I got off the bus in a fairly good mood today. Then I saw a dead cat on the pavement, and do you know, my good mood just vanished...
So yesterday, as I repeatedly pointed out to my fed up students, was the wedding day of Prince William. They really have no interest in this event. Their monarch was kicked out a century ago and even when there was an Emperor, he had so many wives that one more was nothing to shout about.
Although I did hear that in Nanjing a Chinese couple had a wedding modelled on the royal one, complete with fake royal guards and a horse-drawn carriage.
I persuaded my bosses to let me off work an hour early ("it's my culture!") and got a taxi to the Shangri-La hotel, which had a big screen showing the event. I had to spen 10 minutes waiting for a taxi and when one did turn up, the driver insisted on smoking and singing along loudly to the radio, before picking up other customers. And he didn't drive up to the hotel entrance so I had to walk...
Once inside my posse of fellow Anglo-Saxons, Europeans and confused Asians (Korean Michael: "why are you so excited? I don't care if my president gets married!") parked near one of the television screens which normally shows endless catwalk shows. I happily bitched to Ghrassan about how daft the trees in the abbey looked, let's be honest there is this fantastically beautiful church and they plonk bushes in it to block everyone's view, how boring and un-original Kate's dress was (she seemed to have Grace Kelly's old dress) and how bald William was getting. The Italian Laura couldn't stop laughing at that one... Ghrassan opined that I was jealous and that it was not fair to criticise her on everything. Jealous? Moi?
What DID Princess Beatrice, or Eugenie whichever, have on her head? It looked like something Lady Gaga would wear.
Kate's parents looked lovely though, although I distrust the siblings on sight.
If there is one thing I have learnt from my teaching job is that time, no matter how slowly it goes, nonetheless goes. And that I can fill it with babble quite fluently.
2011-04-30
2011-04-26
Honky Konky and Casinoland
Becka and I took the metro to the island of Lantau, which is twice the size of Hong Kong island but only contains 30,000 people as much of it is national park. The rest is Disneyland and the airport. Becka and I snubbed the theme park and took a spectacular cable car over the hills to go and see the largest seated buddha in the world.
We went, we saw, we left.
These things never leave much impression on me. It didn't seem that big.
Then we caught the bus down to Mui Wo, which was a small town by the ferry terminal. We had a paddle in the sea and then lazed on the beach. It was a very relaxed atmosphere, with kids playing volleyball nearby. The odd expat heaving his belly somewhere. The opposite of China! I had missed greenery... And I'm not used to the sight of kids playing together not under parental supervision.
Mui Wo is a nest of expats so Becka and I wolfed down some fish and chips (real thing too! My first in nearly 8 months!) and apple crumble (not as good as mine) before a ferry home.
Lantau gets my approval.
The terrible twosome then became the terrfic trio as Becka and I were joined by a school friend of mine called Cat. Cat is what a Chinese person would call a 华侨, huaqiao, or "oversees Chinese". However the last relative to have a Chinese passport was a grandmother and neither her nor her parents can speak anything other than English/French.
This does cause a slight problem as everyone thinks she's Chinese so blather on in Cantonese/Mandarin at her until they slowly trickle to a halt as she stares blankly back. Then the white girl chips in with "她不会说汉语"
The first day together we took the world's longest escalator up to the midlevels. Hong Kong is basically a collection of skyscrapers huddled along a coastline, with steep hills rising behind. Hence the escalator, which runs up in the day and evening and down in the morning rush hour. However when we reached the top we had to resort to walking and spent half an hour slogging up the steep slope to the top. We had to stop for a rest every two bins (there were bins at very regular intervals) as Cat was tired from flying and Becka and I are just wusses. Eventually we made the summit and were rewarded with a shopping complex of starbucks and haagen-dasz. We elbowed our way past mainland tour groups, grabbed some ice cream and took in the view. It was a fairly clear day so we could see quite far, once the Americans had moved. Then we pootled down the other side through some leafy woods before catching a bus to a district called Aberdeen- which had been a secret ambition of mine to visit. It's called Aberdeen!
We went to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and while the woman didn't seem to speak Mandarin, we got our meaning across. I asked for "xuebi", sprite, and she went "Ah! Sibbi!" which was close enough...
On our last day in Hong Kong Becka and I went to church for Easter Sunday. It was an Anglican one, St John's Cathedral, and as we arrived late, had to stand at the side. The service went on for ever so Becka bailed halfway and sat outside in the sun. I stayed to the bitter end and was rewarded with bits of blessed water flicked at me. It did go on a long time.
It provided a fascinating opportunity for people watching. There were the very devout Philipino looking women heads bowed praying as well as upper-middle class white people, with blond children in tow. The archbishop himself was running the show and had a beautifully colonial accent. He rhymed "whom" with "home". He kept taking his hat off, then putting it back on which require a vigorous flick to get the tassels to go the right way. Some of the service was read by an indian woman in a pink sari, other bits by a white man who had picked up somewhere that pauses=good reading so insisted on pausing for 5 seconds every sentence.
Afterwards we got posh chocolate and posh bread from a deli (a deli! Don't have those in Qingdao!) and went to a "park" near the church. I say park, it was a few metres squared. Becka and I found a rock to perch on by a pool and happily munched away and read the newspaper. We were surrounded by bunches of Hong Kongese women who were lolling around chatting, eating, playing cards and generally having a good time. There were groups of them everywhere, in every public space.
Not a single man.
It was lovely sitting in the cool shade, reading a non censored newspaper, surrounded by greenery, listening to the Hong Kongese women chatting away and shouting when one lost at cards.
Becka and I caught the metro back to Shenzhen. As we crossed the English signs gradually detoriated. People walked into us. People tried to con us. Children were going to the bathroom in public. Officials were no longer polite and helpful.
"Louise, what are we doing here? Why didn't we go to Hong Kong?" asked Becka.
Oh yeah we also went to Macao. The weather was awful and this, combined with a miserable restaurant meal, has turned me somewhat against it. It was quaint to see Portuguese on every sign-it is a joint official language- but the buildings were a bit bleak, including the tacky casinos everywhere. I was expecting more Portuguese style streets but it ressembled more what a 1980s industrial Portuguese town must have looked like.
When we got off the ferry the Chinese all headed straight to the slot machines while us three laowai pootled off to look at ruined churches. More money is spent on gambling in Macao than in Las Vegas. My mobile phone was bombarded with texts from casinos trying to lure me in.
At the border control was a portuguese looking official who spoke fluent Cantonese. He was very tall and handsome. And spoke fluent Cantonese. I am a little in love.
There were happy Christians giving out free hugs. I got one. However the poor guy couldn't let go of his Chinese aversion to body contact and it wasn't a very good hug.
We went, we saw, we left.
These things never leave much impression on me. It didn't seem that big.
Then we caught the bus down to Mui Wo, which was a small town by the ferry terminal. We had a paddle in the sea and then lazed on the beach. It was a very relaxed atmosphere, with kids playing volleyball nearby. The odd expat heaving his belly somewhere. The opposite of China! I had missed greenery... And I'm not used to the sight of kids playing together not under parental supervision.
Mui Wo is a nest of expats so Becka and I wolfed down some fish and chips (real thing too! My first in nearly 8 months!) and apple crumble (not as good as mine) before a ferry home.
Lantau gets my approval.
The terrible twosome then became the terrfic trio as Becka and I were joined by a school friend of mine called Cat. Cat is what a Chinese person would call a 华侨, huaqiao, or "oversees Chinese". However the last relative to have a Chinese passport was a grandmother and neither her nor her parents can speak anything other than English/French.
This does cause a slight problem as everyone thinks she's Chinese so blather on in Cantonese/Mandarin at her until they slowly trickle to a halt as she stares blankly back. Then the white girl chips in with "她不会说汉语"
The first day together we took the world's longest escalator up to the midlevels. Hong Kong is basically a collection of skyscrapers huddled along a coastline, with steep hills rising behind. Hence the escalator, which runs up in the day and evening and down in the morning rush hour. However when we reached the top we had to resort to walking and spent half an hour slogging up the steep slope to the top. We had to stop for a rest every two bins (there were bins at very regular intervals) as Cat was tired from flying and Becka and I are just wusses. Eventually we made the summit and were rewarded with a shopping complex of starbucks and haagen-dasz. We elbowed our way past mainland tour groups, grabbed some ice cream and took in the view. It was a fairly clear day so we could see quite far, once the Americans had moved. Then we pootled down the other side through some leafy woods before catching a bus to a district called Aberdeen- which had been a secret ambition of mine to visit. It's called Aberdeen!
We went to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and while the woman didn't seem to speak Mandarin, we got our meaning across. I asked for "xuebi", sprite, and she went "Ah! Sibbi!" which was close enough...
On our last day in Hong Kong Becka and I went to church for Easter Sunday. It was an Anglican one, St John's Cathedral, and as we arrived late, had to stand at the side. The service went on for ever so Becka bailed halfway and sat outside in the sun. I stayed to the bitter end and was rewarded with bits of blessed water flicked at me. It did go on a long time.
It provided a fascinating opportunity for people watching. There were the very devout Philipino looking women heads bowed praying as well as upper-middle class white people, with blond children in tow. The archbishop himself was running the show and had a beautifully colonial accent. He rhymed "whom" with "home". He kept taking his hat off, then putting it back on which require a vigorous flick to get the tassels to go the right way. Some of the service was read by an indian woman in a pink sari, other bits by a white man who had picked up somewhere that pauses=good reading so insisted on pausing for 5 seconds every sentence.
Afterwards we got posh chocolate and posh bread from a deli (a deli! Don't have those in Qingdao!) and went to a "park" near the church. I say park, it was a few metres squared. Becka and I found a rock to perch on by a pool and happily munched away and read the newspaper. We were surrounded by bunches of Hong Kongese women who were lolling around chatting, eating, playing cards and generally having a good time. There were groups of them everywhere, in every public space.
Not a single man.
It was lovely sitting in the cool shade, reading a non censored newspaper, surrounded by greenery, listening to the Hong Kongese women chatting away and shouting when one lost at cards.
Becka and I caught the metro back to Shenzhen. As we crossed the English signs gradually detoriated. People walked into us. People tried to con us. Children were going to the bathroom in public. Officials were no longer polite and helpful.
"Louise, what are we doing here? Why didn't we go to Hong Kong?" asked Becka.
Oh yeah we also went to Macao. The weather was awful and this, combined with a miserable restaurant meal, has turned me somewhat against it. It was quaint to see Portuguese on every sign-it is a joint official language- but the buildings were a bit bleak, including the tacky casinos everywhere. I was expecting more Portuguese style streets but it ressembled more what a 1980s industrial Portuguese town must have looked like.
When we got off the ferry the Chinese all headed straight to the slot machines while us three laowai pootled off to look at ruined churches. More money is spent on gambling in Macao than in Las Vegas. My mobile phone was bombarded with texts from casinos trying to lure me in.
At the border control was a portuguese looking official who spoke fluent Cantonese. He was very tall and handsome. And spoke fluent Cantonese. I am a little in love.
There were happy Christians giving out free hugs. I got one. However the poor guy couldn't let go of his Chinese aversion to body contact and it wasn't a very good hug.
And they're off!
The one thing I had been looking forward to doing in HK was go horse-racing. Every Wednesday at 7pm at the Happy Valley (so named because it used to have a high malaria death rate) track they have races. And last Wednesday at 7pm Becka and I were to be found sat in the members' enclosure, courtesy of a tourist ticket, clutching a "jar" of beer, a form book and our cameras. I diligently bet HK$10 on every race and ended up $34 down. Around 3 pounds. As I placed my bets, sliding my coin (coins! PRC doesn't really bother with them.) under the counter, the serious Hong Konger next to me would be shoving $100 dollar notes at the assistant. There was a room only for minimum bets of $5000. Gambling is very important business in Hong Kong.
The race track is rather spectacular as it is squished in against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers. At night their lights provide a fantastic view. The course is oval shaped and rather short- the longest race was 1800m- and the horses ranged from Hong Kong bred, to Australia and Europe. There was also a museum detailing the history. Originally they raced mongolian type horses but when it got serious they switched to thoroughbreds.
After careful perusal of the form book I set about betting. When my first horse came out, I got all excited. I had bet on each way. It came in fourth, by a nose hair. My luck did not really improve but two correct bets ensured I didn't lose too much...The people around me seemed to put more preparation in.
The horses would come out and walk around the parade ring first. We had an excellent view of this and once or twice I popped up to the rail to run an eye over my selection. Which was normally the one jumping around and sweating profusely as its lad swung from a rope. Then they would ping down to the start, except for mine which was normally humiliatingly ponied down by one of the four patient, if slightly annoyed, grey steeds. As it jumped around and sweated profusely. Then they would start and it was quite a sight to see the shiny horses speeding under the bright lights of a big city.
Then the winner would return to the ring. And mine would stroll back to its stable.
Becka and I had finished our 1st jar of beer and started on the 2nd. The last two races were to us singing Lady Gaga's greatest hits and having a merry time. I needed help getting home.
I love the last one of the guy in the suit and hat.
The race track is rather spectacular as it is squished in against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers. At night their lights provide a fantastic view. The course is oval shaped and rather short- the longest race was 1800m- and the horses ranged from Hong Kong bred, to Australia and Europe. There was also a museum detailing the history. Originally they raced mongolian type horses but when it got serious they switched to thoroughbreds.
After careful perusal of the form book I set about betting. When my first horse came out, I got all excited. I had bet on each way. It came in fourth, by a nose hair. My luck did not really improve but two correct bets ensured I didn't lose too much...The people around me seemed to put more preparation in.
The horses would come out and walk around the parade ring first. We had an excellent view of this and once or twice I popped up to the rail to run an eye over my selection. Which was normally the one jumping around and sweating profusely as its lad swung from a rope. Then they would ping down to the start, except for mine which was normally humiliatingly ponied down by one of the four patient, if slightly annoyed, grey steeds. As it jumped around and sweated profusely. Then they would start and it was quite a sight to see the shiny horses speeding under the bright lights of a big city.
Then the winner would return to the ring. And mine would stroll back to its stable.
Becka and I had finished our 1st jar of beer and started on the 2nd. The last two races were to us singing Lady Gaga's greatest hits and having a merry time. I needed help getting home.
I love the last one of the guy in the suit and hat.
First Impressions of Hong Kong
"Hey Becka, let's go to Hong Kong"
"Ok"
So we went to Hong Kong.
But first we flew to Shenzhen. Shenzhen, 深圳, means "deep ditch" apparently. And, er, it is a bit of a hole. It's where Hong Kong has plonked all of its mainland factories. It's also around 2 hours from Hong Kong island but in true Ryanair-esque fashion Becka and I flew there as it counts as an internal flight, and therefore is far cheaper than one to Hong Kong itself. Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, hence why flights there count as international.
Wait.
Becka and I caught a bus to the border with Hong Kong which took around an hour. The border point is known as 罗湖, which we read as Luo Hu, but that was known as Lo Wu in Hong Kong. Spot the Cantonese. We whizzed through various border checks. British citizens don't need to get a visa for HK, but, as Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, Chinese citizens still need a visa to visit. Almost like going to another country.
During these checks was the first time I've had a slight problem with my passport. In my opinion, and of those around me, I look very little like my passport photo. In the photo I have very dark hair and very dark brown eyes. I actually have blonde hair and blue eyes. No official has yet bothered with this but the Hong Kong ones, who take the time to do their job properly, looked a little confused and I had to take off my glasses and pull my hair back to reveal Me.
And then onto the metro and 40 minutes later we were wandering like lost lambs among the neon signs, and bustling crowds of Kowloon searching for Sincere House, Argyle Street. The streets in Hong Kong still maintain their original English names, all touchingly colonial like Argyle Street and Salisbury Place, with either Chinese transliterations or completely different names. I like this nod to Hong Kong's history. None of the roads in China retain their links with the past and are all named randomly after other cities, provinces or people. I think just about every city has a Zhongshan Park (Sun Yatsen to you and me).
Our room consisted of a tiny enclave with no window- which is to be expected in Hong Kong. Kowloon is one of the most densely populated places on the planet, and one of the most expensive, so even for a fairly large amount we weren't getting a lot. However it was clean and safe. And there was free wireless. So win.
Hong Kong is predominantly Cantonese speaking and uses traditional characters exclusively. This could get annoying as sometimes traditional characters are easy to read, but sometimes very difficult. Take 地鐵. This means metro. Note the second character. Compare to the mainland 地铁. 21 strokes as opposed to 10. As for 艺, why do the Hong Kongese bother writing 藝? Speaking was not much better as Cantonese, often misleadingly described as a Chinese dialect, is rather different to Mandarin. Which brings us to English, which was the language Becka and I tried first when needing to communicate. A lot of Hong Kongese speak English very well and it was noticeable how correct the English was in signs etc. When we were momentarily lost two locals helpfully led us the right way after saying "I'm afraid you have been misled". No one on the mainland would say that.
So Becka and I felt rather annoyed that our past two years of work weren't much use :P
Since Hong Kong was liberated or whatever the PRC calls it, Mandarin has been compulsory in schools. The metro speaks in Cantonese first, then Mandarin, then English. The impression I got was that most Hong Kongese don't bother with it.
One more thing was noticeably different from the mainland. Actually, lots of things were different. Hong Kong feels more like New York than China. But the biggest was the lack of censorship. There was a protest calling for the release of Ai Weiwei, the artist, from jail. The newspapers complain about the government and report the oppression of Tibetan monks. I don't need my vpn for facebook. I didn't realise how much I missed free speech.
"Ok"
So we went to Hong Kong.
But first we flew to Shenzhen. Shenzhen, 深圳, means "deep ditch" apparently. And, er, it is a bit of a hole. It's where Hong Kong has plonked all of its mainland factories. It's also around 2 hours from Hong Kong island but in true Ryanair-esque fashion Becka and I flew there as it counts as an internal flight, and therefore is far cheaper than one to Hong Kong itself. Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, hence why flights there count as international.
Wait.
Becka and I caught a bus to the border with Hong Kong which took around an hour. The border point is known as 罗湖, which we read as Luo Hu, but that was known as Lo Wu in Hong Kong. Spot the Cantonese. We whizzed through various border checks. British citizens don't need to get a visa for HK, but, as Hong Kong is an integral and inseparable part of the PRC, Chinese citizens still need a visa to visit. Almost like going to another country.
During these checks was the first time I've had a slight problem with my passport. In my opinion, and of those around me, I look very little like my passport photo. In the photo I have very dark hair and very dark brown eyes. I actually have blonde hair and blue eyes. No official has yet bothered with this but the Hong Kong ones, who take the time to do their job properly, looked a little confused and I had to take off my glasses and pull my hair back to reveal Me.
And then onto the metro and 40 minutes later we were wandering like lost lambs among the neon signs, and bustling crowds of Kowloon searching for Sincere House, Argyle Street. The streets in Hong Kong still maintain their original English names, all touchingly colonial like Argyle Street and Salisbury Place, with either Chinese transliterations or completely different names. I like this nod to Hong Kong's history. None of the roads in China retain their links with the past and are all named randomly after other cities, provinces or people. I think just about every city has a Zhongshan Park (Sun Yatsen to you and me).
Our room consisted of a tiny enclave with no window- which is to be expected in Hong Kong. Kowloon is one of the most densely populated places on the planet, and one of the most expensive, so even for a fairly large amount we weren't getting a lot. However it was clean and safe. And there was free wireless. So win.
Hong Kong is predominantly Cantonese speaking and uses traditional characters exclusively. This could get annoying as sometimes traditional characters are easy to read, but sometimes very difficult. Take 地鐵. This means metro. Note the second character. Compare to the mainland 地铁. 21 strokes as opposed to 10. As for 艺, why do the Hong Kongese bother writing 藝? Speaking was not much better as Cantonese, often misleadingly described as a Chinese dialect, is rather different to Mandarin. Which brings us to English, which was the language Becka and I tried first when needing to communicate. A lot of Hong Kongese speak English very well and it was noticeable how correct the English was in signs etc. When we were momentarily lost two locals helpfully led us the right way after saying "I'm afraid you have been misled". No one on the mainland would say that.
So Becka and I felt rather annoyed that our past two years of work weren't much use :P
Since Hong Kong was liberated or whatever the PRC calls it, Mandarin has been compulsory in schools. The metro speaks in Cantonese first, then Mandarin, then English. The impression I got was that most Hong Kongese don't bother with it.
One more thing was noticeably different from the mainland. Actually, lots of things were different. Hong Kong feels more like New York than China. But the biggest was the lack of censorship. There was a protest calling for the release of Ai Weiwei, the artist, from jail. The newspapers complain about the government and report the oppression of Tibetan monks. I don't need my vpn for facebook. I didn't realise how much I missed free speech.
2011-04-18
Market Harborough and Hisense Plaza, United in Snootiness
Hisense Plaza, the place that exists to help millionaires spend their cash on diamond studded ovens, also has a supermarket that makes Waitrose look like a soup kitchen for rats. Lower class rats. And what did I find there? Ye olde style boiled sweets in twee jam jars made in no less a distinguished a place than Market Harborough, Leicestershire.
Which reminded me of home. And suddenly I remembered what it was like to have green fields, blue skies, tea shops, independent newspapers, an intellectual discussion, cars with seatbelts... *pang*
I didn't buy them though- they were over 40yuan! A taste of home isn't worth that much...
My erhu teacher came today. My approach to learning the erhu is exactly like that to learning the violin. I spend more time feeling guilty over lack of practice than practising...
Another guilt pang came when 3/4 through class today Michael, American Korean, said he was going to The Diner to meet a Chinese friend. The Diner has pumpkin soup. Which I like. Class did not have pumpkin soup. So we flitted off at the break. Unfortunately lots of others also flitted off so the teacher will be taking a register twice next class...but I won't be there because tomorrow I'm off to the Bit That Is Definitely China despite the completely different language, visa system, currency, legal system, education....
A.k.a. Hong Kong...
Oh and Macau for a day. Macau always gets forgotten, doesn't it? Massive fanfare when Hong Kong returned to the PRC fold of joy in 1997 but did anyone notice Macau in 2001? Was it 2001? Wait, which place are we talking about again?
Which reminded me of home. And suddenly I remembered what it was like to have green fields, blue skies, tea shops, independent newspapers, an intellectual discussion, cars with seatbelts... *pang*
I didn't buy them though- they were over 40yuan! A taste of home isn't worth that much...
My erhu teacher came today. My approach to learning the erhu is exactly like that to learning the violin. I spend more time feeling guilty over lack of practice than practising...
Another guilt pang came when 3/4 through class today Michael, American Korean, said he was going to The Diner to meet a Chinese friend. The Diner has pumpkin soup. Which I like. Class did not have pumpkin soup. So we flitted off at the break. Unfortunately lots of others also flitted off so the teacher will be taking a register twice next class...but I won't be there because tomorrow I'm off to the Bit That Is Definitely China despite the completely different language, visa system, currency, legal system, education....
A.k.a. Hong Kong...
Oh and Macau for a day. Macau always gets forgotten, doesn't it? Massive fanfare when Hong Kong returned to the PRC fold of joy in 1997 but did anyone notice Macau in 2001? Was it 2001? Wait, which place are we talking about again?
2011-04-17
Western Food? In... Laoshan?
The centre of Qingdao centres on 市南,Shinan, City South, and 市北, Shibei, City North. I live in Shinan district along with my university campus. And every other interesting thing in Qingdao. There are the new, glossy financial centre skyscrapers, the 5 star hotels, the lamborghini shop, western restaurants, Korean cafes and Japanese supermarkets. Outside of this little oasis, the city of Qingdao stretches away, acres and acres of sad, ugly high rises punctuated by wasteland and building sites. At some point this fades away to the bit I call "zombieland", reason being it looks as though World War 3 has already happened. Every old, stone, one storey building appears to have been half-heartedly bulldozed and wizened human forms live in the bits still standing. The roads are made of brick and potholes. There is nothing green, except for the odd row of cabbages.
This is Laoshan district.
The edge of Laoshan district, the bit nearest the coast and the 21st century, is also where they decided to build Qingdao's concert hall, which is a rather beautiful modernistic design. Predictably, it was by western architects. It is rather indicative of the Chinese educational system and mind set that out of 1.3 billion people, they cannot find someone creative enough to design their showcase buildings.
Anyway yesterday we, that is a group of miscellaneous nationalities, went to see a Korean show at the concert hall. We went for dinner beforehand at a restaurant just opposite the hall. The restaurant was western style and owned by a Canadian and I was rather surprised to find something like that in Laoshan district. It's not what you expect. Slowly modern restaurants are creeping away from the safety of the Marina and financial district into the hinterland.
The Korean show was called Nanta. This means "crazy drumming". The show consists of 4 chefs and a maitre d' combining slapstick, magic shows, traditional drumming, and tango with preparing a meal. Using knives as drumsticks they play on chopping boards, while chopping vegetables. This is rather spectacular. And messy. All in all, though, it was a very enjoyable show, although not for the cerebral, with the added bonus of a very hot Man performer with long hair and biiig muscles who took his shirt off at the end.
I told my students that "diarrhoea" is the hardest word to spell in the English language and to ask their other teachers how to spell it just to see if they can:P
This is Laoshan district.
The edge of Laoshan district, the bit nearest the coast and the 21st century, is also where they decided to build Qingdao's concert hall, which is a rather beautiful modernistic design. Predictably, it was by western architects. It is rather indicative of the Chinese educational system and mind set that out of 1.3 billion people, they cannot find someone creative enough to design their showcase buildings.
Anyway yesterday we, that is a group of miscellaneous nationalities, went to see a Korean show at the concert hall. We went for dinner beforehand at a restaurant just opposite the hall. The restaurant was western style and owned by a Canadian and I was rather surprised to find something like that in Laoshan district. It's not what you expect. Slowly modern restaurants are creeping away from the safety of the Marina and financial district into the hinterland.
The Korean show was called Nanta. This means "crazy drumming". The show consists of 4 chefs and a maitre d' combining slapstick, magic shows, traditional drumming, and tango with preparing a meal. Using knives as drumsticks they play on chopping boards, while chopping vegetables. This is rather spectacular. And messy. All in all, though, it was a very enjoyable show, although not for the cerebral, with the added bonus of a very hot Man performer with long hair and biiig muscles who took his shirt off at the end.
I told my students that "diarrhoea" is the hardest word to spell in the English language and to ask their other teachers how to spell it just to see if they can:P
2011-04-16
God? Was that you?
I had a divine intervention today.
After studying and teaching for 9 hours yesterday, and then partying with my classmates until 2am in a Chinese club (hate Chinese clubs- no room to dance but I do get lots of free drinks), and then teaching this morning (owowowow) I had made a life-or-death dash to a western restaurant for their Soup of the Day (pumpkin) and lovely, lovely tea. I only had a small amount of time but I needed pumpkin soup and tea. Needed. Restoring me slightly, I caught the bus to my next place of work. As I was only going for one stop I just jumped on one I thought was going where I wanted. However when we reached my stop the bus just sailed on by. This caused me some misery. The next stop would mean a 7 minute walk to work instead of 1 minute. I had 2 minutes before class. My heart sank and I was full of woe...
But no sooner had I thought that life was losing its appeal, there was a loud BANG and a tire blew on the bus. It wobbled a bit before coming to a halt in a cloud of smoke, having travelled only 50m past where I had wanted to get off. Hardly believing my luck, I leapt off and buzzed off to work, leaving the bus driver and passengers to gather around the wheel and wonder why the westerner had shot off at such speed...
Convenient, no?
In other news, Starbucks gives you free cake if, having finished teaching at 8, you are sad enough to be still doing homework at 10pm in their cafe...like me...
Normally Sunday is my sacred day off. But I got a text from a friend's work saying they want me to go and substitute tomorrow because two of their teachers broke their legs when a stairwell collapsed under them, so I'm helping them out. Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?
After studying and teaching for 9 hours yesterday, and then partying with my classmates until 2am in a Chinese club (hate Chinese clubs- no room to dance but I do get lots of free drinks), and then teaching this morning (owowowow) I had made a life-or-death dash to a western restaurant for their Soup of the Day (pumpkin) and lovely, lovely tea. I only had a small amount of time but I needed pumpkin soup and tea. Needed. Restoring me slightly, I caught the bus to my next place of work. As I was only going for one stop I just jumped on one I thought was going where I wanted. However when we reached my stop the bus just sailed on by. This caused me some misery. The next stop would mean a 7 minute walk to work instead of 1 minute. I had 2 minutes before class. My heart sank and I was full of woe...
But no sooner had I thought that life was losing its appeal, there was a loud BANG and a tire blew on the bus. It wobbled a bit before coming to a halt in a cloud of smoke, having travelled only 50m past where I had wanted to get off. Hardly believing my luck, I leapt off and buzzed off to work, leaving the bus driver and passengers to gather around the wheel and wonder why the westerner had shot off at such speed...
Convenient, no?
In other news, Starbucks gives you free cake if, having finished teaching at 8, you are sad enough to be still doing homework at 10pm in their cafe...like me...
Normally Sunday is my sacred day off. But I got a text from a friend's work saying they want me to go and substitute tomorrow because two of their teachers broke their legs when a stairwell collapsed under them, so I'm helping them out. Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?
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