Nov 11 2009 - Kaifeng, Henan Province

A heavy fall of snow and a deep minus-2 degree chill feeding my bones toughened me up as I exited the train from Qingdao for my first day in Kaifeng. A long morning of settling in to my surroundings and lodging made its way into the afternoon, when I finally ventured out through heavy sleet to the Kaifeng Museum. A series of Chinese displays and ancient pottery and earthenware did little to impress me, due to my inability to read Chinese script. Nevertheless, the main reason I visited was to find out something more about the so-called lost Jews of this city, this ancient capital of China’s Song Dynasty.

Efforts to locate an apparent Institute for the Research of Chinese Jewish History apparently on location at the museum according to Lonely Planet were met with seemingly blank looks from the workers there - all they could indicate of the Jewish presence was the exhibition locked away on the fourth floor upstairs, which was only open upon request for a fee of 50yuan (entry to the museum itself is free). I pleaded for more information on the Jewish community in Kaifeng and some contact that I could speak to for more information, but was told in no uncertain terms they could not help me. It is true that the Internet has now reaped plenty of rewards on this account. Nevertheless, their reaction did impress me as fair enough – either they did not know anything, or were not meant to, and after twenty minutes of pressuring I was very content with that.

Making the journey up to the fourth floor was a lonely but intriguing ascent, accompanied by my vacant-looking, yet friendly, ‘interpreter’ and one very cool, old Chinese keymaster. No photos allowed, but not too much to really take photos of. Three exhibits in all – two large Chinese style inscription stones from the Jewish temple of Kaifeng (first destroyed around the 13th century, its replacement apparently destroyed by floods and to make way for the construction of the city wall in the 17th) and a ritual basin for washing of hands. My ‘interpreter’ told me some basic historical information I could have gleamed from a couple of paragraphs on the internet. The experience was an eerie one. Making the lonely ascent back down, our footsteps echoed through the still, silent corridors, then the clinking of the keys as the door locked behind me, it felt as if an unknown part of history was being concealed not only from me but the world itself.

Stories relate that a Jesuit priest in China met a man in Kaifeng who described himself as a believer in God and was found out to be an Israelite, though he had never heard of the word ‘Jew’ before. This seems interesting to me regarding what I have recently uncovered that many people believe Ashkenazi Jews to actually be descendants of Central Asian Kazhars who converted to Judaism and not in fact descendents of the Israelites of Palestine. Other information I have found online relates that Jews in Babylonian exile (supposedly Sephardics) may have felt disgruntled with their community and come through India and finally made their way to China. So the Jews of Kaifeng were Sephardic? History really is a mystery. Some know, others don’t, some believe they know, others know they don’t, and various intentions, good and bad, disguise the truth which slips away into the treasure trove of the past. Makes you wonder once again what is a Jew, who is a Jew, does it really matter, or how important it could be.

The next day I made my way to the old synagogue, which was now located inside the grounds of a hospital, and very easily found my way to Esther’s house, descendant of some of the last remaining Jews in Kaifeng. A narrow hutong labeled ‘Torah Lane’ in both Hebrew, English and Chinese at its entrance led its way finally to Esther’s grandmother’s house. The home was indeed part of the original synagogue itself and here Esther had set up a miniature museum, where she welcomed me very warmly and spoke in great English about the history of the Jews in Kaifeng and what little remained up until this day. As her old grandmother sat with her friends in the next room heavily focused on their game of ma jiang and nought else, Esther spoke to me with knowledge and pride about Kaifeng’s Jewish history and the importance of retaining the remnants of the old capital’s Jewish culture.

9 Sep 2007 - Xingping to Yangdi and back again

He was just a normal 12 year old boy with a passion for games and adventure, just a normal 12 year old Chinese boy who knew more than a few English words and phrases from his school in the village, but was too shy and nervous to try them, just a normal Chinese boy with a curiosity for all things foreign, including me. Yet he was also just a normal Chinese boy born into a village which provided him no real access to or opportunity to interact with the outside world - that is, until the tourist trail from China’s famous Guilin, with its picturesque riverside limestone karsts and once far cleaner environment, finally stretched its way first to the town of Yangshuo and then his own scenic hometown.

His name was … and he lived in Xingping, Guangxi Province, situated on the beautiful Li River in southern China, a place where I travelled to and spent three days. Then the house down the road from him situated beside the banks of the river turned itself into a guesthouse.. and later his family decided to also follow in their footsteps. I truly felt as if I must have been one of the very first guests, let alone foreign guest, to lodge in their home. The room was recommended to me by a relative who ran the before-mentioned guesthouse down the street, the four or so rooms were either freshly renovated or still under construction, while there was as yet still no sign or characters written out front the house to indicate guests could abide here.

Perhaps the family had invested much effort and capital into their new business with as yet no fruit born from it…and life was still very tough for this family of mother, father, grandfather, cousins, uncles, aunt, daughter… and son. Yes, … had a sister, an older one, and his parents were forced to pay up big money the 10 or so years ago when he, the second child, was born. His often drunk and over-proud father would refer to his one son as “Ba qian” or 8000, referring to the sum in Chinese yuan he was required to outlay on his son’s birth.

You could easily notice how … was so comfortable within the gentle company of his mother. She had welcomed me with a very Chinese reserved smile but an outstretched heart, and seemingly spent all her days toiling around the home washing, cleaning, gathering food, cooking…or helping me.

…’s father worked from dawn to dusk seven days a week beneath a thatched hut by the banks of the river that sold food, drinks and souvenirs. And when he returned at night to his family, he would find himself a certain refuge from reality with a certain rice wine he had been prodigiously brewing, he said, for the past three years out the back of their house. In many ways he was one of those normal Chinese men, at first reserved within the company of an outsider but soon enough boisterously happy and acting fiercely proud to be then walking alongside a foreign guest under the curious gaze of his fellow villagers. He was also a good Chinese father, earnestly guiding his son in attaining the skills to become a man, while at the same time granting him the freedom to learn to become one on his own.

It was this freedom that led him to, with a small wink and simple nod of his head to accede to his son’s excited intent to join his new foreign friend on my intended adventure to bicycle ride northward to the town of Yangdi. And it was this small, 12-year-old boy, who I at first perceived would turn out to be a huge burden, but whose irresistible gleam in his eyes I could not bear to dislodge, who turned out to be the most wonderful gem and inexpendable companion on my adventure.

But in fact, this was no boy. He was a young and courageous man, who earned the respect of numerous locals along the way, all amazed at the vision of his unfailing determination to follow his intended path. Young …led me along windy, bumpy tracks that never invited the use of a bicycle, let alone that of his rickety, rusted and ramshackle one that clanked and clattered consistently throughout the entire journey. He instructed me in the skills of procuring fruit and nuts from trees to satisfy our as yet unredeemed appetite, and in finding fresh springs to quench our thirst. He led me in the search for raftsmen to take us and our bikes across the river at the correct crossing points.

After making it into the town Yangdi and enjoying a ride round some of its little streets, we enjoyed a home-slaughtered, cleaned and cooked meal of chicken. And then with the sky starting to blacken and the evening encroaching, my young friend and I made our way back to the river to negotiate a ride home with the raftsman. We were not expecting that those encroaching black clouds would so soon give way to a severe storm that would leave only our particular bamboo raft, bicycles and all, pacing down the now frenetic currents of the Li River

We forged an inseparable companionship with our raftsman along the way, as the three of us all braved the torrents and heavy downfall. Though it was summer our drenched bodies had quickly become very, very cold, particularly. ...was only wearing a cheap set of plastic sandals, the thinnest of cotton shorts and singlet top, but he didn’t flinch. We were both on an incredible high…

…until finally, at the very moment the sky had immersed itself into a pitch black, the young man and myself, drenched, with muddied feet and grins of delight etched across our faces, trudged wearily up the footsteps of his family’s house.

But …’s joy of an amazing day with his friend was soon to turn to heartbreak on his arrival home. His inebriated father was apparently made to feel envious of the respect the young man was heaping on his new friend, and berated him every time he provided details of the feats we had achieved and obstacles we had overcome. My most awesome little friend was soon crying uncontrollably, his father acting oblivious to the significance of his son’s pain as he heaped abuse on him. And I could see that this was no happy family at all – that this boy lived in fear and, maybe even more so, his mother too. It was such a sad end to a beautiful friendship I had made with the boy, who was consequently scared to approach me for fear that his father would see and feel threatened once more. I knew I had to leave first thing the next morning and it broke my heart to do so. And I broke my promise to send … the photos we took that day, to which he was so looking forward – for fear that his father would not like them.

7 Sep 2007 - Xingping, Guangxi Province

I was searching for tranquility …and it seems to have found me. After a 13 hour train ride west to Guilin, I boarded the 1-hour bus to the backpackers’ haven of Yangshuo (where I, but even more evidently the ticket seller, created quite a scene after I chastised him for overpricing the laowai). But one hour in Yangshuo was enough – it was still too big for me, too touristy and too many touts followed my every footstep.

It was the right choice. I’m now in the quiet town of Xingping, nestled amongst the most amazing scenery of karst peaks you could ever imagine and lying along the banks of the Li River. Rows of ancient courtyard houses line the village’s cobbled lanes, old tanned women crouch on their footsteps, an obligatory photo of Mao smiles from the wall behind them. Local farmers pass by carrying meat, live or dead, for sale, the occasional motorbike skidding past, still-live poultry hanging from their handlebars. It’s an arresting scene after Beijing, Hong Kong and Shenzhen.

60 kuai a night grants me a view from my window only eyes could believe – a stretch of old black tiled rooftops resting beneath a skyline of forested karst peaks. It’s simply beautiful. Xingping shuts off its lights after 8, and the streets are quiet if not for the occasional murmur of footsteps fluttering by, just like the cool breeze from the river (..the same river that, combined with the mellow old man selling wares on its bank, has now armed me with my little slingshot.)

4-5 Sep 2007, Shenzhen

After four fascinating but ultimately uninspiring days in Hong Kong – and a new visa - I crossed the border back into China proper, at Shenzhen. It felt great. People were to-ing and fro-ing once more with that frenzied rhythm absent from a seemingly straightforward Hong Kong, the waitresses in the restaurant were comprehending my Mandarin, even the immigration officials glared at me with suspicion. He he - the old China!

But the feeling didn’t linger long. And now, already, even just the very name Shenzhen is starting to turn my blood cold.

I headed off to the cheap hostel suggested to me by Casey from the Peace Corps who I met as we both awaited our new China visas in Hong Kong.

At first it was the all-too-white super-clean interiors of Shenzhen’s subway system that seemed to immerse me in some kind of sterilised test tube; and was it idiosyncrasy or simply irony that the only advertisements appearing in my carriage were for mouth wash? Like their backdrop, the commuters’ expressions were blank and lifeless, seemingly bored with even the notion of a destination. It was horribly reminiscent of the book written by Aldous Huxley that always bothered me, and still does - ‘Brave New World’.

Yet it’s not merely the apparent cultural barrenness of this place that irks me. It’s also this American in the youth hostel which fate threw me beside as I wait now to find if I have a bed for the night. He’s been rambling about the wonder of Las Vegas. Now it’s college life and American football. And now I realise this is one of the two Americans Casey had warned me about. “You see, Shenzhen is a great place to live – it’s closer to civilisation. And there’s plenty of things to do in this city –you can go downtown to Subway or Starbucks, you can go and pick up cheap whores.” I tell him I want to see something Chinese - after all I am in China - to which he rapidly, and resoundingly, retorts, “Are you serious?”

Before I simply mash it up, I’m out of his face in a flash.

I spend the night – I meet a drug dealer, an uninteresting Australian and a pommy who gets so excited that I’m a reggae dj and plays me Shaggy! The next morning, I’m gone!

29 July 2007 - Compromise

Ultimate compromise - it’s a principle I have really struggled to come to grips with since arriving here in the Middle Kingdom. I’m off to South Korea to work on a two-week English camp!

Wed 6 Dec - Hutong face-off

I saw a funny thing today. While on my way to the subway station, I saw two cars having found themselves head to head smack bang in the middle of a narrow hutong only wide enough for one of them. But rather than either driver reversing to the end of the hutong so both could then go on their merry ways, both men creating a verbal collision by getting out of their cars to defend their right of way. Neither were backing down and, as I left them to their own devices, I really pitied the poor rickshaw driver who found himself caught between the two of them.

Face is a powerful thing, but it can also be an incredible waste of time. Development is happening fast in China, but old culture also slows things down. I often wonder if it’s not merely red tape, but old ways and culture that get in the way of China becoming an efficient modern state. Does the current China really fit with a modern Western economy? Or is it just moving too fast for the whole of its society to catch up to. Or am I simply displaying a Western bias? I would have just immediately backed up my car, but it seems this is not the way things are done in China.

7:48am Sat 30 Sep 2006

Well, another day, another yuan; and it’s Saturday - 7:48am. My colleague Lee is trying to fix my alarm clock on my new mobile phone. Not that the last one didn’t cause me any trouble. I believe it was sold as a kind of fake Sony Ericsson, in the local outdoor market in Dawang Lu. It had video, camera, mp3 music capability, but it was a hopeless experience and the problems never ended – once one problem was solved, another one would come to the core. Last weekend the shit hit the fan because on returning from Europe my clock had skipped back to 2005 and could not be changed, and then the alarm wouldn’t work either, even on 2005 time - which didn’t make the weekend shift at work easy. Getting colleagues and friends to wake me up at 1am Friday morning, 4am Saturday morning, 3pm Saturday afternoon, and 4am and 3pm Sunday didn’t pan out too well when my colleague woke up late and called me 10minutes into the shift on Saturday morning. (For your information, I live on the other side of the city from my work, which is a 5minute walk and half-hour taxi ride – or 10 minute walk and 45 minute subway ride - away. At 4am in the morning, subways don’t run, while taxis – or drivers who are awake - are not in abundance in my community). It also didn’t help when the screen on the phone turned white and I was unable to access any items on the phone, for example, make a call or send a message for extended periods of time.

I recall how upset I was with myself when I lost my last mobile phone in China, as I realized at that moment that my life was incredibly screwed up as a result. I couldn’t believe how dependent I had become on technology – no numbers, no way to be contacted by friends or work, no way to know when to wake up or when I should go to sleep (since I used it as a watch too).

Well, Lee’s had a look and so have I and the diagnosis is: the alarm simply doesn’t work. Well, at least I got a reminder application on the phone which does, and at least I took my friend advice and bought a Nokia, which is a reliable phone – except, in this case, it seems, for the bloody alarm function.

Sep 2006 Beijing

Since my last blog about the subway, I've now regained my consciousness of and respect for people – I’ll now stand up for them all - old men and women, parents with babies, sick and crippled people, even you (though I can't guarantee you'll get my seat). All of them! For God's sake, I did not come to this country to take some poor Chinese person's seat on the subway. God knows they've endured it more than I have.
And that brings me to another point... Us laowai just don't deserve it all - the special treatment, the foreign expert tag when all we do is know a foreign language, the 'Ni de Zhong wen shuo de hen hao' (你的中文说得很好) (when it certainly ain't even close to 'hao'). Why don't you just laugh, and hit us with some reality – "Ha, ha, your Chinese is really pretty bad, isn't it? Too bad they don't teach you in schools like our schools teach English. But I got to say, at least you give it a go, and I'm really pleased to see it.”

And for all you people who have never been a laowai in China gotta realise why we seem to complain and winge and go on about our lives here. I think the main reason is it because it can in fact be a real nuisance!!!! It's damn hard to know what the hell is going on, when if you ask "What's the weather like?" they'll tell you, “It’s not raining." When if you ask a Chinese for directions, they’d usually prefer to give some dodgy answer than admit they don’t know (then send you to God knows where!) Don't get me wrong (you have to think laterally!), I'm not simply bagging Chinese, not at all. It's our fault in fact, the Westerners, because we're so used to calling a spade a spade, we just find it incredibly difficult, frustrating, and on many occasions even completely futile, to understand what really the fuck is going on.......

So why do we stay?? And why do foreigners tend to spend longer than their originally intended stretches in this country, when often they just came with an idea to check out China, and not spend 5-10 years in the Middle Kingdom? When I was in Indonesia telling people I'd been living there for more than six months (I stayed for eight, in 2000) people would be so impressed. When I say I've been in China for almost a year, they consider me a baby. And they're right. The way it dawns on me is that since even the smallest thing can be the almightiest challenge (for example, it took me over six months to realise I was using the wrong washing powder), us foreigners get so excited at overcoming the challenge, that we think - "Yes! I got the washing powder. It took me six months, but I got it. Come on China, bring it on, man! Give us all you got! I can beat you."

For all you Chinese with poor English (and by the way that is NO reason not to use it!!!!!!!!!!) don't be fooled. 'Beat' does not mean I'm gonna beat up China, it does not imply it's my enemy or I don't like it. I'm saying China provides an almighty challenge to a foreigner, and that I'm gonna rise to it - I'm gonna take it on and deal with it and overcome it. And you know what, it's gonna make me a tougher, more resilient, and better person for it. So for all those laowai who've toughed it out and risen to the challenge, I salute you - you are the bomb! And to all those Chinese who don't understand what I'm saying, I salute you too, because I can relate (all too often I've felt exactly the same way). And to all those laowai, who just use China as a tool to make yourself feel special and important, please be real – fuck off and go home.

19 Aug 2006 Beijing

Man, what a ride. I'm now working on the propaganda wing of China's information mission - on the so-called 'News and Reports' program of China Radio International. I've been here three and a half months. Sounds glamorous - it's not. It's claustrophobic, that's what it is. I don't even understand how I ended up here - surely, it's some kind of fate. But shit, what an education! It's been tough - for people so damn sensitive about every word, and then my job particularly to give them the credibility they worship by way of my native tongue, it's an ironic bridge to standing on. I dreamed I could even meet them halfway, but recent weeks have clearly demonstrated that is not the case. I know I got the power to make subtle downgradings of their pride and subjectivity without notice, and to shock if push comes to shove, but this job is truly amazing...

I'm seeing the censorship right before my eyes on a daily basis. I can see the chain of command from here to the Information Ministry. I am learning how Chinese deal with one another. And fuck, it is different! It's a different world. They talk behind your back, make their own judgments based on what are their own judgments of the situation, which are wrong because they still don't understand us. I guess you're gonna say but I also don't understand them - well, sure, that's a given - didn't you already know it? I've got into 'trouble' for objectivity and truth already on a few occasions. I got into 'trouble' for mentioning Raul Castro was Fidel's brother - when he is! - because they're concerned mentioning the word brother implies a fellow Communist country was engaged in an illegitimate transfer of power. All the Chinese staff had the message delivered to them at a prior meeting, but not us laowai of course. But I got my arse chopped up for that one too, when it is a basic problem of cross-cultural communication. It was a four-way line of communication before it even came to my attention. But the hypocricy is mind-boggling when they're using the western-biased Associated Press as their only source of international news, though they often check facts off the CNN running show on big screens in the news room. This country is crazy. (BBC's website, by the way, is blocked here - though you can see the home page and receive audio.)

Then there is the army barracks of the PLA (People's Liberation Army) right in our compound, next to our food hall in fact. The often haunting quietude of our news room (what a - Western - paradox! and with more than 30 staff in the room) is frequently disturbed by the left-right, left-right of regular army drills down below as they circle the building. I thought it was bad being locked in a Jakarta building during student demonstrations for democracy in 1999 with the TNI camped outside. I just realised the comparison, and this is on a daily basis too - haha!

I'm under pressure to get the English in a high order before time to record - of course it's not live, no possible fucking way - this is Communist China! (note the caps) So now I have no choice but to lower my standards to keep in good stead with the people in control here [though I am currently not]: producer to news director to station manager to director of CRI. From then up, the next stage seems to be the ministry, based on the current Deputy Minister for Information's career path. No, I haven't met the director Yang Lei, and he hasn't met me. I guess that's not what goes on here - communication between staff and management - who fucking knows? But it doesn't seem to be the case.

Certainly things are now quiet for me since I shut up. My colleague Jenny says I should be submissive, my other colleague Lee says the only way to deal with it is just shut up because there’s no way you’re ever gonna change their mind no matter what they think. So they are going to misjudge, miscommunicate, misinterpret and there's nothing I can do, except decide not to care. I know they think I got something they need even in this present role where I’m not particularly trained or experienced, and they’re using me to officially represent their proud China to the world. But for them it's that, against the risk of a foreigner who will speak his mind - in a country where laowai are naturally cynical. Their mission is credibility, so surely they know I'm a risk. I do.

18 Aug 2006 Beijing – Into the jaws of the city

They gather as swarms of ants positioned insecurely on the precipice of…someone's certain death, somewhere down the line. With other factors behind the scenes, like the lack of an adequate public transport system in one of the world's most dense metropolises, with every thrust and bit of early morning force they can muster, they surge into the jaws of the city to pounce on their prize.

Don't panic - it's just a part of everyday life here in China's capital - the peak-hour subway ride. But I'm scared - what is happening to me? I can safely recall that bar on one occasion (when I just couldn't be fucked to endure it) I have managed to seize a seat in the peak-hour ride from my home in the east to my workplace 19 stations out west. Today, as I occupy my seat, I’m aware of one pretty girl who has noticed, as the transformed laowai conforms himself to the laws of the jungle. With strategic positioning of arms, legs and carry bag, the laowai has himself lurched through those city jaws and selfishly pounced. Her all-too-piercing, yet sweet grin delivers me the realisation of how fast my legs just strode through the chasm and how fixed was my determination to acquire the saving grace of a seat. She seems a bright spark in a sea of mostly unpleasant curiosity.

Now I can only just spot her, two metres away and directly opposite on the other side of the carriage. But her beautiful nature is confirmed in my mind as she slowly melts into a sweet slumber, with a trained power to obliviate from her senses the intense reality all around her. I know she, like me, pounced on her seat after a careful set of manoeuvres and force, which commenced as soon as she hit the platform. But she is subconsciously aware, and as she wakes five stops later and peers again my way, she seems now only slightly curious - there's far more on this young girl's mind. One of 14 million (or is it 20?) she has a soul, she has her hopes and dreams. As she tries to forget the challenges of her situation, can this city - this country for that matter - afford so many hopes and dreams? Can it? Well, come on - take a seat back. It can't. Development has to crack. And when a state religion cracks, does that not mean the seeds of a revolution? For certain there are a multitude of seeds, but it seems they keep growing into genetically modified plants. But surely the fertiliser is going to run out.

This place, with all its force and power, still remains one big, gigantic mystery.

Her look is indecisive and completely uncertain as she departs the train at the second junction on the loop line, having to confront and weave through the swarm of surging beasts into the carriage. What other hardships must she endure before reaching her office cubicle?

13 Aug 2006 - It’s a different place here

When I came here six years ago, I had an incredible sense of difference. I’d been in Indonesia for six months then - and it’s not Australia of course, but when I got here I felt I was really on the other side of the world. Bewildered and without the ability to speak, there was still a sense of harmony, symmetry, a feeling that this place was a little bit the same wherever you travelled across this great stretch of land that one could - unlike Indonesia. It felt like another world. Well, I’m back - it’s been 10 months in Beijing, and it still does. Now this city just seems so far so far from home. In fact, the more you know, the more you realise it’s just a different world here. People often speak English, they sometimes drive their cars and they all have a mobile phone - but these aren’t the things that cultures are traditionally built on. Yes, they renew cultural evolution - they bring us together in unfathomable ways. But the core elements underlying people’s behaviour are still a longer history, especially in China.

How many more mobile phones and Olympic stadiums will it take to let the Chinese feel they’ve finally caught up to the rest of the advanced world, and can finally regain their pride after their continual beating by the West, Japan…and 1989? It’s still a mystery. People are certainly wiser than before to what it takes to deal with the outside world, but the pride is still fierce, and so far it’s holding it altogether. Development is the national religion. Its opponents are shut up.

10 Feb 2006 - Confusion or Confucian?

Lots of snow in Beijing!

Just been Jiang nan - south of the river Yangtse - into a milder climate and even some rain again for the very first time since my first couple days in Shanghai 4 long months ago. Houses and hills, patches [but no swathes] of green; still factories and ramshackle China too. Warmly welcomed in Hangzhou and Shaoxing and blessed to be guided through some of its culture and scenic beauty by a wonderful host. Such a retreat from Beijing, especially Shaoxing - I want to go back.

Not for my lost suitcase that is! Spent another day in lovely Shaoxing and an unforgettable time with the traffic police on the prowl for the missing piece of laowai luggage in the boot of a taxi - telephoning all 20 taxi companies in Shaoxing - so they said [are there really 20?] - and putting the ad on the traffic radio: that they certainly did! Ha - such fine treatment :) But I wonder how the refugees are handling things right now in Western police stations?

Then back six years later to Mike and Zhong's family [now in the town of Xiangshan - Elephant Mountain, formerly Shipu], the ever-humorous Da Ge, off to Mike's engagement banquet in Ningbo - an incredulous display of Chinese pomp and tradition.. for Mike's sake, I should say I guess the food was good [well, damn good! shark fin's soup and lobster and what not, the seafood delicacies of his hometown of coastal Shipu [Ningbo's own extravagant Shipu Restaurant] But the atmosphere felt strange, the table so big that one could barely get a word across to anybody more than two places way, which meant 1/Mike and laoban grandpa did all of the talking 2/ Grandma subordinate did absolutely none; and 3/ Mike’s mum and his in-laws to be said nothing to each other over the course of the dinner. Zhong and Dan Dan's younger cousin attempted to clarify how it wasn’t appropriate to be comfortable at this dinner.. how fucking strange, while at the same time the to-be-groom must endure countless glasses of wine toasted to him and risk getting completely off his rocker. Then shocked to learn that my gift of very traditional and engagement-appropriate Shaoxing wine was handed over to laoban Grandpa [of Dan Dan] at none of my doing…even though I personally handed it to the fiancées before the meal. What was I going to do in a scene of centuries-old appropriacy - snatch it back with my bare hands?

There's one thing China is certainly not - easy-going! Fuck, I love my country!

Li family guanxi from the Ningbo tax office paved our way in their city with a room in the Tax Department's office building itself and another over-extravagant - and utterly wasteful - lunch [not that I could stomach much] Mr Huan likes to stare at me like an alien. And even while he offers for me to travel the country with him - must be on a tax rort - how could I spend that money or put up with such treatment? That's not why I came to China. Even in Ningbo! - according to Mr Huan, "on the list of the 6th richest cities in China"! I certainly couldn't care less. Unfortunately masses and masses in China do.

They're moving, that's for sure.. so why shouldn’t I try and push the steering wheel too :)

Jan 2006 Beijing - Decision Time

3.5 months into my stay here: Where's the reggae? Oh my God. My Chinese manager insisted I was wrong when I called Beijing a desert... but what would she know! Well, not a desert perhaps... but there are similarities. Hilarious - I wonder who understands me or doesn't think I’m a fool. How different it is here - the concrete scenery, the people, the society!!! And then there's the fact I don't know the language - ha ha...out of your comfort zone and into China's capital. This place is moving...

Then again, China is sterile. In most ways this place is still in a consistent state of "I’m too scared to take the risk of being real." It cements the system. How can so many people compromise in so many ways? I can appreciate the tolerance factor, but I reject the principles.

21-10-05 Beijing

Today I saw a car indicate to change lanes - what a shock! Then I finally saw an accident on the way home from work - well, not the actual accident itself, but the aftermath and a standoff between two young couples, with one girl pleading with her boyfriend to calm down as he was gesturing to take on the other guy. Hung around for a minute or so (as were others), waiting for the fisticuffs to take place, but it seemed the girl in question had her way, and I became sick of waiting.

19-10-05 My email back home

Date: Wed, 19 Oct 2005 13:34:05 +1000
Subject: Gday from Beijing!

First of all, Qantas was impressive. Had a plan to sleep all the way, but must say this primary objective got somehow diverted by the fact that I got excited by the DVD screen in front of me and the free alcohol. I watched two excellent movies - one about the last days of Hitler, and an absolutely brilliant Chinese flick called House of the Flying Daggers - both very highly recommended. Had a feeling that this time round - as opposed to my last venture OS, I might have 'matured' a tad and now be prone to a few more "creature comforts" as I would not have even dared to consider last time round. Still the same old Dave, with an appreciation and high regard for the simple things in life and relative disregard for the high-brow - but hey, what the hell!

Arrived in Shanghai in excitement and left the airport with an overwhelming sense of familiarity with the chaos and complexities of Chinese society. Great to be back. First was the haggling over the price for the taxi and then the crazy ride into town at a million miles an hour on those huge Chinese expressways, and complete awe at the length and breadth and sheer height of the Shanghai skyline. I spent a few days in Shanghai, where I hooked up with a couple of foreigners -the best form of assistance in a world awash with Mandarin. Did some touristy things like checking the Bund - the old British colonial area with overlooks the Huang Pu river and the new city Pudong on the island across. Pudong, as some may know, is a city from the next century, or perhaps the film 'Fifth Element' with Bruce Willis comes to mind.
It is mind boggling. Have you ever seen a skyscraper where maybe 30 floors comprise a video screen that plays advertisements for the city and the limitless amount of monster companies who have leveled their feet in the city of the future?

Anyway certainly the highlight of my time in Shanghai was my trip out to the Chinese Propaganda Art Museum. Can't imagine that a place like this would exist in the political capital of the controlled 'communist' state, and even in Shanghai, the city leaning to the West further than the Tower of Pisa, such an establishment was housed in the basement of a non-descript apartment block that even after I entered the gate took me at least 20min to locate. Here resided relics of Mao China - hundreds, if not thousands of relics of propaganda posters, calling upon the three pillars of Chinese Communist society - the peasants, workers and army - to stay true to the cause, telling people to practise birth control for the Revolution, praising fellow communists like Marx and Lenin, denigrating the capitalist enemy - guess who? - and imperialist Japan, and featuring Mao Zedong as the God figure and epitome of all that is good in the world. First I was led into another room, away from the first where I entered, and then finally came back into the original room where at the end of my experience I discovered that some of the posters were displayed in racks, ones like you might find in a poster store in Sydney, and on closer inspection - YES! they were for sale. Poor Mao - all that effort for this! In fact, it really makes you feel for the countless older generation of Chinese who suffered and endured so much in their lifetime, eventually to see it all fall apart in a wash of enterprise. Shanghai is amazing, but then again, Beijing is the heart and soul and political capital of China and that's where I want to be.

So here I am now, in Beijing. The high-life and enterprise and economic adventure has made its way here too - in a HUGE way. This place has grown and developed so much since last time I was here five years ago, it is truly astounding. Not that you can pick out the exact details - as the city is enormous and its wide avenues stretch on seemingly for ever and ever. When my good friend Michael has found some minimal time away from his busy corporate life, he has showed me some of the high life here in Beijing - truly swanky, swanky bars and clubs, flashy hotels and restaurants - and then when I’m alone I prefer to explore and - eventually - blend in with the more traditional Chinese way of life....blend in – I must be kidding.

For instance, hitting the little restaurants where the Chinese gather for their most favourite pastime - eating. This is where you get a real 'taste' of the Chinese - eating is one of the highlights of any Chinese experience, but it is certainly not just the food itself- it’s the noise, the clatter, their sheer enjoyment, the smoking and spitting and slurping and eating with mouths wide open that would make my mother - with her fine British pedigree - run for cover! Love it.

Then there's the well-to-do Shanghainese and Beijingers with their new pride in cars (I was told by a well-to-do and English-speaking BMW car salesman that Chinese people these days want to buy a car before they buy an apartment or house; while I whispered in his ear that we both knew what was the better investment). And their pet dogs - nearly all no bigger than a large corgi, countless variations of schnauzers and bulldogs and the incredibly ugly Chihuahua - no offence to the millions of Chinese who might have one, and of course the dogs themselves - but they are ugly and I’d be afraid they’re gonna be stepped on or squashed somewhere down the line.

Then you have to get used to the walking on the right side of people when they pass and dealing with the traffic - a mish mash of cars and trucks and buses and minivans and bicycles and motorised bicycles and rickshaws and carts and pedestrians - you name it. And keep your eyes on all this convoluted traffic. And have a sense of proportion when viewing the green walk sign that might indicate the time is right to cross - and keep your head swiveling in all directions for the sake of life. But I must admit, the Chinese are brilliant at it - absolutely brilliant - and culturally adventurous Dave is getting pretty damn good at it too. Then again, what choice is there?

6-10-05 Contradicted in Shanghai

Shanghai, what an amazing city! I mean truly amazing - I have never seen anything like it. Yes, I have been here before, and yes, it sort of blew my mind back then, but that experience was not as I would have liked -being carted around from lunch to shopping for a jacket for Mike to up to the top of the Pearl Tower Observatory, a speedy walk along the Bund, another lunch, a visit to a family friend and then onto the train and out of there. This time I was on my own and in control - well, is or can anybody in fact be in control in a place like such as Shanghai? Perhaps Tokyo could possible compare in scope to the sheer size, commotion, hustle and bustle - I am yet to see - but can anywhere else? The fact that this country - and therefore Shanghai is officially communist can not in a million years stand up to reason.

At least on the surface, Shanghai appears to be the most heavy and in-your-face example of pure capitalism gone mad. One walk down Nanjing Lu - the spritzy shopping strip across from the Bund - the old British colonial area - must surely register emotional responses amongst anyone unfamiliar with it. Whether you feel shock, intrigue, exasperation, delight or pure awe (which is what I felt), Nanjing Lu is a street to experience. Perhaps the street was even more congested than usual, due to the fact that I walked down it during the Chinese National Holiday season – one whole week - 7 days - of national holiday for the whole country to commemorate the victory of Communism in China, while every retailer and his dog uses the chance to sell, sell, sell, sell, sell! It is an amazing contradiction. Row upon row of red Chinese flags lining Nanjing Lu while the - perhaps I would say 1/2 a million at a time - people shop, spend and consume.

It is truly amazing. How many times would Mao Zedong be turning over in his grave at this, or the sight of the new city Pudong rising from across the Bund. An amazing scene, when you consider that the extraordinary phenomenon of capitalism and modernity that is Pudong - glittering with video screens advertising companies and tens and tens of stories high on the sides of skyscrapers - itself inversely overlooks the Bund, whose architecture is that of what one may consider the origins of capitalism - in this case, the British –for conquest, wealth and power.

I topped off my experience of Shanghai with a visit to the Shanghai Propaganda Art Centre. Here, once I eventually found the place nestled in a basement of yet another inconspicuous apartment block in the city, I was led off into a room where resided dozens of pure Mao propaganda posters, and then, only after permitted to visit the second of rooms where – yes – Mao’s posters were for sale!