally having a good time. There were groups of them everywhere, in every public space.
Not a single man.
It was lovely sitting in the cool shade, reading a non censored newspaper, surrounded by greenery, listening to the Hong Kongese women chatting away and shouting when one lost at cards.
Becka and I caught the metro back to Shenzhen. As we crossed the English signs gradually detoriated. People walked into us. People tried to con us. Children were going to the bathroom in public. Officials were no longer polite and helpful.
"Louise, what are we doing here? Why didn't we go to Hong Kong?" asked Becka.
Oh yeah we also went to Macao. The weather was awful and this, combined with a miserable restaurant meal, has turned me somewhat against it. It was quaint to see Portuguese on every sign-it is a joint official language- but the buildings were a bit bleak, including the tacky casinos everywhere. I was expecting more Portuguese style streets but it ressembled more what a 1980s industrial Portuguese town must have looked like.
When we got off the ferry the Chinese all headed straight to the slot machines while us three laowai pootled off to look at ruined churches. More money is spent on gambling in Macao than in Las Vegas. My mobile phone was bombarded with texts from casinos trying to lure me in.
At the border control was a portuguese looking official who spoke fluent Cantonese. He was very tall and handsome. And spoke fluent Cantonese. I am a little in love.
There were happy Christians giving out free hugs. I got one. However the poor guy couldn't let go of his Chinese aversion to body contact and it wasn't a very good hug.
We went, we saw, we left.
These things never leave much impression on me. It didn't seem that big.
Then we caught the bus down to Mui Wo, which was a small town by the ferry terminal. We had a paddle in the sea and then lazed on the beach. It was a very relaxed atmosphere, with kids playing volleyball nearby. The odd expat heaving his belly somewhere. The opposite of China! I had missed greenery... And I'm not used to the sight of kids playing together not under parental supervision.
Mui Wo is a nest of expats so Becka and I wolfed down some fish and chips (real thing too! My first in nearly 8 months!) and apple crumble (not as good as mine) before a ferry home.
Lantau gets my approval.
The terrible twosome then became the terrfic trio as Becka and I were joined by a school friend of mine called Cat. Cat is what a Chinese person would call a 华侨, huaqiao, or "oversees Chinese". However the last relative to have a Chinese passport was a grandmother and neither her nor her parents can speak anything other than English/French.
This does cause a slight problem as everyone thinks she's Chinese so blather on in Cantonese/Mandarin at her until they slowly trickle to a halt as she stares blankly back. Then the white girl chips in with "她不会说汉语"
The first day together we took the world's longest escalator up to the midlevels. Hong Kong is basically a collection of skyscrapers huddled along a coastline, with steep hills rising behind. Hence the escalator, which runs up in the day and evening and down in the morning rush hour. However when we reached the top we had to resort to walking and spent half an hour slogging up the steep slope to the top. We had to stop for a rest every two bins (there were bins at very regular intervals) as Cat was tired from flying and Becka and I are just wusses. Eventually we made the summit and were rewarded with a shopping complex of starbucks and haagen-dasz. We elbowed our way past mainland tour groups, grabbed some ice cream and took in the view. It was a fairly clear day so we could see quite far, once the Americans had moved. Then we pootled down the other side through some leafy woods before catching a bus to a district called Aberdeen- which had been a secret ambition of mine to visit. It's called Aberdeen!
We went to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and while the woman didn't seem to speak Mandarin, we got our meaning across. I asked for "xuebi", sprite, and she went "Ah! Sibbi!" which was close enough...
On our last day in Hong Kong Becka and I went to church for Easter Sunday. It was an Anglican one, St John's Cathedral, and as we arrived late, had to stand at the side. The service went on for ever so Becka bailed halfway and sat outside in the sun. I stayed to the bitter end and was rewarded with bits of blessed water flicked at me. It did go on a long time.
It provided a fascinating opportunity for people watching. There were the very devout Philipino looking women heads bowed praying as well as upper-middle class white people, with blond children in tow. The archbishop himself was running the show and had a beautifully colonial accent. He rhymed "whom" with "home". He kept taking his hat off, then putting it back on which require a vigorous flick to get the tassels to go the right way. Some of the service was read by an indian woman in a pink sari, other bits by a white man who had picked up somewhere that pauses=good reading so insisted on pausing for 5 seconds every sentence.
Afterwards we got posh chocolate and posh bread from a deli (a deli! Don't have those in Qingdao!) and went to a "park" near the church. I say park, it was a few metres squared. Becka and I found a rock to perch on by a pool and happily munched away and read the newspaper. We were surrounded by bunches of Hong Kongese women who were lolling around chatting, eating, playing cards and generally having a good time. There were groups of them everywhere, in every public space.
Not a single man.
It was lovely sitting in the cool shade, reading a non censored newspaper, surrounded by greenery, listening to the Hong Kongese women chatting away and shouting when one lost at cards.
Becka and I caught the metro back to Shenzhen. As we crossed the English signs gradually detoriated. People walked into us. People tried to con us. Children were going to the bathroom in public. Officials were no longer polite and helpful.
"Louise, what are we doing here? Why didn't we go to Hong Kong?" asked Becka.
Oh yeah we also went to Macao. The weather was awful and this, combined with a miserable restaurant meal, has turned me somewhat against it. It was quaint to see Portuguese on every sign-it is a joint official language- but the buildings were a bit bleak, including the tacky casinos everywhere. I was expecting more Portuguese style streets but it ressembled more what a 1980s industrial Portuguese town must have looked like.
When we got off the ferry the Chinese all headed straight to the slot machines while us three laowai pootled off to look at ruined churches. More money is spent on gambling in Macao than in Las Vegas. My mobile phone was bombarded with texts from casinos trying to lure me in.
At the border control was a portuguese looking official who spoke fluent Cantonese. He was very tall and handsome. And spoke fluent Cantonese. I am a little in love.
There were happy Christians giving out free hugs. I got one. However the poor guy couldn't let go of his Chinese aversion to body contact and it wasn't a very good hug.
And they're off!
The one thing I had been looking forward to doing in HK was go horse-racing. Every Wednesday at 7pm at the Happy Valley (so named because it used to have a high malaria death rate) track they have races. And last Wednesday at 7pm Becka and I were to be found sat in the members' enclosure, courtesy of a tourist ticket, clutching a "jar" of beer, a form book and our cameras. I diligently bet HK$10 on every race and ended up $34 down. Around 3 pounds. As I placed my bets, sliding my coin (coins! PRC doesn't really bother with them.) under the counter, the serious Hong Konger next to me would be shoving $100 dollar notes at the assistant. There was a room only for minimum bets of $5000. Gambling is very important business in Hong Kong.
The race track is rather spectacular as it is squished in against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers. At night their lights provide a fantastic view. The course is oval shaped and rather short- the longest race was 1800m- and the horses ranged from Hong Kong bred, to Australia and Europe. There was also a museum detailing the history. Originally they raced mongolian type horses but when it got serious they switched to thoroughbreds.
After careful perusal of the form book I set about betting. When my first horse came out, I got all excited. I had bet on each way. It came in fourth, by a nose hair. My luck did not really improve but two correct bets ensured I didn't lose too much...The people around me seemed to put more preparation in.
The horses would come out and walk around the parade ring first. We had an excellent view of this and once or twice I popped up to the rail to run an eye over my selection. Which was normally the one jumping around and sweating profusely as its lad swung from a rope. Then they would ping down to the start, except for mine which was normally humiliatingly ponied down by one of the four patient, if slightly annoyed, grey steeds. As it jumped around and sweated profusely. Then they would start and it was quite a sight to see the shiny horses speeding under the bright lights of a big city.
Then the winner would return to the ring. And mine would stroll back to its stable.
Becka and I had finished our 1st jar of beer and started on the 2nd. The last two races were to us singing Lady Gaga's greatest hits and having a merry time. I needed help getting home.
I love the last one of the guy in the suit and hat.
The race track is rather spectacular as it is squished in against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers. At night their lights provide a fantastic view. The course is oval shaped and rather short- the longest race was 1800m- and the horses ranged from Hong Kong bred, to Australia and Europe. There was also a museum detailing the history. Originally they raced mongolian type horses but when it got serious they switched to thoroughbreds.
After careful perusal of the form book I set about betting. When my first horse came out, I got all excited. I had bet on each way. It came in fourth, by a nose hair. My luck did not really improve but two correct bets ensured I didn't lose too much...The people around me seemed to put more preparation in.
The horses would come out and walk around the parade ring first. We had an excellent view of this and once or twice I popped up to the rail to run an eye over my selection. Which was normally the one jumping around and sweating profusely as its lad swung from a rope. Then they would ping down to the start, except for mine which was normally humiliatingly ponied down by one of the four patient, if slightly annoyed, grey steeds. As it jumped around and sweated profusely. Then they would start and it was quite a sight to see the shiny horses speeding under the bright lights of a big city.
Then the winner would return to the ring. And mine would stroll back to its stable.
Becka and I had finished our 1st jar of beer and started on the 2nd. The last two races were to us singing Lady Gaga's greatest hits and having a merry time. I needed help getting home.
I love the last one of the guy in the suit and hat.
First Impressions of Hong Kong
"Hey Becka, let's go to Hong Kong"
"Ok"
So we went to Hong Kong.
But first we flew to Shenzhen. Shenzhen, 深圳, means "deep ditch" apparently. And, er, it is a bit of a hole. It's where Hong Kong has plonked all of its mainland factories. It's also around 2 hours from Hong Kong island but in true Ryanair-esque fashion Becka and I flew there as it counts as an internal flight, and therefore is far cheaper than one to Hong Kong itself. Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, hence why flights there count as international.
Wait.
Becka and I caught a bus to the border with Hong Kong which took around an hour. The border point is known as 罗湖, which we read as Luo Hu, but that was known as Lo Wu in Hong Kong. Spot the Cantonese. We whizzed through various border checks. British citizens don't need to get a visa for HK, but, as Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, Chinese citizens still need a visa to visit. Almost like going to another country.
During these checks was the first time I've had a slight problem with my passport. In my opinion, and of those around me, I look very little like my passport photo. In the photo I have very dark hair and very dark brown eyes. I actually have blonde hair and blue eyes. No official has yet bothered with this but the Hong Kong ones, who take the time to do their job properly, looked a little confused and I had to take off my glasses and pull my hair back to reveal Me.
And then onto the metro and 40 minutes later we were wandering like lost lambs among the neon signs, and bustling crowds of Kowloon searching for Sincere House, Argyle Street. The streets in Hong Kong still maintain their original English names, all touchingly colonial like Argyle Street and Salisbury Place, with either Chinese transliterations or completely different names. I like this nod to Hong Kong's history. None of the roads in China retain their links with the past and are all named randomly after other cities, provinces or people. I think just about every city has a Zhongshan Park (Sun Yatsen to you and me).
Our room consisted of a tiny enclave with no window- which is to be expected in Hong Kong. Kowloon is one of the most densely populated places on the planet, and one of the most expensive, so even for a fairly large amount we weren't getting a lot. However it was clean and safe. And there was free wireless. So win.
Hong Kong is predominantly Cantonese speaking and uses traditional characters exclusively. This could get annoying as sometimes traditional characters are easy to read, but sometimes very difficult. Take 地鐵. This means metro. Note the second character. Compare to the mainland 地铁. 21 strokes as opposed to 10. As for 艺, why do the Hong Kongese bother writing 藝? Speaking was not much better as Cantonese, often misleadingly described as a Chinese dialect, is rather different to Mandarin. Which brings us to English, which was the language Becka and I tried first when needing to communicate. A lot of Hong Kongese speak English very well and it was noticeable how correct the English was in signs etc. When we were momentarily lost two locals helpfully led us the right way after saying "I'm afraid you have been misled". No one on the mainland would say that.
So Becka and I felt rather annoyed that our past two years of work weren't much use :P
Since Hong Kong was liberated or whatever the PRC calls it, Mandarin has been compulsory in schools. The metro speaks in Cantonese first, then Mandarin, then English. The impression I got was that most Hong Kongese don't bother with it.
One more thing was noticeably different from the mainland. Actually, lots of things were different. Hong Kong feels more like New York than China. But the biggest was the lack of censorship. There was a protest calling for the release of Ai Weiwei, the artist, from jail. The newspapers complain about the government and report the oppression of Tibetan monks. I don't need my vpn for facebook. I didn't realise how much I missed free speech.
"Ok"
So we went to Hong Kong.
But first we flew to Shenzhen. Shenzhen, 深圳, means "deep ditch" apparently. And, er, it is a bit of a hole. It's where Hong Kong has plonked all of its mainland factories. It's also around 2 hours from Hong Kong island but in true Ryanair-esque fashion Becka and I flew there as it counts as an internal flight, and therefore is far cheaper than one to Hong Kong itself. Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, hence why flights there count as international.
Wait.
Becka and I caught a bus to the border with Hong Kong which took around an hour. The border point is known as 罗湖, which we read as Luo Hu, but that was known as Lo Wu in Hong Kong. Spot the Cantonese. We whizzed through various border checks. British citizens don't need to get a visa for HK, but, as Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, Chinese citizens still need a visa to visit. Almost like going to another country.
During these checks was the first time I've had a slight problem with my passport. In my opinion, and of those around me, I look very little like my passport photo. In the photo I have very dark hair and very dark brown eyes. I actually have blonde hair and blue eyes. No official has yet bothered with this but the Hong Kong ones, who take the time to do their job properly, looked a little confused and I had to take off my glasses and pull my hair back to reveal Me.
And then onto the metro and 40 minutes later we were wandering like lost lambs among the neon signs, and bustling crowds of Kowloon searching for Sincere House, Argyle Street. The streets in Hong Kong still maintain their original English names, all touchingly colonial like Argyle Street and Salisbury Place, with either Chinese transliterations or completely different names. I like this nod to Hong Kong's history. None of the roads in China retain their links with the past and are all named randomly after other cities, provinces or people. I think just about every city has a Zhongshan Park (Sun Yatsen to you and me).
Our room consisted of a tiny enclave with no window- which is to be expected in Hong Kong. Kowloon is one of the most densely populated places on the planet, and one of the most expensive, so even for a fairly large amount we weren't getting a lot. However it was clean and safe. And there was free wireless. So win.
Hong Kong is predominantly Cantonese speaking and uses traditional characters exclusively. This could get annoying as sometimes traditional characters are easy to read, but sometimes very difficult. Take 地鐵. This means metro. Note the second character. Compare to the mainland 地铁. 21 strokes as opposed to 10. As for 艺, why do the Hong Kongese bother writing 藝? Speaking was not much better as Cantonese, often misleadingly described as a Chinese dialect, is rather different to Mandarin. Which brings us to English, which was the language Becka and I tried first when needing to communicate. A lot of Hong Kongese speak English very well and it was noticeable how correct the English was in signs etc. When we were momentarily lost two locals helpfully led us the right way after saying "I'm afraid you have been misled". No one on the mainland would say that.
So Becka and I felt rather annoyed that our past two years of work weren't much use :P
Since Hong Kong was liberated or whatever the PRC calls it, Mandarin has been compulsory in schools. The metro speaks in Cantonese first, then Mandarin, then English. The impression I got was that most Hong Kongese don't bother with it.
One more thing was noticeably different from the mainland. Actually, lots of things were different. Hong Kong feels more like New York than China. But the biggest was the lack of censorship. There was a protest calling for the release of Ai Weiwei, the artist, from jail. The newspapers complain about the government and report the oppression of Tibetan monks. I don't need my vpn for facebook. I didn't realise how much I missed free speech.
2011-04-18
Market Harborough and Hisense Plaza, United in Snootiness
Hisense Plaza, the place that exists to help millionaires spend their cash on diamond studded ovens, also has a supermarket that makes Waitrose look like a soup kitchen for rats. Lower class rats. And what did I find there? Ye olde style boiled sweets in twee jam jars made in no less a distinguished a place than Market Harborough, Leicestershire.
Which reminded me of home. And suddenly I remembered what it was like to have green fields, blue skies, tea shops, independent newspapers, an intellectual discussion, cars with seatbelts... *pang*
I didn't buy them though- they were over 40yuan! A taste of home isn't worth that much...
My erhu teacher came today. My approach to learning the erhu is exactly like that to learning the violin. I spend more time feeling guilty over lack of practice than practising...
Another guilt pang came when 3/4 through class today Michael, American Korean, said he was going to The Diner to meet a Chinese friend. The Diner has pumpkin soup. Which I like. Class did not have pumpkin soup. So we flitted off at the break. Unfortunately lots of others also flitted off so the teacher will be taking a register twice next class...but I won't be there because tomorrow I'm off to the Bit That Is Definitely China despite the completely different language, visa system, currency, legal system, education....
A.k.a. Hong Kong...
Oh and Macau for a day. Macau always gets forgotten, doesn't it? Massive fanfare when Hong Kong returned to the PRC fold of joy in 1997 but did anyone notice Macau in 2001? Was it 2001? Wait, which place are we talking about again?
Which reminded me of home. And suddenly I remembered what it was like to have green fields, blue skies, tea shops, independent newspapers, an intellectual discussion, cars with seatbelts... *pang*
I didn't buy them though- they were over 40yuan! A taste of home isn't worth that much...
My erhu teacher came today. My approach to learning the erhu is exactly like that to learning the violin. I spend more time feeling guilty over lack of practice than practising...
Another guilt pang came when 3/4 through class today Michael, American Korean, said he was going to The Diner to meet a Chinese friend. The Diner has pumpkin soup. Which I like. Class did not have pumpkin soup. So we flitted off at the break. Unfortunately lots of others also flitted off so the teacher will be taking a register twice next class...but I won't be there because tomorrow I'm off to the Bit That Is Definitely China despite the completely different language, visa system, currency, legal system, education....
A.k.a. Hong Kong...
Oh and Macau for a day. Macau always gets forgotten, doesn't it? Massive fanfare when Hong Kong returned to the PRC fold of joy in 1997 but did anyone notice Macau in 2001? Was it 2001? Wait, which place are we talking about again?
2011-04-17
Western Food? In... Laoshan?
The centre of Qingdao centres on 市南,Shinan, City South, and 市北, Shibei, City North. I live in Shinan district along with my university campus. And every other interesting thing in Qingdao. There are the new, glossy financial centre skyscrapers, the 5 star hotels, the lamborghini shop, western restaurants, Korean cafes and Japanese supermarkets. Outside of this little oasis, the city of Qingdao stretches away, acres and acres of sad, ugly high rises punctuated by wasteland and building sites. At some point this fades away to the bit I call "zombieland", reason being it looks as though World War 3 has already happened. Every old, stone, one storey building appears to have been half-heartedly bulldozed and wizened human forms live in the bits still standing. The roads are made of brick and potholes. There is nothing green, except for the odd row of cabbages.
This is Laoshan district.
The edge of Laoshan district, the bit nearest the coast and the 21st century, is also where they decided to build Qingdao's concert hall, which is a rather beautiful modernistic design. Predictably, it was by western architects. It is rather indicative of the Chinese educational system and mind set that out of 1.3 billion people, they cannot find someone creative enough to design their showcase buildings.
Anyway yesterday we, that is a group of miscellaneous nationalities, went to see a Korean show at the concert hall. We went for dinner beforehand at a restaurant just opposite the hall. The restaurant was western style and owned by a Canadian and I was rather surprised to find something like that in Laoshan district. It's not what you expect. Slowly modern restaurants are creeping away from the safety of the Marina and financial district into the hinterland.
The Korean show was called Nanta. This means "crazy drumming". The show consists of 4 chefs and a maitre d' combining slapstick, magic shows, traditional drumming, and tango with preparing a meal. Using knives as drumsticks they play on chopping boards, while chopping vegetables. This is rather spectacular. And messy. All in all, though, it was a very enjoyable show, although not for the cerebral, with the added bonus of a very hot Man performer with long hair and biiig muscles who took his shirt off at the end.
I told my students that "diarrhoea" is the hardest word to spell in the English language and to ask their other teachers how to spell it just to see if they can:P
This is Laoshan district.
The edge of Laoshan district, the bit nearest the coast and the 21st century, is also where they decided to build Qingdao's concert hall, which is a rather beautiful modernistic design. Predictably, it was by western architects. It is rather indicative of the Chinese educational system and mind set that out of 1.3 billion people, they cannot find someone creative enough to design their showcase buildings.
Anyway yesterday we, that is a group of miscellaneous nationalities, went to see a Korean show at the concert hall. We went for dinner beforehand at a restaurant just opposite the hall. The restaurant was western style and owned by a Canadian and I was rather surprised to find something like that in Laoshan district. It's not what you expect. Slowly modern restaurants are creeping away from the safety of the Marina and financial district into the hinterland.
The Korean show was called Nanta. This means "crazy drumming". The show consists of 4 chefs and a maitre d' combining slapstick, magic shows, traditional drumming, and tango with preparing a meal. Using knives as drumsticks they play on chopping boards, while chopping vegetables. This is rather spectacular. And messy. All in all, though, it was a very enjoyable show, although not for the cerebral, with the added bonus of a very hot Man performer with long hair and biiig muscles who took his shirt off at the end.
I told my students that "diarrhoea" is the hardest word to spell in the English language and to ask their other teachers how to spell it just to see if they can:P
2011-04-16
God? Was that you?
I had a divine intervention today.
After studying and teaching for 9 hours yesterday, and then partying with my classmates until 2am in a Chinese club (hate Chinese clubs- no room to dance but I do get lots of free drinks), and then teaching this morning (owowowow) I had made a life-or-death dash to a western restaurant for their Soup of the Day (pumpkin) and lovely, lovely tea. I only had a small amount of time but I needed pumpkin soup and tea. Needed. Restoring me slightly, I caught the bus to my next place of work. As I was only going for one stop I just jumped on one I thought was going where I wanted. However when we reached my stop the bus just sailed on by. This caused me some misery. The next stop would mean a 7 minute walk to work instead of 1 minute. I had 2 minutes before class. My heart sank and I was full of woe...
But no sooner had I thought that life was losing its appeal, there was a loud BANG and a tire blew on the bus. It wobbled a bit before coming to a halt in a cloud of smoke, having travelled only 50m past where I had wanted to get off. Hardly believing my luck, I leapt off and buzzed off to work, leaving the bus driver and passengers to gather around the wheel and wonder why the westerner had shot off at such speed...
Convenient, no?
In other news, Starbucks gives you free cake if, having finished teaching at 8, you are sad enough to be still doing homework at 10pm in their cafe...like me...
Normally Sunday is my sacred day off. But I got a text from a friend's work saying they want me to go and substitute tomorrow because two of their teachers broke their legs when a stairwell collapsed under them, so I'm helping them out. Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?
After studying and teaching for 9 hours yesterday, and then partying with my classmates until 2am in a Chinese club (hate Chinese clubs- no room to dance but I do get lots of free drinks), and then teaching this morning (owowowow) I had made a life-or-death dash to a western restaurant for their Soup of the Day (pumpkin) and lovely, lovely tea. I only had a small amount of time but I needed pumpkin soup and tea. Needed. Restoring me slightly, I caught the bus to my next place of work. As I was only going for one stop I just jumped on one I thought was going where I wanted. However when we reached my stop the bus just sailed on by. This caused me some misery. The next stop would mean a 7 minute walk to work instead of 1 minute. I had 2 minutes before class. My heart sank and I was full of woe...
But no sooner had I thought that life was losing its appeal, there was a loud BANG and a tire blew on the bus. It wobbled a bit before coming to a halt in a cloud of smoke, having travelled only 50m past where I had wanted to get off. Hardly believing my luck, I leapt off and buzzed off to work, leaving the bus driver and passengers to gather around the wheel and wonder why the westerner had shot off at such speed...
Convenient, no?
In other news, Starbucks gives you free cake if, having finished teaching at 8, you are sad enough to be still doing homework at 10pm in their cafe...like me...
Normally Sunday is my sacred day off. But I got a text from a friend's work saying they want me to go and substitute tomorrow because two of their teachers broke their legs when a stairwell collapsed under them, so I'm helping them out. Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?
2011-04-12
My Penny's Worth
For some reason I ended up explaining the meaning of baptism to my teacher today. (I had actually bothered to go to class- a rare occurence. I find it distracts me from my current work of cultivating flu viruses and manufacturing mucus).
Anyway, I only half know what baptisim means so I mumbled about it washing away sins so you could be a member of the Church. A surprisingly large proportion of the Koreans are Christian so could almost certainly have given better answers than me but they have a phobia of speaking Chinese in front of other people. The teacher thanked me and mentioned that as she was not a Christian, she did not know these things. I didn't point out that I wasn't much of a Christian either. Not believing in God generally bars me from religion.
But it did remind me to post some musings on the topic. Namely that Atheists and Religionists don't seem to be able to communicate on even the most basic level. The problem is that Atheists think it all boils down to whether or not there is a god and concentrate on that. But for a Religionist, let's pick a Christian, this is not really the point.
You belong to a religion claiming over a billion followers. 2000 years of history have produced reams and reams of theological debates and theories over whether we're all born in sin, is the wine really his blood, can women represent Jesus, which is the best translation of the Bible, or indeed the best language, what is the precise meaning of Revelations etc. (The wikipedia trail on Christian debates is terrifying.) Not to mention the pages and pages of commentaries on the Bible, feckit even the Bible itself is pretty lengthy. And the years and years spent building hundreds of fantastically magnificent buildings to honour God. And the gallons of blood spilt in his defence. The thousands of miles walked by pilgrims. The calendar is stuffed with saints' days. The hours and hours of soul-lifting music written to celebrate God. There are enough rites and rituals to commemorate every second of the day. For some people, it fills their whole life. Christianity is stuffed with the detritus produced by 2000 years of men needing to do something to fill the time.
And that's just Christianity- there's Islam and Judaism and the list goes on. They all think there's a god.
No wonder they do not thank Atheists for pointing out it might all be for nothing, only half hiding their amusement at all the energy spent by the silly people doing silly things. How can all that be for nothing?
The wizened men at the top of the Christian pile have moved on from the infantile debate on whether there is a god- they are busy debating the wingspan of angels. They ignore the childish bleating of Dawkins and Hitchens and dismiss them as ignorant and crude. It must sound crude, while you're sat in your marble hall reading a beautifully written psalm, to hear Hitchens bluntly comparing god to North Korea.
So as Atheists, what we say might hold sway with Agnostics and hazy Religionists, but our arrows fall short when we aim at religion's lofty towers. So what should we do?
Nothing.
Think of Shelley's poem "Ozymandias".
Swap Jesus for Ozymandias (I know it doesn't scan well) and you take my point. You can already see the cracks in the stone. Science is doing the job for us, shining the spotlight on previously dark, unexplained corners of the universe. God has fewer and fewer places to hide...
Anyway, I only half know what baptisim means so I mumbled about it washing away sins so you could be a member of the Church. A surprisingly large proportion of the Koreans are Christian so could almost certainly have given better answers than me but they have a phobia of speaking Chinese in front of other people. The teacher thanked me and mentioned that as she was not a Christian, she did not know these things. I didn't point out that I wasn't much of a Christian either. Not believing in God generally bars me from religion.
But it did remind me to post some musings on the topic. Namely that Atheists and Religionists don't seem to be able to communicate on even the most basic level. The problem is that Atheists think it all boils down to whether or not there is a god and concentrate on that. But for a Religionist, let's pick a Christian, this is not really the point.
You belong to a religion claiming over a billion followers. 2000 years of history have produced reams and reams of theological debates and theories over whether we're all born in sin, is the wine really his blood, can women represent Jesus, which is the best translation of the Bible, or indeed the best language, what is the precise meaning of Revelations etc. (The wikipedia trail on Christian debates is terrifying.) Not to mention the pages and pages of commentaries on the Bible, feckit even the Bible itself is pretty lengthy. And the years and years spent building hundreds of fantastically magnificent buildings to honour God. And the gallons of blood spilt in his defence. The thousands of miles walked by pilgrims. The calendar is stuffed with saints' days. The hours and hours of soul-lifting music written to celebrate God. There are enough rites and rituals to commemorate every second of the day. For some people, it fills their whole life. Christianity is stuffed with the detritus produced by 2000 years of men needing to do something to fill the time.
And that's just Christianity- there's Islam and Judaism and the list goes on. They all think there's a god.
No wonder they do not thank Atheists for pointing out it might all be for nothing, only half hiding their amusement at all the energy spent by the silly people doing silly things. How can all that be for nothing?
The wizened men at the top of the Christian pile have moved on from the infantile debate on whether there is a god- they are busy debating the wingspan of angels. They ignore the childish bleating of Dawkins and Hitchens and dismiss them as ignorant and crude. It must sound crude, while you're sat in your marble hall reading a beautifully written psalm, to hear Hitchens bluntly comparing god to North Korea.
So as Atheists, what we say might hold sway with Agnostics and hazy Religionists, but our arrows fall short when we aim at religion's lofty towers. So what should we do?
Nothing.
Think of Shelley's poem "Ozymandias".
"I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
2011-04-09
Hospitals
I've cleverly developed an infection in my eye so today I braved the Chinese Health System. I intrepidly entered the municipal hospital and ventured bravely up to the International Clinic on the 4th floor.
They were closed for lunch.
What kind of doctors' closes for lunch???
So I missed an hour of teaching to go back in the afternoon. I've never used a hospital where you have to pay before so that was quite an experience. It was 21yuan for the consultation and 51yuan for the medicine the doctor gave me so for £7 I can't complain.
The way the Clinic worked was that they have nurses who translate for you with the doctor which is handy as my medical vocabulary is somewhat lacking. My eye had been watering crazily for a while and reddening up when I was tired and it had been this way for a week. Turns out I have an infection in my cornea so I can't wear contact lenses for a while which is a nuisance as today is Becka's 21st birthday party and I was hoping to look nice...
They were closed for lunch.
What kind of doctors' closes for lunch???
So I missed an hour of teaching to go back in the afternoon. I've never used a hospital where you have to pay before so that was quite an experience. It was 21yuan for the consultation and 51yuan for the medicine the doctor gave me so for £7 I can't complain.
The way the Clinic worked was that they have nurses who translate for you with the doctor which is handy as my medical vocabulary is somewhat lacking. My eye had been watering crazily for a while and reddening up when I was tired and it had been this way for a week. Turns out I have an infection in my cornea so I can't wear contact lenses for a while which is a nuisance as today is Becka's 21st birthday party and I was hoping to look nice...
2011-04-08
A Weekend of Wanr
I treated the Koreans to a sunday roast dinner in Shanghai. They were delighted to finally find out what a Yorkshire pudding was. ("Oooh and gravy!") And they loved their Strongbow cider (I tried to dissuade them from drinking that but to no avail..."Chavs drink that" is meaningless to them). However I think Sara accurately summed up their opinion of it: "it would be better with kimchee".
Koreans eh.
Monday, or Tuesday (or maybe even Sunday who knows) was Tomb Sweeping day in China. This is where you go and sweep tombs. (This is about all the information I got out of my Chinese friends. The new generation doesn't know very much about tradition... Also I heard that the government is thinking of limiting the kind of tomb you can have as the nouveau riche here are determined to rot in as much luxury as they wallowed in in life-some of them put even the First Emperor's rivers of mecury and terracotta army to shame...)
However, if you are Sara, Boram and I, you take advantage of the two days extra holiday and jet off to Shanghai. Those two had never been, and I will never turn down a visit, so we booked the cheapest flights, all scheduled for midnight, and promptly spent the money saved on paying the higher nighttime taxi rates to the airport. We flew into Pudong airport and this was rather bittersweet as it has always been my ambition to ride the 430km/h maglev (I'm turning into a bit of a train nut...) which connects it to the city and I had been waiting for the opportunity to use Pudong (internal flights normally go to Hongqiao) just so I could ride the maglev.
But as we arrived so late it had finished running... So we got a coach instead. At least we got the entertainment of two elderly folks screaming at each other in the Shanghai dialect, Wu, for half the journey.
Bizarrely, this trip I heard so many people speaking Wu. I swear I did not hear it last time... It's interesting that is survives so strongly in such a cosmopolitan city when Mandarin is used so much.
1st stop were the Yu gardens. I don't like the Yu gardens. They are not actually gardens but a collection of ye olde style buildings crammed with tacky shops. Tourists go because they think they can see old China. Tip: never go to a ye olde tourist spot in China. Partly because these are also the places where, like Sara, you make a surprise, and slightly unwilling, donation to someone's cigarette fund when you realise your bag is hanging open and your purse is 200 yuan lighter than it was...
Far more interesting was the network of houses and shops north-east of Yu Gardens. These are actually fairly old and are crammed with stalls selling vegetables and people hacking bits of meat on the floor. And small dogs trying to eat your ankles. And old men playing mahjong in the road just where young men want to ride their mopeds.
We bought dumplings (Shanghai's speciality) and Sara gobbled one up before realising it was boiling hot and then spent an agonising 10 seconds trying to not to spit it out before finally going against 20 years of Korean manners and ejecting it into the soy sauce...
I showed the Koreans the antique market underneath Yu Gardens. I'd bought some toffee haws on-a-stick and consequently had sticky hands so I ducked into one of the shops looking for a bin. It turned out to be one I'd visited back in October and bought something from. The owner remembered me. And promptly spent the next 5 minutes stroking my arm and saying we were "old friends". I left having bought some shoes (terrifyingly small ones- for bound feet. Actually terrifyingly small) for too much money. Damn she's good. Amusingly an actual "old friend" of hers turned up halfway through the bargaining and the owner promptly turned from gentle cajoling to snappy "GO AWAY I'M BUSY".
I like travelling with the Koreans as they like going to places of interest to Korea, which I would never normally visit but always find fascinating. This time we went to the site of the first government of Korea. Due to the Japanese occupation of Korea, this was in Shanghai. It was just a small house in some mews, which added to the poignancy. There were letters on the walls, mostly in Korean (old style Korean which, like Japanese, made extensive use of Chinese characters as well as their own alphabet. This is quite rare today) however there were some in English pleading with the Americans to help kick the Japanese out. Sara and Boram were very excited to see the place as they had studied it at school.
I always feel sad visiting these places as it places in stark contrast how hard the Koreans fought for a free country, and how much it meant to them, with how the Powers dealt with it- literally "ok we'll have this bit up to here arounnnnnd maybeeeeee the 38th parallel? Yeah 38th. Ok and you can have this bit. Right, lunch". I'm sure the Koreans didn't die so that their country could be torn in half only a few years later creating a distinction that had barely existed before between North and South. And certainly not so that now half of them live in standards worse than 50 years ago under an emperor just as bad as the last actual one... And now I'm not sure that the two will ever be reunited- too much blood spilt between them.
We had lunch at a Thai restaurant. Sara is allergic to mango. We opened the menu. The first two pages, in a blaze of yellow, were devoted exclusively to mango dishes.
Boram went to use the shower in the hostel and a Western man walked out wearing only a towel. I don't think they do this in Korea.
Speaking of Boram brings us to the Comedy Moment of the trip which was thus:
Me: Lol this restaurant is called El Willy. Lol, do you know what Willy means in playground speak?
Boram (proudly): Yes. Find Willy.
Me: ...Er?
Boram: Find Willy. In a crowd.
Me: ...in a .... crowd?
Turns out she meant "Where's Wally". I pointed out the real meaning. Then Sara and I cried with laughter.
This was further compounded when Boram used the men's loos by mistake in a pub, leading to relentless teasing by Sara and I... Oh Boram...
Sara had her own little comedy moment. When in Suzhou we caught a bus from Tiger Hill into town. When I had visited in October we had shyed away from using the bus due to a small mob wanting to use the bus too. But, with the memory of a small hike to find a taxi fresh in my mind, we braved the bus. Predictably we ended up in a crush trying to get on (OMG LEARN TO QUEUE CHINA), people pushing from everywhere, barely able to move. In the midst of all the turmoil and yelling, Sara piped up, asking the general crowd "Excuse me, excuse me! Is this a 1 or 2yuan bus?" "WHO CARES" I hollered, ribs gently snapping.
However Sara is useful in a crush. Somehow she managed to elbow on in front and save Boram and me seats. That's a useful skill.
We had gone to Suzhou to find Louise a qipao. I hate Chinese changing rooms. Just you, 5 other customers and 3 assistants in one small space. I miss privacy...
We went into the park at Tiger Hill. There were lots of daffodils. This made me happy as I had been sad that I wouldn't see all the daffodils back home as they are my favourite flower and I love seeing them bloom in spring. Qingdao doesn't really have flowers. It has pictures of flowers.
Shanghai had a little park full of blossoming trees which were lovely to smell. Mmmm nature, I miss you sometimes...
On the last night in Shanghai we Went Out. I, being a classy bird, had filled my water bottle with a mixture of the cheapest baijiu I could find, and sprite (to drink before heading out so we don't need to buy too many expensive drinks in a bar.) At first it didn't taste good but after a warm glow and the odd spasm, it got better. Sara and I didn't tell Boram what was in it and offered it to her. She, thinking it was lemonade, took a huge gulp. Baijiu's taste can be a bit of a shock when you aren't expecting it. Boram, a look of panic on her face, hurriedly run around the room desperately looking for somewhere to spit it out before finally, reluctantly, swallowing.
Hehe.
However the club we visited had one big problem. It is Shanghai fashion week at the moment so it was full of male and female models. Horribly attractive people. The women were nothing special, female models rarely are actually beautiful, but the men were the prettiest I have ever seen. And achingly well dressed.
Boram, Sara and I felt very ugly.
We visited the riverside in Pudong so we could see the Bund from afar. The European buildings looked very small and dirty besides the glittering skyscrapers looming behind them. After, the model-filled club, I sympathised...
I spent far too much in Shanghai... on the other hand I now have a picture of Mao Yeye (Grandpa Mao lol) having his cigarette lit by a pretty women while ten others crowd around him laughing flirtatiously. Oh you old dog... And some chopsticks that look like pencils. And some shoes that fit my big feet. Well. Nearly do.
I need a rich boyfriend. Please apply...
Koreans eh.
Monday, or Tuesday (or maybe even Sunday who knows) was Tomb Sweeping day in China. This is where you go and sweep tombs. (This is about all the information I got out of my Chinese friends. The new generation doesn't know very much about tradition... Also I heard that the government is thinking of limiting the kind of tomb you can have as the nouveau riche here are determined to rot in as much luxury as they wallowed in in life-some of them put even the First Emperor's rivers of mecury and terracotta army to shame...)
However, if you are Sara, Boram and I, you take advantage of the two days extra holiday and jet off to Shanghai. Those two had never been, and I will never turn down a visit, so we booked the cheapest flights, all scheduled for midnight, and promptly spent the money saved on paying the higher nighttime taxi rates to the airport. We flew into Pudong airport and this was rather bittersweet as it has always been my ambition to ride the 430km/h maglev (I'm turning into a bit of a train nut...) which connects it to the city and I had been waiting for the opportunity to use Pudong (internal flights normally go to Hongqiao) just so I could ride the maglev.
But as we arrived so late it had finished running... So we got a coach instead. At least we got the entertainment of two elderly folks screaming at each other in the Shanghai dialect, Wu, for half the journey.
Bizarrely, this trip I heard so many people speaking Wu. I swear I did not hear it last time... It's interesting that is survives so strongly in such a cosmopolitan city when Mandarin is used so much.
1st stop were the Yu gardens. I don't like the Yu gardens. They are not actually gardens but a collection of ye olde style buildings crammed with tacky shops. Tourists go because they think they can see old China. Tip: never go to a ye olde tourist spot in China. Partly because these are also the places where, like Sara, you make a surprise, and slightly unwilling, donation to someone's cigarette fund when you realise your bag is hanging open and your purse is 200 yuan lighter than it was...
Far more interesting was the network of houses and shops north-east of Yu Gardens. These are actually fairly old and are crammed with stalls selling vegetables and people hacking bits of meat on the floor. And small dogs trying to eat your ankles. And old men playing mahjong in the road just where young men want to ride their mopeds.
We bought dumplings (Shanghai's speciality) and Sara gobbled one up before realising it was boiling hot and then spent an agonising 10 seconds trying to not to spit it out before finally going against 20 years of Korean manners and ejecting it into the soy sauce...
I showed the Koreans the antique market underneath Yu Gardens. I'd bought some toffee haws on-a-stick and consequently had sticky hands so I ducked into one of the shops looking for a bin. It turned out to be one I'd visited back in October and bought something from. The owner remembered me. And promptly spent the next 5 minutes stroking my arm and saying we were "old friends". I left having bought some shoes (terrifyingly small ones- for bound feet. Actually terrifyingly small) for too much money. Damn she's good. Amusingly an actual "old friend" of hers turned up halfway through the bargaining and the owner promptly turned from gentle cajoling to snappy "GO AWAY I'M BUSY".
I like travelling with the Koreans as they like going to places of interest to Korea, which I would never normally visit but always find fascinating. This time we went to the site of the first government of Korea. Due to the Japanese occupation of Korea, this was in Shanghai. It was just a small house in some mews, which added to the poignancy. There were letters on the walls, mostly in Korean (old style Korean which, like Japanese, made extensive use of Chinese characters as well as their own alphabet. This is quite rare today) however there were some in English pleading with the Americans to help kick the Japanese out. Sara and Boram were very excited to see the place as they had studied it at school.
I always feel sad visiting these places as it places in stark contrast how hard the Koreans fought for a free country, and how much it meant to them, with how the Powers dealt with it- literally "ok we'll have this bit up to here arounnnnnd maybeeeeee the 38th parallel? Yeah 38th. Ok and you can have this bit. Right, lunch". I'm sure the Koreans didn't die so that their country could be torn in half only a few years later creating a distinction that had barely existed before between North and South. And certainly not so that now half of them live in standards worse than 50 years ago under an emperor just as bad as the last actual one... And now I'm not sure that the two will ever be reunited- too much blood spilt between them.
We had lunch at a Thai restaurant. Sara is allergic to mango. We opened the menu. The first two pages, in a blaze of yellow, were devoted exclusively to mango dishes.
Boram went to use the shower in the hostel and a Western man walked out wearing only a towel. I don't think they do this in Korea.
Speaking of Boram brings us to the Comedy Moment of the trip which was thus:
Me: Lol this restaurant is called El Willy. Lol, do you know what Willy means in playground speak?
Boram (proudly): Yes. Find Willy.
Me: ...Er?
Boram: Find Willy. In a crowd.
Me: ...in a .... crowd?
Turns out she meant "Where's Wally". I pointed out the real meaning. Then Sara and I cried with laughter.
This was further compounded when Boram used the men's loos by mistake in a pub, leading to relentless teasing by Sara and I... Oh Boram...
Sara had her own little comedy moment. When in Suzhou we caught a bus from Tiger Hill into town. When I had visited in October we had shyed away from using the bus due to a small mob wanting to use the bus too. But, with the memory of a small hike to find a taxi fresh in my mind, we braved the bus. Predictably we ended up in a crush trying to get on (OMG LEARN TO QUEUE CHINA), people pushing from everywhere, barely able to move. In the midst of all the turmoil and yelling, Sara piped up, asking the general crowd "Excuse me, excuse me! Is this a 1 or 2yuan bus?" "WHO CARES" I hollered, ribs gently snapping.
However Sara is useful in a crush. Somehow she managed to elbow on in front and save Boram and me seats. That's a useful skill.
We had gone to Suzhou to find Louise a qipao. I hate Chinese changing rooms. Just you, 5 other customers and 3 assistants in one small space. I miss privacy...
We went into the park at Tiger Hill. There were lots of daffodils. This made me happy as I had been sad that I wouldn't see all the daffodils back home as they are my favourite flower and I love seeing them bloom in spring. Qingdao doesn't really have flowers. It has pictures of flowers.
Shanghai had a little park full of blossoming trees which were lovely to smell. Mmmm nature, I miss you sometimes...
On the last night in Shanghai we Went Out. I, being a classy bird, had filled my water bottle with a mixture of the cheapest baijiu I could find, and sprite (to drink before heading out so we don't need to buy too many expensive drinks in a bar.) At first it didn't taste good but after a warm glow and the odd spasm, it got better. Sara and I didn't tell Boram what was in it and offered it to her. She, thinking it was lemonade, took a huge gulp. Baijiu's taste can be a bit of a shock when you aren't expecting it. Boram, a look of panic on her face, hurriedly run around the room desperately looking for somewhere to spit it out before finally, reluctantly, swallowing.
Hehe.
However the club we visited had one big problem. It is Shanghai fashion week at the moment so it was full of male and female models. Horribly attractive people. The women were nothing special, female models rarely are actually beautiful, but the men were the prettiest I have ever seen. And achingly well dressed.
Boram, Sara and I felt very ugly.
We visited the riverside in Pudong so we could see the Bund from afar. The European buildings looked very small and dirty besides the glittering skyscrapers looming behind them. After, the model-filled club, I sympathised...
I spent far too much in Shanghai... on the other hand I now have a picture of Mao Yeye (Grandpa Mao lol) having his cigarette lit by a pretty women while ten others crowd around him laughing flirtatiously. Oh you old dog... And some chopsticks that look like pencils. And some shoes that fit my big feet. Well. Nearly do.
I need a rich boyfriend. Please apply...
2011-04-07
The Chop
It's been a long time since I posted- mostly because I have been too busy earning money... and then spending it. So what was the first thing I bought?
New hair. Becka mused about short hair and I had been half thinking about it so last Thursday night we resolved to go and get a haircut. Becka in the end plumped for a new fringe and I decided to get the chop... mostly because I have had roughly the same hair-long- for 20 years and I'd hate for that to become 40... Also my long locks were not happy and had become all straggly and flat. So it came to be that, quaking with fear, I ended up in a Korean hairdressers. The hairdresser cut off a large hank of my still wet hair and flung it on the floor. It landed with a splat. Becka, sat next to me, screamed.
However I think that the end results were not half bad...
And then it was off on a late night flight to Shanghai... more of which to follow when I have time to write and haven't got to go to class...
New hair. Becka mused about short hair and I had been half thinking about it so last Thursday night we resolved to go and get a haircut. Becka in the end plumped for a new fringe and I decided to get the chop... mostly because I have had roughly the same hair-long- for 20 years and I'd hate for that to become 40... Also my long locks were not happy and had become all straggly and flat. So it came to be that, quaking with fear, I ended up in a Korean hairdressers. The hairdresser cut off a large hank of my still wet hair and flung it on the floor. It landed with a splat. Becka, sat next to me, screamed.
However I think that the end results were not half bad...
And then it was off on a late night flight to Shanghai... more of which to follow when I have time to write and haven't got to go to class...
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