I'm rather taken with Mongolian gers. Actually I'm rather taken with Mongolian steppes, Mongolian ponies and Mongolian everything although this is probably not a surprise. Gers are tents made of wood and felt and are rather cosy although I kept hitting my head on the way in. In the middle was a stove that Mum used to fill the ger with smoke. I want one.
Mongolia is rather beautiful. Just rolling hills of grass in every direction. Clear blue skies. Every now and then we passed through wild thyme and could smell it. There were bazillions of bugs making a huge racket. Here and there were white gers, often with some ponies and a hairy dog barking frantically. These days there are also solar panels outside.
Mongolians are not early risers. Breakfast was not until 9 and consisted of "gumbra"- which was a fried bread with jam. Then around 11 ponies would appear, saddled, at the washing line. The first morning was spent hoisting public school girls up and so Mum and I did not leave for our day ride until after lunch. I was rather peeved-particularly as we didn't seem to have a guide yet. Basically noone was really in charge and you had to keep pointing out what you wanted to do. I dislike disorganisation.
The first ride was great though. As my nervousness evaporated I tried a trot, and then a canter. Flower was very obedient and everything was great. It has always been my life ambition to gallop across a steppe and I'm rather chuffed it has happened :)
The thing about the ponies was that they weren't used to always following the pony in front and as it's all grassland, you can ride anywhere. It was great to be able to wander away from the main group and then pottle back, or ride ahead, or wait and catch up, without my pony constantly disagreeing. The Exmoors have a route and they stick to it. The saddle was a little hard but great for keeping you in the saddle and I appreciated having something to hang onto.
We stopped off for some Airag, which is fermented mare's milk and not as bad as it sounds.
The next morning we set off again and Flower and I had a great gallop. I had now graduated onto making him go as fast as possible. Mum and Basil were still happily trotting along, neither in the mood to accelerate.
In the afternoon, however, Mum decided things hurt too much and stayed behind. Over lunch Flower perked up.
When we came to a bit where the guide suggested a canter I agreed. In Mongolia, you say "chu" to go faster and "ush" to slow down.
"Chu" I whispered. Flower shot off at full speed and I went "wheeee fun fun!". However I figured we'd better wait for the others so I hauled back on the reins. No effect. Lol Flower enjoying galloping.
"Ush!" I declared, giving another haul. If anything he went faster.
We raced past a guy peeing, who looked rather surprised.
"Ush?" faster still. I stopped saying ush. Normally it doesn't matter if you can't stop in Mongolia as there is nothing but grass in your way however in my way was a road. Still a long way off, but fast approaching. I discovered I could steer and we weaved left and right to give me some time to think of a plan. Eventually I couldn't and settled for combining Flower's growing breathlessness with pulling on the reins as much as possible. We eventually skidded to a halt, next to the road. Lol Flower.
I tried to do a calm walk but this left us behind the others and so we galloped to catch up but Flower seemed content to stop that time. The next time I went for the Hill manouevre, which involves directing the pony up a steep hill. Eventually he gets tired and stops.
We stopped off at a ger and got invited in for some airag. The ger was kitted out in rugs and brightly painted wooden beds. There was an ancient TV in the corner with a huge pair of ram's horns on top. Several photos lay around of what must have been great-grandparents and the grandpa himself in miltary days, as well as the father getting married. The son was outside bouncing around on his pony. They really can ride well.
The grandpa said I looked good galloping around. I didn't mention I had no control.
The nearest gers were home to some orphan toddlers and an Australian girl with us was working in the orphanage and so we popped over to say hello. There were about 10 kids running around in various states of undress. I had seen them earlier and wondered why there had been so many kids. One girl seemed rather knowing and took my hat and put it on her head, laughed at me and then put it back on my head. Another boy was rather pale and apparently there is some Communist exchange with Cuba and it's not just Communism that gets exchanged.
Then we set off again. I was determined Flower would calm down but as he didn't seem able to confine himself to a trot we walked. This meant we fell behind. Eventually we re-crossed the road and I gave up and boy he can accelerate! In a split second we were whizzing over the ground in a cloud of dust. We soon caught up with the others leisurely cantering and flashed by. We caught up with a guide and whizzed by. I at this point decided to get my own back and made Flower go faster as we turned up the hill to camp. He started to blow and I told him in no uncertain terms he wanted to gallop so we were carrying on galloping. Eventually we arrived in a cloud of dust, sweat and tiredness. I got off, walked him round a bit and then gave him a pat. He ignored me. Aw Flower.
So that's why everything hurts now.
2011-07-30
Ger-eat!
My legs hurt, my back hurts, my bum hurts, my kneecaps hurt (there's a muscle there I didn't know I had) and my hands hurt. And I didn't even fall off.
I'd persuaded Mum to spend two days in Mongolia horse-riding. After all, that is what Mongolia is for. Mum wasn't so keen and my original plans of days and days racing across steppes had to be modified. We got collected on Wednesday by a Mongolian in a minibus. Neither were in particularly good condition with the man looking rather battered from years of sun, wind and cold and the car looking pretty much the same. It smelt of horse.
We bumped and bounced to collect a couple of other guys before heading out on what counts as a motorway here before turning off up a dirt track and ending up in a collection of gers on a hillside.
The population of the ger camp was thus: me and Mum, who has taken to saying "mother and daughter" everytime we meet someone new so they don't think we are a lesbian couple as we don't look related, some guys with beards planning solo treks, a tough Australian, Mongol women who stayed pretty much all the time in one ger cooking, Mongol children who spent their time either wrestling or hanging off ponies, Mongol men wandering around, a group of public school girls out "developing their personalities" and their no nonsense teachers and "safety" guy.
The last group annoyed me intensely. The girls kept saying OMIGOD and the guy, as always with facial hair, was full of bullshit about what his job was. The teachers twittered on about the girls being independent and making decisions and having responsibilty and working as a team. They seemed to think their school holiday to Mongolia and China was some sort of gruelling expedition/humanitarian aid mission. They'd taught English for an afternoon and apparently sometimes similar groups paint classrooms and build climbing frames. As though Mongolians can't do that themselves or the UK has no classrooms that need painting. I can guarantee those girls going to Braunstone to build climbing frames would get a bigger culture shock. I'm not convinced you need an extra guy to tell you about "safety". This ain't Mogadishu.
When I was 17 I got a job in a summer camp in Spain looking after oodles of spoilt brats. That bloody well developed my personality I can tell you-and I didn't pay £3000 for the privelege.
That night there weren't very many clouds and I saw so many stars it was like a different sky. Thousands and thousands. I could see the Milky Way and shooting stars. It was like God had knocked over his glitter box.
Mongolian ponies and Mongolian humans have a different relationship to that of me and the Exmoors I normally ride. We spend ages and pots of money on hoof care, dental work, tack, hay in winter, grooming etc. The Mongolian horse gets none of that. He wanders around on his steppe with his mates and is occasionally lassooed, bits of string tied around his face, a wooden saddle plonked on his back, shortly followed by a Mongolian kid who gallops him around whilst hanging off the side waving things. When the kid has finished, he gets tied to a washing line, still with saddle, and left overnight until needed again. No pats or polos for him. He doesn't even get a name. This makes them rather contemptuous of humans.
Mine was a sandy coloured pony with a clipped ear. When I nervously approached, him he watched me out of the corner of his eye. I clambered aboard and a Mongol led me around while I got used to it all. Then the Mongol let me go and Mum, an American with huge eyes called Madeleine and some Mongols set off over the hill. Mum's pony was dark brown and and of the plodding kind. I called him Basil, after an Exmoor of a similar character. Mine I called Flower and he has resented me ever since.
I'd persuaded Mum to spend two days in Mongolia horse-riding. After all, that is what Mongolia is for. Mum wasn't so keen and my original plans of days and days racing across steppes had to be modified. We got collected on Wednesday by a Mongolian in a minibus. Neither were in particularly good condition with the man looking rather battered from years of sun, wind and cold and the car looking pretty much the same. It smelt of horse.
We bumped and bounced to collect a couple of other guys before heading out on what counts as a motorway here before turning off up a dirt track and ending up in a collection of gers on a hillside.
The population of the ger camp was thus: me and Mum, who has taken to saying "mother and daughter" everytime we meet someone new so they don't think we are a lesbian couple as we don't look related, some guys with beards planning solo treks, a tough Australian, Mongol women who stayed pretty much all the time in one ger cooking, Mongol children who spent their time either wrestling or hanging off ponies, Mongol men wandering around, a group of public school girls out "developing their personalities" and their no nonsense teachers and "safety" guy.
The last group annoyed me intensely. The girls kept saying OMIGOD and the guy, as always with facial hair, was full of bullshit about what his job was. The teachers twittered on about the girls being independent and making decisions and having responsibilty and working as a team. They seemed to think their school holiday to Mongolia and China was some sort of gruelling expedition/humanitarian aid mission. They'd taught English for an afternoon and apparently sometimes similar groups paint classrooms and build climbing frames. As though Mongolians can't do that themselves or the UK has no classrooms that need painting. I can guarantee those girls going to Braunstone to build climbing frames would get a bigger culture shock. I'm not convinced you need an extra guy to tell you about "safety". This ain't Mogadishu.
When I was 17 I got a job in a summer camp in Spain looking after oodles of spoilt brats. That bloody well developed my personality I can tell you-and I didn't pay £3000 for the privelege.
That night there weren't very many clouds and I saw so many stars it was like a different sky. Thousands and thousands. I could see the Milky Way and shooting stars. It was like God had knocked over his glitter box.
Mongolian ponies and Mongolian humans have a different relationship to that of me and the Exmoors I normally ride. We spend ages and pots of money on hoof care, dental work, tack, hay in winter, grooming etc. The Mongolian horse gets none of that. He wanders around on his steppe with his mates and is occasionally lassooed, bits of string tied around his face, a wooden saddle plonked on his back, shortly followed by a Mongolian kid who gallops him around whilst hanging off the side waving things. When the kid has finished, he gets tied to a washing line, still with saddle, and left overnight until needed again. No pats or polos for him. He doesn't even get a name. This makes them rather contemptuous of humans.
Mine was a sandy coloured pony with a clipped ear. When I nervously approached, him he watched me out of the corner of his eye. I clambered aboard and a Mongol led me around while I got used to it all. Then the Mongol let me go and Mum, an American with huge eyes called Madeleine and some Mongols set off over the hill. Mum's pony was dark brown and and of the plodding kind. I called him Basil, after an Exmoor of a similar character. Mine I called Flower and he has resented me ever since.
2011-07-27
A Nomads' City
Ulaan Baatar is rather surreal. There are about two modern glass skyscrapers of which the Chinese are so proud and then it fades away to haphazard Russian style buildings and then it fades away again to shanty huts and then to gers. You can tell this is a nation without an architectural heritage. They're not quite sure how to do town-planning so they reckon they'll just stay in their gers.
There is a square in the middle, Sukhbaatar square. Sukhbaatar led the revolution for independence from China so applause all around. I often wonder what Mongolians think of their brethren in Inner Mongolia- which is Chinese owned. The square has the government building at the head which is actually rather nicely designed and consists of a honey coloured stone and blue glass to give a rather nice colouring. In the middle, up some large steps, sits a huge statue of Ghenghis Khan. There are other statues of his son Ogedai and his nephew Kublai Khan.
From our hotel you can see the ger district on the hills. Ulaan Baatar contains around half of Mongolia's population of 2.7 million and the newcomers bring their gers with them. I've never seen a city which turns into wilderness quite so quickly. One minute it is buses and buildings, the next white gers and rolling steppe. There are huge hills all around covered in pines. It reminds me of Scotland.
A dude on his horse rode past our cafe which made my day. The roads are choked with cars so he had to use the pavement and his horse didn't seem bothered at all. So cool.
Mongolians are also slightly punk ass. There is a hint of the mohican in some of the men's hairstyles and they like black leather. A couple of lads had some heavy beats blaring from a sound system and were convulsing appreciatively to it. In the square last night some were whizzing around on roller blades doing some neat tricks and dripping in coolness. The females have high heels, shades and tight jeans and look pretty fierce.
All the white males here have facial hair.
We went to Gandan monastery this morning which was slightly odd for me as it was actually a working monastery, unlike the Chinese ones. There was a service that we peeked into but seemed to be several old men chanting. One answered his phone half way through. Outside there were hundreds of pigeons flapping about.
We also went to the Natural Museum which had rocks in it and Mum likes rocks so that kept her happy. Mongolia is quite famous for fossil finds as they are well preserved in the Gobi desert.
At the station the bloke sent to get us had his piece of paper the wrong way round so we spent a while sat there like Paddington Bear before the problem was sorted and we were collected.
Mum was disappointed to find there was no McDonalds' here;)
There is a square in the middle, Sukhbaatar square. Sukhbaatar led the revolution for independence from China so applause all around. I often wonder what Mongolians think of their brethren in Inner Mongolia- which is Chinese owned. The square has the government building at the head which is actually rather nicely designed and consists of a honey coloured stone and blue glass to give a rather nice colouring. In the middle, up some large steps, sits a huge statue of Ghenghis Khan. There are other statues of his son Ogedai and his nephew Kublai Khan.
From our hotel you can see the ger district on the hills. Ulaan Baatar contains around half of Mongolia's population of 2.7 million and the newcomers bring their gers with them. I've never seen a city which turns into wilderness quite so quickly. One minute it is buses and buildings, the next white gers and rolling steppe. There are huge hills all around covered in pines. It reminds me of Scotland.
A dude on his horse rode past our cafe which made my day. The roads are choked with cars so he had to use the pavement and his horse didn't seem bothered at all. So cool.
Mongolians are also slightly punk ass. There is a hint of the mohican in some of the men's hairstyles and they like black leather. A couple of lads had some heavy beats blaring from a sound system and were convulsing appreciatively to it. In the square last night some were whizzing around on roller blades doing some neat tricks and dripping in coolness. The females have high heels, shades and tight jeans and look pretty fierce.
All the white males here have facial hair.
We went to Gandan monastery this morning which was slightly odd for me as it was actually a working monastery, unlike the Chinese ones. There was a service that we peeked into but seemed to be several old men chanting. One answered his phone half way through. Outside there were hundreds of pigeons flapping about.
We also went to the Natural Museum which had rocks in it and Mum likes rocks so that kept her happy. Mongolia is quite famous for fossil finds as they are well preserved in the Gobi desert.
At the station the bloke sent to get us had his piece of paper the wrong way round so we spent a while sat there like Paddington Bear before the problem was sorted and we were collected.
Mum was disappointed to find there was no McDonalds' here;)
2011-07-26
Goodby China, Hello Mongolia
Mum and I are travelling in our own compartment which comes with a chair and a bathroom shared with next door- who seem to be constantly in it. The attendants are all Mongolians and I am a teeny bit scared of them. They are all very muscled, which their skirts and make-up fail to hide. The whole effect is a tad trans-sexual. They don’t speak much and just glare and their main preoccupation is bagsiing a compartment for themselves which resulted in us being placed in a different one to our ticket which meant that everyone else has had to be shunted around too. They spend their time cooking dinner which I wouldn’t mind, except it smells a lot better than what I’ve got. Namely pot noodle and gently staling bread.
As we travelled away from Beijing province of China much like Tibet China Mongolia
We are now in the Republic of Mongolia Mongolia
At the border, guards came and took our passports, stamped them and then gave them back. With a jolt we rolled on and my year in China came to an end at roughly midnight on 25th July, 10 months and 23 days after I first landed in Qingdao
Ghenghis Didn't Need a Visa
And so, having last seen my adoring parents on September 1st, they were with me in Beijing Beijing
Sara and I had a sign saying “Aged Parents” and they spotted it.
So we caught a taxi to the hotel which involved me arguing with the driver that we did fit in his taxi. Grumpy git.
We walked to Tiananmen Square and Mum fell over and sprained her ankle which was not an auspicious start. Luckily she could still walk and we had a wander.
I’ll just summarise over our stay in Beijing
I hated the Forbidden Palace
I had a barney at a taxi driver wanting to charge 80 RMB and not use the meter. I was a bit stressed that day.
The Great Wall is, er, basically a big wall. It was very humid when we went so you could not see very far and a bit hot to walk along but one section was much like another. I feel that the wall was rather superfluous as if you’ve managed to walk up the ridge on which it sits, which is no mean feat, then you are either so determined that a wall won’t stop you or so knackered you could be easily defeated.
I bought some souvenirs for Mum and it was interesting to see the difference between the price they asked for (say 200RMB) and what I paid. (Say 30RMB). Some tourists must get so ripped off.
We also visited the Ming Tombs that Mum insisted on going to. They consisted of various temples as well as some large carved animal statues that Mum rather liked. I was not convinced. The way that the place is developed also took away from what must have been a rather awe inspiring place- a long slow road up to great temples. Today the souvenir stalls take away from it.
We attempted to visit the Summer Palace
The main drama of Beijing
- Go to Embassy, arrive 40 minutes before closing time, realise that queue is too long and will never make it
- Go to Embassy an hour before it opens. See a new sign saying the Embassy has changed its opening times, come back this afternoon… Walk back to hotel in pouring rain and startling Americans on return
- Go in afternoon 1.5 hours early but being FIRST in line.
- Wait with stomach cramps from stomach bug acquired from sister
- Have a Brit worry you by saying you might need an invitation letter which you haven’t got and haven’t time to get
- Worry a lot
- Hand in application with a bright smile and get away with it RELIEF
- Go back following day 1 hour early and collect visa with no days to spare. Phew.
We were staying at a rather nice hotel in Beijing
As I write Mum and I are in our compartment somewhere in Inner Mongolia on the way to Ulaan Baatar. Going from Beijing
Last Post On NK I Promise
After the Mausoleum we had to rush at full speed south to go and see the De-Militarised Zone before “it shut” at 12. As always when one is in a hurry there are unexpected delays and ours came in the form of being stopped by the traffic police as they wanted to see if our minibus was licensed to take foreigners. Ri huffed a little and said that as there were obviously foreigners in the car obviously they were allowed to have foreigners. At one point the driver and Mr Kim wandered off to a corner with the policeman and Ri followed leaving Sara and I alone in the car. We had a temptation to jump in the driver’s seat and see how far we would get…
However it was soon sorted out and we were making full speed along the highway. The highway is as straight as a Roman road and a little cracked. As it had been raining there were huge puddles that caused a rather entertaining splash when we whizzed through. North Korean countryside is very beautiful with green fields, rushing rivers, mountains in the distance, clear skies… Occasionally we’d see villages of stone houses looking rather pretty in the valleys. There lots of people around walking through fields and working even though Sunday is supposed to be the Koreans’ day off. I’d love to go back and trek through NK. When that’s allowed. There were virtually no other cars on the road throughout our 2 hour journey.
We arrived at the DMZ around 1 o’clock but they let us in anyway. As the highway reached the start of the DMZ there was a sign saying “Seoul
There were a couple of small buildings with soldiers and our guides had various ID checked while I nearly fell over on one of the slippery surfaces doing one of those giraffe impressions Korean soldiers find so entertaining…
Then we and three officers climbed back into the van and we entered the DMZ. The DMZ runs the entire length of the border with South Korea
The first place we went was the 6 huts where they have negotiations. The blue ones are American run (Ri kept saying American but I think she meant South Korean but was reluctant to admit it) and the white ones are North Korean run. Through the middle of the huts runs a concrete ridge-the border. We went into a blue one which was filled with tables. The table in the middle had microphones placed exactly along the border apparently. On the wall was a picture showing the flags of those who fought with the South Koreans including a British flag which caused an awkward moment when the guard pointed it out. Outside on our side there were North Korean soldiers standing right by this. Unfortunately there were no South Korean soldiers to be seen and when I inquired where they were the NKorean Major we had with us looked at his watch and seemed to imply it was lunchtime. I had wanted to see the different Korean soldiers next to each other as I’d heard there was a good 6 inches height difference between the two so poor show Republic of Korea
As well as the huts there are two larger buildings glaring at each other. We went to the top and stared at the South Koreans and waved. As the windows were blacked out, I don’t know if they waved back, but we can be certain they were watching…
Then to some other buildings that had housed negotiations. In one our guides and officers wandered off so we seized our opportunity and Sara planked on the floor. I think planking in the DMZ gets internet points.
Then to lunch cooked by the army chefs but unfortunately we didn’t like very much of it. Small portions of things were served in small brass pots with lids and after we’d eaten what we liked we put the lids back on but the major came back and proceeded to lift off all the lids to judge how well we’d done.
The Major was quite a character and really rather sweet. I’d been lavishing cigarettes on the soldiers so we were best mates. I felt a bit guilty about giving cigarettes as they are poisonous but they are all hooked so it’s what they like. The Major gave me a toffee and we had a good laugh. It’s rather sad that such great people are in the position they are in.
Then it was off to Kaesong
Then along a very long dirt track to another DMZ post. We’d pass lots of people on bicycles and flowing streams and children up to something. All very rural. The post itself was a small building on a hill looking at the Americans in a small building on a hill a few kilometres away looking at us looking at them looking at us. The Koreans had some powerful binoculars and we had a good peer. The Americans had cleared vegetation from their building and I couldn’t see much inside. We waved and I feel like I saw movement through a blacked out window but who knows. Then I looked at the bits of SK you could see and there were cars and things. It was a very peaceful place.
Our officer for that part was a Captain and he was great too. We were the first foreign twins he’d seen. We had a chat, using Ri as an interpreter, about twins and triplets and Octomum in the US Pyongyang Maternity Hospital
Then we left and steamed up the highway back to Pyongyang
Then to a meal of Pyongyang BBQ duck, which was very nice but again I couldn’t eat all the food they were giving me. The last thing we did was go for a brief walk. Technically foreigners are supposed to go everywhere by car but Ri figured we weren’t spies and as it was such a lovely evening we had a little pootle near the hotel.
The next day we posted some postcards and caught our train back to Beijing Beijing
In conclusion about North Korea Korea
It’s a shame that they are pariahs which brings me to the political problem. Someone somewhere has to work out a way to deal with people who are effectively living in one giant cult. If Modernity comes knocking I fear that they will not be able to cope. North Korean refugees who make it to South Korea (they have to go via Bangkok Korea China ’s pressure, NK would start economic reform similar to what China
But nobody listens to me.
2011-07-24
Kim: It's Really Him
They have a Children's Palace in Pyongyang, the site personally chosen by Kim Jong Il. Or Kim Il Sung. Inside kiddies do things in unison. I'm not convinced as many people need training in the accordian as Pyongyang seems to be doing but if France ever runs out, I would say that North Korean children are pretty good at it.
I disliked the children's palace because there were lots of Chinese tourists wandering around being rude and loud and annoying.
There was a performance in the afternoon and was mostly brightly coloured children dancing and singing. Our guide fell asleep. The Chinese tourists loved it. Around 25 000 visit NK each year, compared to 3500 westerners. At the end the performers lined up and the Chinese rushed to get photos with their favourite one. As they pushed and prodded the children, I noticed their smiles become slightly fixed. Chinese bluntness offends North Koreans as well as South Koreans it seems.
Then to see their Arch of Triumph, which is larger than France's. Medals all around.
Then the Juche Tower. There were soldiers practising being in unison as next year is the 100 year anniversary of Kim Il Sung's birth. The Juche Tower was decorated with plaques of Juche societies from around the world.
That night we had Korean hotpot. I spent a while looking out of the window at a playground where children were messing around after school. Cute.
That evening we went to Yanggakdo Hotel which is a "posh" hotel in Pyongyang. It has a bowling alley which Sara and I used for a bit. It also has the world's saddest turtle existing in a tank a couple of metres cubed.
That morning we forgot the pancake part of our marathonly long breakfast and as we left our lovely waitress hurried after us to remind us but her English wasn't so good so we did not understand and only realised later. Oops.
The next day we went to Kim Il Sung's memorial to stare at his dead body. We had to wear our Sunday best. The Mausoleum is rather large, as it used to be his offices. On arrival we went over a shoe duster and through a large hairdryer. Instead of walking we were conveyed everwhere on escalators and travelators. As well as us there were a handful of tourists and some people from UNESCO as well as Koreans visiting. It took a rather long time, through many corridors and marble lined rooms before we reached one with carvings in it. Here we were handed a recording of someone explaining what it was like when he died. I had heard about this recording beforehand. It was described as "hysterical" and my god it was. There was a man intoning in a shuddering voice about all the lamentations and weeping and how tears were so hot they melted the floor and became fossilized.
Difficult to keep a straight face. In a place where it was quite important not to laugh.
We went into a large hall with a large statue of the guy. Then finally entered the room where he was. While I reckon Mao was a fake I think it was probably him this time. We bowed in three different places and then left and were slowly conveyored out.
I talked to Ri about how it was when he died. She had been at university then and she and her students had noticed something had happened but didn't know what. At first they thought that maybe reunification had happened, revealing what a heart-held dream that is, but that dream quickly dissolved as they found out. She said they thought they were going to die without him and that they couldn't believe he had died- she said that they hadn't thought he was quite as human as that. She then told us what an amazing humble guy he was. He's quite important there.
I disliked the children's palace because there were lots of Chinese tourists wandering around being rude and loud and annoying.
There was a performance in the afternoon and was mostly brightly coloured children dancing and singing. Our guide fell asleep. The Chinese tourists loved it. Around 25 000 visit NK each year, compared to 3500 westerners. At the end the performers lined up and the Chinese rushed to get photos with their favourite one. As they pushed and prodded the children, I noticed their smiles become slightly fixed. Chinese bluntness offends North Koreans as well as South Koreans it seems.
Then to see their Arch of Triumph, which is larger than France's. Medals all around.
Then the Juche Tower. There were soldiers practising being in unison as next year is the 100 year anniversary of Kim Il Sung's birth. The Juche Tower was decorated with plaques of Juche societies from around the world.
That night we had Korean hotpot. I spent a while looking out of the window at a playground where children were messing around after school. Cute.
That evening we went to Yanggakdo Hotel which is a "posh" hotel in Pyongyang. It has a bowling alley which Sara and I used for a bit. It also has the world's saddest turtle existing in a tank a couple of metres cubed.
That morning we forgot the pancake part of our marathonly long breakfast and as we left our lovely waitress hurried after us to remind us but her English wasn't so good so we did not understand and only realised later. Oops.
The next day we went to Kim Il Sung's memorial to stare at his dead body. We had to wear our Sunday best. The Mausoleum is rather large, as it used to be his offices. On arrival we went over a shoe duster and through a large hairdryer. Instead of walking we were conveyed everwhere on escalators and travelators. As well as us there were a handful of tourists and some people from UNESCO as well as Koreans visiting. It took a rather long time, through many corridors and marble lined rooms before we reached one with carvings in it. Here we were handed a recording of someone explaining what it was like when he died. I had heard about this recording beforehand. It was described as "hysterical" and my god it was. There was a man intoning in a shuddering voice about all the lamentations and weeping and how tears were so hot they melted the floor and became fossilized.
Difficult to keep a straight face. In a place where it was quite important not to laugh.
We went into a large hall with a large statue of the guy. Then finally entered the room where he was. While I reckon Mao was a fake I think it was probably him this time. We bowed in three different places and then left and were slowly conveyored out.
I talked to Ri about how it was when he died. She had been at university then and she and her students had noticed something had happened but didn't know what. At first they thought that maybe reunification had happened, revealing what a heart-held dream that is, but that dream quickly dissolved as they found out. She said they thought they were going to die without him and that they couldn't believe he had died- she said that they hadn't thought he was quite as human as that. She then told us what an amazing humble guy he was. He's quite important there.
WHO STARTED THE WAR
Foreigners in NK use euros or RMB (none of those Imperialist dollars) but Ri sold us some notes and coins in a way that made me suspicious it was a side line of hers. She came up to our room with brown paper envelopes and we swapped currencies. She casually mentioned not putting it in our purses, just you know because people might see it, so I stuffed it in my rucksack.
Kim Il Sung is not on the money, as one would imagine. This is because money is used and crumpled etc and his mug is too good for that so they use scenes of industry and things. Sara and I got copies of the Pyongyang Times (English language newspaper) and you aren't allowed to bend it where there's a picture of him or Kim 2. Similarly you can't take a picture of just part of his statue. The Pyongyang Times mostly focuses on what the "South Korean Puppets" are up to, problems in the south and how well China is doing. Oh and Kim giving "on-the-spot field guidance". "On-the-stop field guidance" is a special NK thing where he goes and looks at things and gives advice on subjects he doesn't really know anything about to people who do.
Examples here: http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com/
There is, of course, a War Museum. Or rather the Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum. This refers to the Korean War. This we went to after another square with statues of groups of people symbolising bits of the war. In NK statues there is always a man at the front surging forwards heroically, a man carrying an injured comrade, and another man looking back urging the followers on.
The NK version of the Korean War holds that the Americans attacked first unprovoked blah blah and after 3 days were driven back and NK proceeded to liberate Seoul happy times celebration and then to gradually liberate more and more of the south until only a corner was left. Success hurrah. Most of the museum is dedicated to this part of the war and glosses over the next. The American Imperialists struck back and cowardly took everthing including Pyongyang itself and then they were so scared of the North Koreans they signed an armistice. No mention was really made of the Chinese volunteers.
I don't really know much about the Korean War and I suspect it is one of those things that a lot needs to be known about. However it is odd for an invading force to launch a surprise attack that they have been preparing for a long time and then be driven back in 3 days and proceed to lose a lot of territory. So maybe North Korea attacked first which tallies with other evidence- particularly that Kim Il Sung had been looking for Stalin and Mao's support for an invasion. The Americans, not wanting a hostile Korea in their little Cold War (how much damage have they caused fighting Communism? And still cause fighting Socialism?) then came in and with their help the South Koreans regrouped and retook ground. The Chinese then got involved and basically saved Kim Il Sung by fighting his war. North Koreans say it was they who avoided defeat, well it was the Chinese. So ranks of Chinese versus ranks of Americans in a country neither was that bothered about caused them to sign an armistice. This armistice NK calls a victory. Which I would quibble with. In their museum they had a letter from a US commander lamenting leaving Korea without a victory and they use this as proof that the Americans admit they lost.
Throughout the tour of the museum I had this urge to point out that the War was not Victorious and the Fatherland was not Liberated. But wasn't sure it would have much effect.
Our guide was a rather cute girl from the army in her vintage uniform. As we progressed through each room her pointing cane got longer and longer.
We watched an introductory video about the war which began with someone declaring in a sonorous tone "WHO STARTED THE WAR?". This then made it rather difficult to keep a straight, respectful face.
Most of the displays are photos and include letters from some moron in Utah writing to Kim to give support as thought he represents the US. The basement is where they keep all the scrap from the war and is full of planes, tanks, weapons and helicopters from the 50s. No jokes about it being state-of-the-art in NK please...
One plane was supposed to be a training plane but the North Koreans used it to drop planes. It was mostly flown by females apparently, which was an interesting tidbit. Another 50s plane seemed to have wet paint.
There's also a tree trunk from a "Hero Tree" which was so big it could shelter Korean supply trucks from bombers.
The odd American spy plane was shot down and they have copies of the pilot's confessions about being very contrite and promising never to do it again and they have wife and children sowwy.
The last exhibit was a 360 degree panorama that has been very cleverly painted. It shows the battle in Dajong from the Korean War, including the capture of the US commander of the 21st Division William Dean. This event was mentioned several times. In the panorama he is depicted as a big nosed ugly git hiding under a tree in an ordinary soldiers uniform cowardly hiding.
Someone asked where the Great Leader Kim Il Sung was in the battle. "There's a picture of him on one of the houses" said the guide brightly.
Kim Il Sung is not on the money, as one would imagine. This is because money is used and crumpled etc and his mug is too good for that so they use scenes of industry and things. Sara and I got copies of the Pyongyang Times (English language newspaper) and you aren't allowed to bend it where there's a picture of him or Kim 2. Similarly you can't take a picture of just part of his statue. The Pyongyang Times mostly focuses on what the "South Korean Puppets" are up to, problems in the south and how well China is doing. Oh and Kim giving "on-the-spot field guidance". "On-the-stop field guidance" is a special NK thing where he goes and looks at things and gives advice on subjects he doesn't really know anything about to people who do.
Examples here: http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com/
There is, of course, a War Museum. Or rather the Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum. This refers to the Korean War. This we went to after another square with statues of groups of people symbolising bits of the war. In NK statues there is always a man at the front surging forwards heroically, a man carrying an injured comrade, and another man looking back urging the followers on.
The NK version of the Korean War holds that the Americans attacked first unprovoked blah blah and after 3 days were driven back and NK proceeded to liberate Seoul happy times celebration and then to gradually liberate more and more of the south until only a corner was left. Success hurrah. Most of the museum is dedicated to this part of the war and glosses over the next. The American Imperialists struck back and cowardly took everthing including Pyongyang itself and then they were so scared of the North Koreans they signed an armistice. No mention was really made of the Chinese volunteers.
I don't really know much about the Korean War and I suspect it is one of those things that a lot needs to be known about. However it is odd for an invading force to launch a surprise attack that they have been preparing for a long time and then be driven back in 3 days and proceed to lose a lot of territory. So maybe North Korea attacked first which tallies with other evidence- particularly that Kim Il Sung had been looking for Stalin and Mao's support for an invasion. The Americans, not wanting a hostile Korea in their little Cold War (how much damage have they caused fighting Communism? And still cause fighting Socialism?) then came in and with their help the South Koreans regrouped and retook ground. The Chinese then got involved and basically saved Kim Il Sung by fighting his war. North Koreans say it was they who avoided defeat, well it was the Chinese. So ranks of Chinese versus ranks of Americans in a country neither was that bothered about caused them to sign an armistice. This armistice NK calls a victory. Which I would quibble with. In their museum they had a letter from a US commander lamenting leaving Korea without a victory and they use this as proof that the Americans admit they lost.
Throughout the tour of the museum I had this urge to point out that the War was not Victorious and the Fatherland was not Liberated. But wasn't sure it would have much effect.
Our guide was a rather cute girl from the army in her vintage uniform. As we progressed through each room her pointing cane got longer and longer.
We watched an introductory video about the war which began with someone declaring in a sonorous tone "WHO STARTED THE WAR?". This then made it rather difficult to keep a straight, respectful face.
Most of the displays are photos and include letters from some moron in Utah writing to Kim to give support as thought he represents the US. The basement is where they keep all the scrap from the war and is full of planes, tanks, weapons and helicopters from the 50s. No jokes about it being state-of-the-art in NK please...
One plane was supposed to be a training plane but the North Koreans used it to drop planes. It was mostly flown by females apparently, which was an interesting tidbit. Another 50s plane seemed to have wet paint.
There's also a tree trunk from a "Hero Tree" which was so big it could shelter Korean supply trucks from bombers.
The odd American spy plane was shot down and they have copies of the pilot's confessions about being very contrite and promising never to do it again and they have wife and children sowwy.
The last exhibit was a 360 degree panorama that has been very cleverly painted. It shows the battle in Dajong from the Korean War, including the capture of the US commander of the 21st Division William Dean. This event was mentioned several times. In the panorama he is depicted as a big nosed ugly git hiding under a tree in an ordinary soldiers uniform cowardly hiding.
Someone asked where the Great Leader Kim Il Sung was in the battle. "There's a picture of him on one of the houses" said the guide brightly.
2011-07-23
More DPRK
Kim Jong Il was born near Mt Paekdu, to the accompaniment of lightening flashes, but Kim Il Sung is a true Pyongyang boy and was born in a hovel in the suburbs, to which we were taken. The hovel, or "native house", looked a little....rebuilt. It consisted of three small rooms of one building facing a workshop type building opposite, with a bamboo platform at the end for sleeping in in summer. In each of the rooms were various pictures and artefacts. The pictures showed his grandparents, uncles and brothers. The 2nd generation, rather sadly, died fighting the Japanese but the grandparents lived long enough to see their grandson In Charge. Officials suggested moving them to comfy houses in the city but they nobly declined special priveleges. Communist, you know.
It was all a little bit "this is the real sleeping mat he used!" but there was a touching moment when the house guide seemed a bit teary when discussing Kim's death. She wore traditional Korean clothes as well as slapped on white powder which did not succeed in making her skin look paler at all...she was also considerably smaller than Sara and I. Afterwards she took us to the well He used to use and scooped up some water for us to drink. We parted, best mates.
Then we went for a walk through neighbouring trees to a hill overlooking the city.
Lunch was in a restaurant. To get there we walked through a clothes shop. "These are normal prices" said Ri. Yeah right, if they were there'd be people looking at stuff...
Apart from the above, I have to say very little of our trip seemed staged. We had a good snigger beforehand about our train not actually moving but was a succession of boards of views of prosperous farms carried past by Koreans-and when we stopped unexpectedly for over an hour that they were having a rest :P I had heard that the metro was not really used and that the two stops foreigners can see are stuffed with actors, but it didn't feel like that at all. For a start, people were annoyed when they arrived just as doors closed. The stations we did see were over 100m below the ground, I believe the lowest in the world (doubles as a bunker apparently) and the walls featured carvings of Communist scenes. The candeliers were tacky coloured glass supposed to represent fireworks. The trains were leftovers from East Germany and looked it. There was a double portrait of everyone's favourite leaders in each carriage. Rather quaint.
More to come, including the Children's Palace (UNISON) and the War Museum. WHO REALLY STARTED THE WAR.
It was all a little bit "this is the real sleeping mat he used!" but there was a touching moment when the house guide seemed a bit teary when discussing Kim's death. She wore traditional Korean clothes as well as slapped on white powder which did not succeed in making her skin look paler at all...she was also considerably smaller than Sara and I. Afterwards she took us to the well He used to use and scooped up some water for us to drink. We parted, best mates.
Then we went for a walk through neighbouring trees to a hill overlooking the city.
Lunch was in a restaurant. To get there we walked through a clothes shop. "These are normal prices" said Ri. Yeah right, if they were there'd be people looking at stuff...
Apart from the above, I have to say very little of our trip seemed staged. We had a good snigger beforehand about our train not actually moving but was a succession of boards of views of prosperous farms carried past by Koreans-and when we stopped unexpectedly for over an hour that they were having a rest :P I had heard that the metro was not really used and that the two stops foreigners can see are stuffed with actors, but it didn't feel like that at all. For a start, people were annoyed when they arrived just as doors closed. The stations we did see were over 100m below the ground, I believe the lowest in the world (doubles as a bunker apparently) and the walls featured carvings of Communist scenes. The candeliers were tacky coloured glass supposed to represent fireworks. The trains were leftovers from East Germany and looked it. There was a double portrait of everyone's favourite leaders in each carriage. Rather quaint.
More to come, including the Children's Palace (UNISON) and the War Museum. WHO REALLY STARTED THE WAR.
2011-07-22
Day 1 Morning 1 of Communist Sight Seeing
They have white dots marking straight lines across their main square. This is so on lovely Communist parades everyone can stand in perfect Communist lines. Their main square, which is the "perfect centre of Pyongyang" whatever that means, is surrounded by various buildings that are something to do with Communism. I lost track of precisely what-there were rather many. I do remember the Study Hall of the People-which is their library. Kim Jong-Il apparently said he didn't need to study abroad as everything he needed was there.
NK apparently has three political parties- the Workers' Party of Korea (which is the main one) and then a token religious one and a token democratic one. Nothing is known about the last one- only the name of its leader and that it still exists. Maybe.
We also visited the Square of Fountains, which was mostly half dry ponds with dribbles. The constant drizzle was more impressive.
Then off to the Foreign Language Bookshop, which was conspicuously closed to Koreans and only opened for us. Inside were translations of various works explaining the Juche idea (NK's philosophy) and just how really amazing Kim Il Sung is. And the odd book explaining how the IMPERIALIST AMERICANS STARTED IT FIRST. I bought a book about Kim Jong Il which contained various touching stories including my favourite one about how he waited in line for petrol and didn't queue-jump. Such humility. I also bought a Korean phrase book which contained amusingly different phrases to my South Korean one. And some postcards which a few Chosen may or may not receive- depending on how good NK censors are at spotting sarcasm.
Favourite quote from Ri- "unlike other countries, we have a close relationship between the leader and the people". So close, she's never seen him.
Juche is the philosophy expounded by Kim Il Sung and is based on Marxism. A link explains more here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juche but in short, it means what Kim Jong Il says it means.
"Are there any horses in North Korea. I like horses."
"Um, there's two in the zoo I think".
Not just the French who like horse obviously...
Then to the Martyr cemetery which contains the copper busts of various martyrs in the fight against Japanese occupation and during the Korean War. As well as soldiers there was one of a woman who sent her entire family off to war, sons, daughters, in-laws etc, and none came back. Kim Il Sung's wife is there too- she died aged 31 from illness, possibly picked up from living rough while being a guerilla. Kim Il Sung's uncle is there too.
Ri was curiously reluctant to say the Kim Il Sung had died-rather she referred to when "his heart stopped beating".
When Sara and I laid some flowers at the cemetery, there was a hush from the Korean schoolkids there at the foreigners paying respect and bowing.
Ri had a Louis Vuitton patterned umbrella. I wonder where she acquired this and if she knows. She said she had never left the country but that might have not been entirely true.
Lunch. We didn't finish.
NK apparently has three political parties- the Workers' Party of Korea (which is the main one) and then a token religious one and a token democratic one. Nothing is known about the last one- only the name of its leader and that it still exists. Maybe.
We also visited the Square of Fountains, which was mostly half dry ponds with dribbles. The constant drizzle was more impressive.
Then off to the Foreign Language Bookshop, which was conspicuously closed to Koreans and only opened for us. Inside were translations of various works explaining the Juche idea (NK's philosophy) and just how really amazing Kim Il Sung is. And the odd book explaining how the IMPERIALIST AMERICANS STARTED IT FIRST. I bought a book about Kim Jong Il which contained various touching stories including my favourite one about how he waited in line for petrol and didn't queue-jump. Such humility. I also bought a Korean phrase book which contained amusingly different phrases to my South Korean one. And some postcards which a few Chosen may or may not receive- depending on how good NK censors are at spotting sarcasm.
Favourite quote from Ri- "unlike other countries, we have a close relationship between the leader and the people". So close, she's never seen him.
Juche is the philosophy expounded by Kim Il Sung and is based on Marxism. A link explains more here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juche but in short, it means what Kim Jong Il says it means.
"Are there any horses in North Korea. I like horses."
"Um, there's two in the zoo I think".
Not just the French who like horse obviously...
Then to the Martyr cemetery which contains the copper busts of various martyrs in the fight against Japanese occupation and during the Korean War. As well as soldiers there was one of a woman who sent her entire family off to war, sons, daughters, in-laws etc, and none came back. Kim Il Sung's wife is there too- she died aged 31 from illness, possibly picked up from living rough while being a guerilla. Kim Il Sung's uncle is there too.
Ri was curiously reluctant to say the Kim Il Sung had died-rather she referred to when "his heart stopped beating".
When Sara and I laid some flowers at the cemetery, there was a hush from the Korean schoolkids there at the foreigners paying respect and bowing.
Ri had a Louis Vuitton patterned umbrella. I wonder where she acquired this and if she knows. She said she had never left the country but that might have not been entirely true.
Lunch. We didn't finish.
2011-07-21
NK 2
We headed to our hotel from the train station.
"This is rush hour" announced our female guide, Ri. I could see about 10 other cars on the road.
Our hotel, Changwangsan, was a 3star hotel near the ice rink and a conference building. Not convinced the ice rink is open. The first thing we saw in the hotel was a picture of Kim Il-Sung, the President whose heart has sadly stopped beating, along with his son, Kim Jong-Il, who is the Dear Leader. They were standing by Mount Paekdu, which is in the north of the country and was the base for Kim Il-Sung's guerrilla action against the Japanese who had occupied the country. Pictures of those two are everywhere and every (loyal) North Korean wears a badge with Kim 1's face on to show their love- like Christians wear a cross.
We were ushered to a small room with a table laid out with cutlery they haven't been able to replace in decades. Our waitress happily bounced in and proceed to give us a succession of dishes one by one. I'll say now that the Koreans seemed determined to prove how much food was around and always gave us far too much. At first I resolutely ate everything, concious that people really were starving here, but eventually I gave up and just ate until I was full. The food itself was not great- something stale about it. I suspect a lot of what we ate, especially the meat, was imported from China. NK, according to Ri, has 2 beef and milk farms. 2.
Our waitress, Kim Sung-hui, was fantastic. We could only communicate in bad english/chinese but she was so sweet. I wrote my name in Korean, about the only thing I can write, and she wrote hers in English and we had a connection.
Then to bed- our rooms, predictably, were very old-fashioned and age was slowly killing everything off. We never had hot water in the shower. The tap hiccoughed every time we wanted water. The decrepit tv only showed one channel of N koreans crying over something. There was shampoo in bottles which I stuffed in my suitcase. Even shampoo gets exciting when it's from NK.
Our guides for the first day were Ri and Mr Kim. Ri is a very sophisticated older woman whose platform shoes didn't quite hide how short she was. She spoke English very well and often wrote down phrases we used she hadn't heard before. Mr Kim was 61 and a bit stern until he asked how many hours separated Sara and I. "Ten minutes", I replied, to which he burst out laughing. Unfortunately he had back pain and was replaced by another Mr Kim who was younger and and rather sweet.
Pyongyang is the capital of NK and is cut in half by the river Taedong. It was mercifully cool and clear after a hot and smoggy Beijing. No cars or industry do keep a city clean. The buildings are mostly skyscrapers that look pretty awful. I suspect that they don't have lifts. Contrary to reports, there were lights on at night. It has two metro lines. Which may or may not be working.
Shall write more later- not much in this post somehow!
"This is rush hour" announced our female guide, Ri. I could see about 10 other cars on the road.
Our hotel, Changwangsan, was a 3star hotel near the ice rink and a conference building. Not convinced the ice rink is open. The first thing we saw in the hotel was a picture of Kim Il-Sung, the President whose heart has sadly stopped beating, along with his son, Kim Jong-Il, who is the Dear Leader. They were standing by Mount Paekdu, which is in the north of the country and was the base for Kim Il-Sung's guerrilla action against the Japanese who had occupied the country. Pictures of those two are everywhere and every (loyal) North Korean wears a badge with Kim 1's face on to show their love- like Christians wear a cross.
We were ushered to a small room with a table laid out with cutlery they haven't been able to replace in decades. Our waitress happily bounced in and proceed to give us a succession of dishes one by one. I'll say now that the Koreans seemed determined to prove how much food was around and always gave us far too much. At first I resolutely ate everything, concious that people really were starving here, but eventually I gave up and just ate until I was full. The food itself was not great- something stale about it. I suspect a lot of what we ate, especially the meat, was imported from China. NK, according to Ri, has 2 beef and milk farms. 2.
Our waitress, Kim Sung-hui, was fantastic. We could only communicate in bad english/chinese but she was so sweet. I wrote my name in Korean, about the only thing I can write, and she wrote hers in English and we had a connection.
Then to bed- our rooms, predictably, were very old-fashioned and age was slowly killing everything off. We never had hot water in the shower. The tap hiccoughed every time we wanted water. The decrepit tv only showed one channel of N koreans crying over something. There was shampoo in bottles which I stuffed in my suitcase. Even shampoo gets exciting when it's from NK.
Our guides for the first day were Ri and Mr Kim. Ri is a very sophisticated older woman whose platform shoes didn't quite hide how short she was. She spoke English very well and often wrote down phrases we used she hadn't heard before. Mr Kim was 61 and a bit stern until he asked how many hours separated Sara and I. "Ten minutes", I replied, to which he burst out laughing. Unfortunately he had back pain and was replaced by another Mr Kim who was younger and and rather sweet.
Pyongyang is the capital of NK and is cut in half by the river Taedong. It was mercifully cool and clear after a hot and smoggy Beijing. No cars or industry do keep a city clean. The buildings are mostly skyscrapers that look pretty awful. I suspect that they don't have lifts. Contrary to reports, there were lights on at night. It has two metro lines. Which may or may not be working.
Shall write more later- not much in this post somehow!
2011-07-20
DPRK
I have always regretted (or should that be lamented?) never visiting China in the 70s and 80s. In my defence I hadn't been born. It must have been a fascinating place- and genuinely different to what I've already seen. So I cast around for the 2nd best thing and that's how Sara and I ended up on an overnight train to Pyongyang on Thursday 14th July.
North Korea is technically called the Democratic People's Republic of Korea because saying North Korea implies there are two Koreas and THERE AREN'T THERE'S ONLY ONE, BASTARD AMERICANS. The capital is Pyongyang, 平壤, Ping'rang(Chinese pronunciation-Korean can be written with Chinese characters) or 평양 with their characters. Pyongyang is actually a very ancient capital but as it was bombed to tiny tiny kimchee sized pieces by the AMERICAN AGGRESSORS it was rebuilt after the war in the 1950s. And has resolutely stayed in that decade. The trolleybuses are similar to what I've seen in museums and the train is like that in a heritage railway that Mum makes us go to on rainy afternoons and men in anoraks like riding. On the way in our train never lumbered above 35mph and had to have a rest every now and then. The cars, of which there are pitifully few, are mostly vintage mercedes, Soviet cast offs and shiny 4x4s probably belonging to the international aid workers. The metro trains are from East Germany from the 70s. Sara thinks she saw a coal fired truck. The decor of our hotel reminded me of classic sitcoms like Porridge. Even the hairstyles are straight from the past-all set waves in the 40s housewife style and combed for the men.
Politically they have not moved on either. Kim Il-Sung is still the president, the small problem of his death over a decade ago not a resignation matter obviously. They have not moved on from the Korean War. At all.
My first reaction to NK is that the Koreans are tragically thin. The first ones I saw, soldiers at the border, were short (although all Asians are) and their overlarge uniforms were cinched with leather belts round supermodel-esque waists. The faces were pinched, even on the young ones. Made all the more obvious by the huge hats they wear. The children are all sticks. And don't forget we were kept in the cushy parts of NK and I can well believe that they are, if not starving, then slowly sucumbing to malnutrition in areas where we are not welcome.
Getting a visa is fairly straightforward process- you just pay a lot of money. The rules are that you get two guides/minders who follow you everywhere and you can only take pictures when they say. You can't say North Korea. And you have to respect "that you may have been taught a version of history different to theirs". We pootled off to get the visas from the embassy in Beijing. Despite it being 35 outside, it felt rather chilly... Then we hopped on a train, first to Dandong on the border. The two countries are split by the Yalu river. On one side, Dandong, there are skyscrapers, tv towers and the smog of industry. As one travels across the bridge you see the road bridge stop halfway across. NK got rid of their half. Then to the Korean side where there is...trees. And a ferris wheel from a rather tragic park, built to show how much fun they are having. It never moves.
Then to Sinuiju for a 3 hour stop while visas are checked. And our first interaction with a bona fide North Korean. Ooo. I'd heard a lot about NKoreans. They are brainwashed. Aggressive. Warmongering. A bit nuts. And maybe they are but they are also very human. Like a geriatric rottweiler they might have teeth, but they are actually kinda cute. The border guards soon dropped the stern face and were happily joking around. There was another western tour group on our train (why wherever I go are there westerners) and when they checked their cameras, 3 produced big, black proper cameras and one guy got his tiny point and shoot out which caused the guard to fall around laughing. Then they came and stared at Sara and I to judge how similar we were and then finally I gave one some twix, which he liked. Then an Australian offered him oreos and he pulled a face, which made us laugh. He doesn't like oreos. Then he nabbed some more twix, slapped the Australian on the inner thigh, and sauntered off. I waved at a soldier passing the train and he stared fixedly in front before shyly waving back. He sneaked a glance at me and broke into a grin at his shyness and then I laughed and he laughed and we shared a moment.
Another rule is that mobile phones have to be left at the border, along with anything with GPS. Cue a long conversation with completely un-techie people where I tried to explain that the phone shaped thing with a button marked maps was in fact a music player and only worked when connected the internet.
So Ipod stayed at the border. Sniff. To add insult to injury they wrote "ipad" on the envelope.
Eventually we headed off. North Korean countryside is actually very pretty. There are fields everywhere. Habitation consists of stone houses with traditional roofs. Roads were mud tracks with the odd 50s bus, 50s tractor and many many ox carts and bicycles. (I asked our guide if they had horses in NK. "Not really-there are some in the zoo"). And men with obedient geese. One thing we noticed was that every square inch of land has something edible being grown on it. That's not a sign of a food-secure nation.
Our train had a rest halfway. We stopped by a gate in a wall, which was locked. However there was a steady stream of Koreans wanting to get through. It was interesting to see whether they went for option A, climbing over the top, B, squeezing their emaciated bodies through the bars or C, crawling through a hole in the mud. Noone went for D, getting it unlocked. A boy wandered past and foraged in a pile of rubbish. There was the obligatory man squatting doing nothing (wherever you are in Asia there will be a man squatting by the road doing nothing). Soldiers walked past the train.
Their guns were fake. Quite obviously fake.
We pulled into Pyongyang late at night, 3 hours behind schedule. A westerner asked why the delay and their Chinese guide chuckled and said you can't ask "why" in Korea. We emerged into a crowd of Koreans pouring from the ancient train, to the sound of rather ghostly, eerily communist, revolutionary music. Our guide hurried forward in the gloom and we had arrived...
North Korea is technically called the Democratic People's Republic of Korea because saying North Korea implies there are two Koreas and THERE AREN'T THERE'S ONLY ONE, BASTARD AMERICANS. The capital is Pyongyang, 平壤, Ping'rang(Chinese pronunciation-Korean can be written with Chinese characters) or 평양 with their characters. Pyongyang is actually a very ancient capital but as it was bombed to tiny tiny kimchee sized pieces by the AMERICAN AGGRESSORS it was rebuilt after the war in the 1950s. And has resolutely stayed in that decade. The trolleybuses are similar to what I've seen in museums and the train is like that in a heritage railway that Mum makes us go to on rainy afternoons and men in anoraks like riding. On the way in our train never lumbered above 35mph and had to have a rest every now and then. The cars, of which there are pitifully few, are mostly vintage mercedes, Soviet cast offs and shiny 4x4s probably belonging to the international aid workers. The metro trains are from East Germany from the 70s. Sara thinks she saw a coal fired truck. The decor of our hotel reminded me of classic sitcoms like Porridge. Even the hairstyles are straight from the past-all set waves in the 40s housewife style and combed for the men.
Politically they have not moved on either. Kim Il-Sung is still the president, the small problem of his death over a decade ago not a resignation matter obviously. They have not moved on from the Korean War. At all.
My first reaction to NK is that the Koreans are tragically thin. The first ones I saw, soldiers at the border, were short (although all Asians are) and their overlarge uniforms were cinched with leather belts round supermodel-esque waists. The faces were pinched, even on the young ones. Made all the more obvious by the huge hats they wear. The children are all sticks. And don't forget we were kept in the cushy parts of NK and I can well believe that they are, if not starving, then slowly sucumbing to malnutrition in areas where we are not welcome.
Getting a visa is fairly straightforward process- you just pay a lot of money. The rules are that you get two guides/minders who follow you everywhere and you can only take pictures when they say. You can't say North Korea. And you have to respect "that you may have been taught a version of history different to theirs". We pootled off to get the visas from the embassy in Beijing. Despite it being 35 outside, it felt rather chilly... Then we hopped on a train, first to Dandong on the border. The two countries are split by the Yalu river. On one side, Dandong, there are skyscrapers, tv towers and the smog of industry. As one travels across the bridge you see the road bridge stop halfway across. NK got rid of their half. Then to the Korean side where there is...trees. And a ferris wheel from a rather tragic park, built to show how much fun they are having. It never moves.
Then to Sinuiju for a 3 hour stop while visas are checked. And our first interaction with a bona fide North Korean. Ooo. I'd heard a lot about NKoreans. They are brainwashed. Aggressive. Warmongering. A bit nuts. And maybe they are but they are also very human. Like a geriatric rottweiler they might have teeth, but they are actually kinda cute. The border guards soon dropped the stern face and were happily joking around. There was another western tour group on our train (why wherever I go are there westerners) and when they checked their cameras, 3 produced big, black proper cameras and one guy got his tiny point and shoot out which caused the guard to fall around laughing. Then they came and stared at Sara and I to judge how similar we were and then finally I gave one some twix, which he liked. Then an Australian offered him oreos and he pulled a face, which made us laugh. He doesn't like oreos. Then he nabbed some more twix, slapped the Australian on the inner thigh, and sauntered off. I waved at a soldier passing the train and he stared fixedly in front before shyly waving back. He sneaked a glance at me and broke into a grin at his shyness and then I laughed and he laughed and we shared a moment.
Another rule is that mobile phones have to be left at the border, along with anything with GPS. Cue a long conversation with completely un-techie people where I tried to explain that the phone shaped thing with a button marked maps was in fact a music player and only worked when connected the internet.
So Ipod stayed at the border. Sniff. To add insult to injury they wrote "ipad" on the envelope.
Eventually we headed off. North Korean countryside is actually very pretty. There are fields everywhere. Habitation consists of stone houses with traditional roofs. Roads were mud tracks with the odd 50s bus, 50s tractor and many many ox carts and bicycles. (I asked our guide if they had horses in NK. "Not really-there are some in the zoo"). And men with obedient geese. One thing we noticed was that every square inch of land has something edible being grown on it. That's not a sign of a food-secure nation.
Our train had a rest halfway. We stopped by a gate in a wall, which was locked. However there was a steady stream of Koreans wanting to get through. It was interesting to see whether they went for option A, climbing over the top, B, squeezing their emaciated bodies through the bars or C, crawling through a hole in the mud. Noone went for D, getting it unlocked. A boy wandered past and foraged in a pile of rubbish. There was the obligatory man squatting doing nothing (wherever you are in Asia there will be a man squatting by the road doing nothing). Soldiers walked past the train.
Their guns were fake. Quite obviously fake.
We pulled into Pyongyang late at night, 3 hours behind schedule. A westerner asked why the delay and their Chinese guide chuckled and said you can't ask "why" in Korea. We emerged into a crowd of Koreans pouring from the ancient train, to the sound of rather ghostly, eerily communist, revolutionary music. Our guide hurried forward in the gloom and we had arrived...
2011-07-14
Mao
Sara and I got up just after 5am this morning to go and see Mao's corpse. We had to get up early as the queues are horrendous (only open 4 hours a day, 4 days a week) and I wanted to see Tiananmen Square without too many tourists. As it turned out we had to queue for a long time anyway. The people behind kept trying to push in front and didn't appreciate my speech on the importance of queueing.
The Chinese showed their respect for the most "holy" site in China by dropping litter all over it.
All I have to say is that I don't think it's Mao. It looked very, very, very like a waxwork- and not a particularly good one in my opinion. Of course 30 years of being pickled might make you look less human but I reckon the real body is in a fridge and that's the spare.
Next post will hopefully be on Tuesday. There is no internet where we're going.
The Chinese showed their respect for the most "holy" site in China by dropping litter all over it.
All I have to say is that I don't think it's Mao. It looked very, very, very like a waxwork- and not a particularly good one in my opinion. Of course 30 years of being pickled might make you look less human but I reckon the real body is in a fridge and that's the spare.
Next post will hopefully be on Tuesday. There is no internet where we're going.
2011-07-13
Beijing: it's nice, but Starbucks is nicer...
So Sara and I are now in Beijing.
We queued for over an hour for a taxi from the train station to our hostel. I was slightly bitter about that. But then the taxi driver surprised me by knowing where to go. Normally when I brightly announce to a taxi driver where I want to go they stare at me blankly and I end up showing them around their own bloody city.
The hostel is in a hutong neighbourhood. Hutong are named after wells that used to be at the end of each alley in Beijing but now the whole thing is called a hutong. They are narrow, one's BMW just about gets through, and old. One of the first places I've been in China that doesn't feel like other places I've been-this is most definitely Beijing.
The government is enthusiasticly bulldozing the hutong neighbourhoods and plonking skyscrapers down, only occasionally interrupted by some dispossesed hutong dweller setting themselves on fire in protest. Progress!
Sara and I have so far touristed the Confucian Temple here along with the Imperial Academy. The Confucian Temple has stele listing the names of the last entrants for the old official exams in 1904. Those exams on Confucian thought were centuries old and had to be passed to be a government official. It was felt in 1905 that students should be tested in things like science and maths and modern stuff. I wonder if those last students thought what they were doing was really a waste of time. The temple looked like every other temple I've been to and was sort of peaceful. We'd passed a buddhist temple (specifically Tibetan buddhist I think) on the way that was teaming with people. This one was down a leafy sidestreet. Round the back some girls were practising a dance while their teacher hit them with an empty water bottle.
Then we went to Tiananmen Square. But not for very long as:
1. It's hot here at the moment. Not as hot as Shanghai but hot enough-30+.
2. It's smoggy smoggy smoggy. No sky, just a dome of brown.
3. I forget, living in Qingdao, how big China is. 1.3 billion people. 20 times the size of old Blighty. This is the capital. Families who can only afford one holiday every decade come here. Therefore the crowds here are gigantic and huge and loud. They move in herds following a tour guide blaring through a loudspeaker.
All this conspired to push two hot and frazzled English girls, used to tea in rose gardens with polite, quiet conversation, out of the Square. We hid in a nearby park filled with sleeping cats and watched the ticket sellers play badminton.
The subway here is never less than packed.
Walking is exhausting and hot and full of obstacles ranging from parked mopeds to slow-moving humans.
Taxis are expensive and Beijing's traffic jam can be seen from Space.
God knows where the buses go.
Not many people cycle any more.
Today we planned to go to the Summer Palace after fetching something but then we walked past a Starbucks and it's cool, and not many people and there's tea. The Summer Palace involves a long subway ride and battling crowds in the heat. So we're in Starbucks and I have no intention of going Out There, except to forage.
I'm not a very good tourist.
I told the taxi driver we were twins. He said we didn't look alike at all, in a rather disgruntled way.
We queued for over an hour for a taxi from the train station to our hostel. I was slightly bitter about that. But then the taxi driver surprised me by knowing where to go. Normally when I brightly announce to a taxi driver where I want to go they stare at me blankly and I end up showing them around their own bloody city.
The hostel is in a hutong neighbourhood. Hutong are named after wells that used to be at the end of each alley in Beijing but now the whole thing is called a hutong. They are narrow, one's BMW just about gets through, and old. One of the first places I've been in China that doesn't feel like other places I've been-this is most definitely Beijing.
The government is enthusiasticly bulldozing the hutong neighbourhoods and plonking skyscrapers down, only occasionally interrupted by some dispossesed hutong dweller setting themselves on fire in protest. Progress!
Sara and I have so far touristed the Confucian Temple here along with the Imperial Academy. The Confucian Temple has stele listing the names of the last entrants for the old official exams in 1904. Those exams on Confucian thought were centuries old and had to be passed to be a government official. It was felt in 1905 that students should be tested in things like science and maths and modern stuff. I wonder if those last students thought what they were doing was really a waste of time. The temple looked like every other temple I've been to and was sort of peaceful. We'd passed a buddhist temple (specifically Tibetan buddhist I think) on the way that was teaming with people. This one was down a leafy sidestreet. Round the back some girls were practising a dance while their teacher hit them with an empty water bottle.
Then we went to Tiananmen Square. But not for very long as:
1. It's hot here at the moment. Not as hot as Shanghai but hot enough-30+.
2. It's smoggy smoggy smoggy. No sky, just a dome of brown.
3. I forget, living in Qingdao, how big China is. 1.3 billion people. 20 times the size of old Blighty. This is the capital. Families who can only afford one holiday every decade come here. Therefore the crowds here are gigantic and huge and loud. They move in herds following a tour guide blaring through a loudspeaker.
All this conspired to push two hot and frazzled English girls, used to tea in rose gardens with polite, quiet conversation, out of the Square. We hid in a nearby park filled with sleeping cats and watched the ticket sellers play badminton.
The subway here is never less than packed.
Walking is exhausting and hot and full of obstacles ranging from parked mopeds to slow-moving humans.
Taxis are expensive and Beijing's traffic jam can be seen from Space.
God knows where the buses go.
Not many people cycle any more.
Today we planned to go to the Summer Palace after fetching something but then we walked past a Starbucks and it's cool, and not many people and there's tea. The Summer Palace involves a long subway ride and battling crowds in the heat. So we're in Starbucks and I have no intention of going Out There, except to forage.
I'm not a very good tourist.
I told the taxi driver we were twins. He said we didn't look alike at all, in a rather disgruntled way.
2011-07-12
Goodbye QIngdao
My last few days in Qingdao were mostly spent packing. I have a lot of stuff.
However I did find time to say goodbye to friends, which is definitely a downside of moving so much. You make good friends, and then you leave them.
Becka's family is here too and we went to eat sushi together. The problem was Becka's family are quite Liverpudlian and got a bit fed up of raw food and longed for something cooked... However we ordered too much and when we tried to send some back the woman in charge came and berated us for wasting food. The rest we didn't eat I balled up in tissue and hid in my bag so she wouldn't see.
She said I was pretty because I have thin legs.
Sara and I went to buy train tickets. We queued for over an hour. Then we went to look at the famous pier here but it was so misty we couldn't see the end. There were people everywhere. Then we went to the cathedral and there were around 20 brides having their photo taken. Then we left but it was so crowded we spent ages trying to find a bus and in the end walked out of the area to catch a bus. I taught Sara some chinese characters.
I also took Sara to see Lao mountain. It was very foggy so we couldn't really see much and crawling with tourists.
Predictably the last day was beautiful clear weather. Qingdao is very pretty in the sun. We went to the shiny modern marina and Sara agreed that this was a non-shit part.
Then we piled all our stuff in a taxi (a LOT- partly because I had Becka's guzheng which is slightly longer than a car width...) and left.
Goodbye Qingdao.
However I did find time to say goodbye to friends, which is definitely a downside of moving so much. You make good friends, and then you leave them.
Becka's family is here too and we went to eat sushi together. The problem was Becka's family are quite Liverpudlian and got a bit fed up of raw food and longed for something cooked... However we ordered too much and when we tried to send some back the woman in charge came and berated us for wasting food. The rest we didn't eat I balled up in tissue and hid in my bag so she wouldn't see.
She said I was pretty because I have thin legs.
Sara and I went to buy train tickets. We queued for over an hour. Then we went to look at the famous pier here but it was so misty we couldn't see the end. There were people everywhere. Then we went to the cathedral and there were around 20 brides having their photo taken. Then we left but it was so crowded we spent ages trying to find a bus and in the end walked out of the area to catch a bus. I taught Sara some chinese characters.
I also took Sara to see Lao mountain. It was very foggy so we couldn't really see much and crawling with tourists.
Predictably the last day was beautiful clear weather. Qingdao is very pretty in the sun. We went to the shiny modern marina and Sara agreed that this was a non-shit part.
Then we piled all our stuff in a taxi (a LOT- partly because I had Becka's guzheng which is slightly longer than a car width...) and left.
Goodbye Qingdao.
Shanghai Sweat
It was so hot in Shanghai, even the air was sweating.
It's true that at 38 degrees there are many much hotter places on the planet-I've been to some of them. But combined with the pollution of millions of people this gets very uncomfortable. What makes it even worse is that people insist on artic air conditioning so every morning I woke up snivelling and sneezing.
I tried to show Sara places in Shanghai but as that was all mostly outside, we didn't get very far. We saw the site of the first Republican government of Korea, as well as Xintiandi, Tianzifang and the horrid, horrid Yu gardens. We also saw the Bund but again it was just packed with people.
One high point was when we found a nice hotpot restaurant to go to. (We asked at the hostel and they said "East Nanjing Road". This is like asking for a nice restaurant in Edinburgh and being advised to try the Royal Mile. Of course there are plenty of restaurants there, but are they any good?) This hotpot restaurant was slightly old style and used copper basins with the heating element in a cone in the middle. Normally it's just a bowl in the table. The food was nice but I had two quibbles. The first being that it was only water to cook food in- most places it is some sort of broth with mushrooms, peppers etc floating in it to add flavour. This meant ours lacked the tasty factor. The second quibble was that as the heating element was in the middle, there was left only a small area to put food. And whatever Sara put in opposite me, I couldn't reach, and vice versa.
Then Haagen Dasz as a treat. Yum yum.
There was a fight outside between a female ticket seller and some man. I had no idea what about, but we joined the police in standing around and watching amusedly.
The last day I got my passport back along with a Russia visa. Yaya! I now just need a Mongolian visa and was intending to get it today but the Embassy is closed because it's a Mongolian holiday and they are busy wrestling yaks.
As it was so hot in Shanghai, we decided to go see a film and then head to the airport. ("Where can we find a cinema?""East Nanjing Road") but couldn't find a good film on when we wanted so we headed to the airport and spent 3 hours waiting around. There were two monks waiting there too. After waiting 3 hours we almost missed the flight. Oops.
We got the maglev to the aiport. The maglev is the very fast train that levitates. The track looked just like some concrete slabs with nothing to stop the train flying off the sides. I don't trust physics. I'd already ridden it twice but the first I was stressing about being late and the second it only went to 300kph. This time it went to 430kph and those extra kph really do make a difference. You are going rather fast... the fun bit is it wobbles a lot. And when a train passes in the opposite direction the shock makes you start but as you are going so fast the train has passed before you can finish your start and so you just sit there with wide eyes and open mouth.
It's true that at 38 degrees there are many much hotter places on the planet-I've been to some of them. But combined with the pollution of millions of people this gets very uncomfortable. What makes it even worse is that people insist on artic air conditioning so every morning I woke up snivelling and sneezing.
I tried to show Sara places in Shanghai but as that was all mostly outside, we didn't get very far. We saw the site of the first Republican government of Korea, as well as Xintiandi, Tianzifang and the horrid, horrid Yu gardens. We also saw the Bund but again it was just packed with people.
One high point was when we found a nice hotpot restaurant to go to. (We asked at the hostel and they said "East Nanjing Road". This is like asking for a nice restaurant in Edinburgh and being advised to try the Royal Mile. Of course there are plenty of restaurants there, but are they any good?) This hotpot restaurant was slightly old style and used copper basins with the heating element in a cone in the middle. Normally it's just a bowl in the table. The food was nice but I had two quibbles. The first being that it was only water to cook food in- most places it is some sort of broth with mushrooms, peppers etc floating in it to add flavour. This meant ours lacked the tasty factor. The second quibble was that as the heating element was in the middle, there was left only a small area to put food. And whatever Sara put in opposite me, I couldn't reach, and vice versa.
Then Haagen Dasz as a treat. Yum yum.
There was a fight outside between a female ticket seller and some man. I had no idea what about, but we joined the police in standing around and watching amusedly.
The last day I got my passport back along with a Russia visa. Yaya! I now just need a Mongolian visa and was intending to get it today but the Embassy is closed because it's a Mongolian holiday and they are busy wrestling yaks.
As it was so hot in Shanghai, we decided to go see a film and then head to the airport. ("Where can we find a cinema?""East Nanjing Road") but couldn't find a good film on when we wanted so we headed to the airport and spent 3 hours waiting around. There were two monks waiting there too. After waiting 3 hours we almost missed the flight. Oops.
We got the maglev to the aiport. The maglev is the very fast train that levitates. The track looked just like some concrete slabs with nothing to stop the train flying off the sides. I don't trust physics. I'd already ridden it twice but the first I was stressing about being late and the second it only went to 300kph. This time it went to 430kph and those extra kph really do make a difference. You are going rather fast... the fun bit is it wobbles a lot. And when a train passes in the opposite direction the shock makes you start but as you are going so fast the train has passed before you can finish your start and so you just sit there with wide eyes and open mouth.
Shanghai Stress
I am writing this from a hostel in Beijing, having finally left Qingdao.
So exams were finished on Monday and Tuesday. At the time I thought I had done badly but it turns out that I had still done rather well, beating most of the Koreans. Which is interesting as they nearly all had books open under the desks. "They cheat worse than Italians" according to Laura. In one exam the two behind me saw that I hadn't circled some answers for the listening and prodded me on the back. I turned around and they waved the answers at me. I looked back to the front, not wanting to cheat, and they prodded me again. I asked how they knew the answers were correct and they pointed to their book under the table before prodding me again. By this point I had seen the answers and figured there was no point not writing them down and as I couldn't forget them, just wrote them down.
The teacher was oblivious to all this. I suspect cheating is normal in Chinese universities. Great educational system they have here...
Then I had the most stressful day of my life. This involved getting up early at 5, and thus waking up stressing that I'd overslept at 3,3:30, 4 and 4:30. Then down to find the bus to the airport which meant stressing that it would be late. It left at 6 and my flight was 7:45. Then it stopped at some hotel for a stressfully long time which caused me to get out and stare at the driver who was having a cigarette. I think he got the message and we headed off.
Landed in Shanghai. Stressed about finding the Russian Embassy. Walked there in 38 degree heat. Applied for Russian visa which involved stressing about whether they'd accept my unoriginal invitation letter and that the form wasn't entirely conscientiously filled out (I filled it out in the embassy thinking I'd know all the information. As it turned out they needed previous contacts for universities and work, travel insurance numbers, hotel addresses and shoe size). I managed to write something in each box (mostly by pretending I've never worked) and after queueing for ages to pay, my application was accepted sweet halleluia. However just when it was going my way, it turned out they didn't work on Thursdays so by next day delivery they meant 2 days. This meant I then had to buy new flights for Friday evening not Thursday. This cost a lot of money. The one consolation was that when I rang up ctrip to change my flights they answered with a cheery "hello Miss Jones" and proceeded to be very helpful. I am always in awe of how they know it's me straightaway when I ring.
Then to check in at hostel. Accidentally booked different hostel to one I thought. Went to wrong hostel. Went to right hostel.
In China you have to show your passport when you check in. Mine was in the Russian Embassy. I had photocopied the passport page but not the visa page.
Went to police station to get a waiver to stay in hostel. Policeman was very rude and aggressive.
Went back to hostel. Ate. Hurried to airport to meet Sara. Got off wrong stop on subway for the maglev so had to go back. Was now late.
Got on maglev. Sometimes 430kmh isn't fast enough and I sprinted through the airport to the arrivals 30 minutes late. Worried Sara had arrived and wandered off.
Instead waited another hour as Sara spent ages in immigration queue.
So after lots of taxi fares, lots of sweating and lots of hurrying, I had more or less accomplished my main goal of getting a russian visa. Sara and I relaxed at dinner in an art deco restaurant that was very Old Shanghai. I say relaxed, more went from a tightly wound spiky ball of sweating stress to a mere frazzled frizz of still sweating stress.
So exams were finished on Monday and Tuesday. At the time I thought I had done badly but it turns out that I had still done rather well, beating most of the Koreans. Which is interesting as they nearly all had books open under the desks. "They cheat worse than Italians" according to Laura. In one exam the two behind me saw that I hadn't circled some answers for the listening and prodded me on the back. I turned around and they waved the answers at me. I looked back to the front, not wanting to cheat, and they prodded me again. I asked how they knew the answers were correct and they pointed to their book under the table before prodding me again. By this point I had seen the answers and figured there was no point not writing them down and as I couldn't forget them, just wrote them down.
The teacher was oblivious to all this. I suspect cheating is normal in Chinese universities. Great educational system they have here...
Then I had the most stressful day of my life. This involved getting up early at 5, and thus waking up stressing that I'd overslept at 3,3:30, 4 and 4:30. Then down to find the bus to the airport which meant stressing that it would be late. It left at 6 and my flight was 7:45. Then it stopped at some hotel for a stressfully long time which caused me to get out and stare at the driver who was having a cigarette. I think he got the message and we headed off.
Landed in Shanghai. Stressed about finding the Russian Embassy. Walked there in 38 degree heat. Applied for Russian visa which involved stressing about whether they'd accept my unoriginal invitation letter and that the form wasn't entirely conscientiously filled out (I filled it out in the embassy thinking I'd know all the information. As it turned out they needed previous contacts for universities and work, travel insurance numbers, hotel addresses and shoe size). I managed to write something in each box (mostly by pretending I've never worked) and after queueing for ages to pay, my application was accepted sweet halleluia. However just when it was going my way, it turned out they didn't work on Thursdays so by next day delivery they meant 2 days. This meant I then had to buy new flights for Friday evening not Thursday. This cost a lot of money. The one consolation was that when I rang up ctrip to change my flights they answered with a cheery "hello Miss Jones" and proceeded to be very helpful. I am always in awe of how they know it's me straightaway when I ring.
Then to check in at hostel. Accidentally booked different hostel to one I thought. Went to wrong hostel. Went to right hostel.
In China you have to show your passport when you check in. Mine was in the Russian Embassy. I had photocopied the passport page but not the visa page.
Went to police station to get a waiver to stay in hostel. Policeman was very rude and aggressive.
Went back to hostel. Ate. Hurried to airport to meet Sara. Got off wrong stop on subway for the maglev so had to go back. Was now late.
Got on maglev. Sometimes 430kmh isn't fast enough and I sprinted through the airport to the arrivals 30 minutes late. Worried Sara had arrived and wandered off.
Instead waited another hour as Sara spent ages in immigration queue.
So after lots of taxi fares, lots of sweating and lots of hurrying, I had more or less accomplished my main goal of getting a russian visa. Sara and I relaxed at dinner in an art deco restaurant that was very Old Shanghai. I say relaxed, more went from a tightly wound spiky ball of sweating stress to a mere frazzled frizz of still sweating stress.
2011-07-03
Bad Guests
Dongmin has been away this weekend visiting the family business away in Shandong somewhere. This meant we had his dog, Gamji, to stay. Gamji is a spaniel-cross with big black eyes and an engaging manner. Butter wouldn't melt.
As Becka and I are leaving Qingdao soon we were invited to Vivien's house to have a meal with her parents. We needed to be on best behaviour.
Gamji and I thus embarked on a competition to see who could be the worst guest. Gamji pulled ahead as the first thing she did on entering our home was peeing on Boram and Sara's bed. Becka and I chose chocolates as a more suitable gift, although it was rather tempered by us being awfully late and looking like drowned rats.*
Although Gamji did wake me up at 5am by putting her snuffly, snotty, smelly face as close to mine as possible. I never returned to sleep.
Becka and I scored points by waxing lyrical about how lovely the apartment was (and it was actually rather nice and tastefully decorated) which is what you have to do when you go to a Chinese home. Becka and I had our clothes removed and we borrowed some of Vivien's as ours were soaked. Vivien's dad was wandering around in his pyjamas, which threw us a little.
Then we sat down to eat ("wonderful food Mrs Yu"). Vivien's dad was in a happy mood and set about enthusiastically ganbeing us. Ganbei means drink up and that's what you have to do every time he goes "ganbei!" because it's rude not to. Except we had red wine and he had the weakest Qingdao beer possible. So the first bottle went pretty quickly. Then beer. Ganbei ganbei! Then he got out his best baijiu happily gushing forth about how great Becka and I were at drinking. Baijiu is strong. His stuff was good- I could feel the quality in the hellish burning sensation in my throat afterwards. The food was great- lots of shrimps which I guzzled. We had a great time chatting to the dad, who was getting happier and happier with each ganbei, and they were all impressed with our Chinese as we seemed to understand everything they were saying. Becka and I were bluffing. But we bluffed pretty well- nodding was all that was required. We could tell from his tone of voice.
Meanwhile Gamji back home had discovered some left over egg fried rice by my bed. She ate the lot.
Back at Vivien's I didn't feel so good. I had had an upset tummy the whole day. I went and hid in the bathroom.
Back at ours Gamji didn't feel so good either.
Becka noticed I was failing and we tried to leave but realised we'd forgotten something and in that slight delay I lost control and the inevitable got puked up all over their hallway. Becka started damage control by assuring the parents I'd eaten some dodgy Italian food the day before ("foreign food you know how it is") and we were driven home by Vivien's mum, who kept assuring my mortified self how it was all fine and not to worry and Italian food can be dodgy sometimes.
I crawled into bed wondering how that could have gone worse. My leg touched something squidgey. Gamji had followed my example and thrown up the egg fried rice all over my bed.
Gamji: 1 pee, 1 face in my face, 1 sick
Louise: 1 late, 1 sick
In theory I am a better guest than Gamji. But then again, she's a dog and I should know better...
I collected my wages from my school. Then I left. Not even a thank you from them for 3 months of hard work.
*As we tried to find a taxi the heavens opened and it threw it down so we had a hard time finding a taxi. When we finally did, the traffic was awful. It was raining so hard I couldn't see a thing out the windscreen and wondered how the taxi driver could. The drains here are awful so in the dash from taxi to apartment block we basically walked up a river.
As Becka and I are leaving Qingdao soon we were invited to Vivien's house to have a meal with her parents. We needed to be on best behaviour.
Gamji and I thus embarked on a competition to see who could be the worst guest. Gamji pulled ahead as the first thing she did on entering our home was peeing on Boram and Sara's bed. Becka and I chose chocolates as a more suitable gift, although it was rather tempered by us being awfully late and looking like drowned rats.*
Although Gamji did wake me up at 5am by putting her snuffly, snotty, smelly face as close to mine as possible. I never returned to sleep.
Becka and I scored points by waxing lyrical about how lovely the apartment was (and it was actually rather nice and tastefully decorated) which is what you have to do when you go to a Chinese home. Becka and I had our clothes removed and we borrowed some of Vivien's as ours were soaked. Vivien's dad was wandering around in his pyjamas, which threw us a little.
Then we sat down to eat ("wonderful food Mrs Yu"). Vivien's dad was in a happy mood and set about enthusiastically ganbeing us. Ganbei means drink up and that's what you have to do every time he goes "ganbei!" because it's rude not to. Except we had red wine and he had the weakest Qingdao beer possible. So the first bottle went pretty quickly. Then beer. Ganbei ganbei! Then he got out his best baijiu happily gushing forth about how great Becka and I were at drinking. Baijiu is strong. His stuff was good- I could feel the quality in the hellish burning sensation in my throat afterwards. The food was great- lots of shrimps which I guzzled. We had a great time chatting to the dad, who was getting happier and happier with each ganbei, and they were all impressed with our Chinese as we seemed to understand everything they were saying. Becka and I were bluffing. But we bluffed pretty well- nodding was all that was required. We could tell from his tone of voice.
Meanwhile Gamji back home had discovered some left over egg fried rice by my bed. She ate the lot.
Back at Vivien's I didn't feel so good. I had had an upset tummy the whole day. I went and hid in the bathroom.
Back at ours Gamji didn't feel so good either.
Becka noticed I was failing and we tried to leave but realised we'd forgotten something and in that slight delay I lost control and the inevitable got puked up all over their hallway. Becka started damage control by assuring the parents I'd eaten some dodgy Italian food the day before ("foreign food you know how it is") and we were driven home by Vivien's mum, who kept assuring my mortified self how it was all fine and not to worry and Italian food can be dodgy sometimes.
I crawled into bed wondering how that could have gone worse. My leg touched something squidgey. Gamji had followed my example and thrown up the egg fried rice all over my bed.
Gamji: 1 pee, 1 face in my face, 1 sick
Louise: 1 late, 1 sick
In theory I am a better guest than Gamji. But then again, she's a dog and I should know better...
I collected my wages from my school. Then I left. Not even a thank you from them for 3 months of hard work.
*As we tried to find a taxi the heavens opened and it threw it down so we had a hard time finding a taxi. When we finally did, the traffic was awful. It was raining so hard I couldn't see a thing out the windscreen and wondered how the taxi driver could. The drains here are awful so in the dash from taxi to apartment block we basically walked up a river.
2011-07-02
Happy Birthday CPC
Yesterday was the 90th anniversary of the founding of the Communist Party of China. (I always thought it was the Chinese Communist Party but they've changed it apparently. Without telling me.)
They've gone from a dozen revolutionaries in Shanghai to being the most powerful, and largest, political party in the world. Not bad eh.
Happy Birthday!
(I wrote a much longer post ranting about how we should give the CPC a break and the awful journalism I've seen recently, especially this piece http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/jul/01/chinese-president-corruption-communist-party. Littered with spelling mistakes and wrong dates, it makes completely unfair criticism. No Hu isn't going to speak about the party's mistakes made decades ago but then Cameron doesn't at the Conservative Party conference does he??? However this post was lost as my vpn died without my realising and I pressed post and the firewall ate it. Please remove the firewall, China. I just want to watch videos of cats falling baths and Ed MilliRobot's response systems malfunctioning not foment revolution!)
They've gone from a dozen revolutionaries in Shanghai to being the most powerful, and largest, political party in the world. Not bad eh.
Happy Birthday!
(I wrote a much longer post ranting about how we should give the CPC a break and the awful journalism I've seen recently, especially this piece http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/jul/01/chinese-president-corruption-communist-party. Littered with spelling mistakes and wrong dates, it makes completely unfair criticism. No Hu isn't going to speak about the party's mistakes made decades ago but then Cameron doesn't at the Conservative Party conference does he??? However this post was lost as my vpn died without my realising and I pressed post and the firewall ate it. Please remove the firewall, China. I just want to watch videos of cats falling baths and Ed MilliRobot's response systems malfunctioning not foment revolution!)
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