Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Snow in Xian - for one day, at least
A few weeks ago we had some very heavy if short-lived snow, making the usually grey urban mass a fantastic white. Riding my scooter home from work at 8.30 at night along the City Wall through the snow was one of the nicest experiences I've had in Xian...
Winter solstice - beware your ears
Yesterday was Dongzhi, or the middle day of winter. And it was also the day I appeared in the Shaanxi Daily. Click the link below:
http://www.sxdaily.com.cn/data/bsxakb/20091223_9775744_2.htm
The person next to me is a friend, opposite are two of her friends. All very innocent. And yes, a lack of regular physical activity has made me fatter, although in my defence, the angle is unfavourable and that pose was deliberate...
The Chinese text of the story reads as follows:
"Yesterday was Dongzhi, which means, as the saying goes, 'If you don't have a bowl of dumplings, no-one will sympathise with you if your ears freeze and fall off'. [My translation perhaps leaves a lot to be desired.] In the area around Dachejia Street [the street I live on] and the Xiangzi Temple, all the restaurants were thronging with people, with long queues stretching out the door. This excitement also attracted foreigners. This foreign chap is enjoying his dumplings on Dongzhi just like us Chinese!"
Google Translate produces a slightly different version, perhaps showing that computers can't do everything:
“Yesterday was the 24 integrity of the winter solstice, folk known as "the winter solstice misconduct dumplings bowl, frozen out Ear nobody, "the folk. The day, reporters in the cart Wenjiaxiang Xi'an, Hunan several sub-Temple Street The shop selling dumplings, dumplings and saw people who's interest is high, and everyone at the door waiting in a long Long. This lively scenes are infected with a foreigner. You see, the foreign dignitaries and the Chinese people, like the Winter Solstice dumplings to eat something!”
Apologies for the infection...
Yesterday I think I had about ten to fifteen people ask me if had eaten jiaozi (dumplings). Being a foreigner and generally nonplussed by festivals of all denominations, I figured I could take the risk of my ears falling off. But in the evening a friend phoned me up and said they were at a restaurant near my flat. It turns out I go past this restaurant every day, but names of restaurants are even harder to remember than Chinese people's names.
The three of them had waited for ages to be seated, and they called me just when they were getting a table. The restaurant has cannons outside and is adorned on the inside with pictures of emperors and replica clothing from the Qing Dynasty. Given the relationship in the past between the Qing Dynasty, Britain and cannons, I stayed away from mentioning the theme of the restaurant. Minimum expenditure per person was 40 kuai, comfortably exceeding my prediction. I don't like ordering food for other people, so I left the three of them to ensure 160 kuai was well spent.
The food was actually excellent, as it usually is. The same greenery (cauliflower, cabbage) that gets cooked in England and tastes awful tastes much better when it emerges from a Chinese kitchen. The suffering English children endure with greens during their childhood is not a misery inflicted upon their Chinese counterparts. There was also some beef on a bone. You put in a straw in the bone and drink the juices, then don some plastic see-through gloves and knaw away at the meat. It was actually very good once I had managed to put the gloves on.
Halfway through, I noticed a photographer taking some photos. Being the token foreigner in the restaurant, it was pretty obvious what he wanted - a picture of a waiguo pengyou (foreign friend) eating jiaozi on Dongzhi and holding his chopsticks badly. He took quite a lot, and I'm impressed, and of course grateful, that he managed to choose such a bad photo.
Conversation was the usual unfilling pap. My friend is okay but her two friends were a fairly common type of female university student - immature, no personality, a bad case of Little Emperor attitude and zero sense of humour. After finding out I've been here for two and a half years, they then asked me if I could use chopsticks. A silly question deserves a sarcastic response. I said no, and when I did use them, they were flabbergasted. In situations like these (which occur all the time), I can go a whole evening just humouring myself. It sounds rude, but it's either that or talking about mobile phones or brand name bags or the difference between American English and British English and other incredibly tedious topics.
But getting your photo in the provincial daily – not bad, that.
STOP PRESS: I've just spent the entire evening walking around the centre of Xian. After going to 12 newspaper stands, one bookshop and two hotels, I discovered that my photo has appeared in the worst selling newspaper in the entire province. Of all 15 places, only one had three old copies of the Shaanxi Daily. The answer for this was explained to me by the owner of the last newspaper stand - it's the official Party paper, so no one reads it. Given the unflattering photograph, perhaps this is a good thing.
http://www.sxdaily.com.cn/data/bsxakb/20091223_9775744_2.htm
The person next to me is a friend, opposite are two of her friends. All very innocent. And yes, a lack of regular physical activity has made me fatter, although in my defence, the angle is unfavourable and that pose was deliberate...
The Chinese text of the story reads as follows:
"Yesterday was Dongzhi, which means, as the saying goes, 'If you don't have a bowl of dumplings, no-one will sympathise with you if your ears freeze and fall off'. [My translation perhaps leaves a lot to be desired.] In the area around Dachejia Street [the street I live on] and the Xiangzi Temple, all the restaurants were thronging with people, with long queues stretching out the door. This excitement also attracted foreigners. This foreign chap is enjoying his dumplings on Dongzhi just like us Chinese!"
Google Translate produces a slightly different version, perhaps showing that computers can't do everything:
“Yesterday was the 24 integrity of the winter solstice, folk known as "the winter solstice misconduct dumplings bowl, frozen out Ear nobody, "the folk. The day, reporters in the cart Wenjiaxiang Xi'an, Hunan several sub-Temple Street The shop selling dumplings, dumplings and saw people who's interest is high, and everyone at the door waiting in a long Long. This lively scenes are infected with a foreigner. You see, the foreign dignitaries and the Chinese people, like the Winter Solstice dumplings to eat something!”
Apologies for the infection...
Yesterday I think I had about ten to fifteen people ask me if had eaten jiaozi (dumplings). Being a foreigner and generally nonplussed by festivals of all denominations, I figured I could take the risk of my ears falling off. But in the evening a friend phoned me up and said they were at a restaurant near my flat. It turns out I go past this restaurant every day, but names of restaurants are even harder to remember than Chinese people's names.
The three of them had waited for ages to be seated, and they called me just when they were getting a table. The restaurant has cannons outside and is adorned on the inside with pictures of emperors and replica clothing from the Qing Dynasty. Given the relationship in the past between the Qing Dynasty, Britain and cannons, I stayed away from mentioning the theme of the restaurant. Minimum expenditure per person was 40 kuai, comfortably exceeding my prediction. I don't like ordering food for other people, so I left the three of them to ensure 160 kuai was well spent.
The food was actually excellent, as it usually is. The same greenery (cauliflower, cabbage) that gets cooked in England and tastes awful tastes much better when it emerges from a Chinese kitchen. The suffering English children endure with greens during their childhood is not a misery inflicted upon their Chinese counterparts. There was also some beef on a bone. You put in a straw in the bone and drink the juices, then don some plastic see-through gloves and knaw away at the meat. It was actually very good once I had managed to put the gloves on.
Halfway through, I noticed a photographer taking some photos. Being the token foreigner in the restaurant, it was pretty obvious what he wanted - a picture of a waiguo pengyou (foreign friend) eating jiaozi on Dongzhi and holding his chopsticks badly. He took quite a lot, and I'm impressed, and of course grateful, that he managed to choose such a bad photo.
Conversation was the usual unfilling pap. My friend is okay but her two friends were a fairly common type of female university student - immature, no personality, a bad case of Little Emperor attitude and zero sense of humour. After finding out I've been here for two and a half years, they then asked me if I could use chopsticks. A silly question deserves a sarcastic response. I said no, and when I did use them, they were flabbergasted. In situations like these (which occur all the time), I can go a whole evening just humouring myself. It sounds rude, but it's either that or talking about mobile phones or brand name bags or the difference between American English and British English and other incredibly tedious topics.
But getting your photo in the provincial daily – not bad, that.
STOP PRESS: I've just spent the entire evening walking around the centre of Xian. After going to 12 newspaper stands, one bookshop and two hotels, I discovered that my photo has appeared in the worst selling newspaper in the entire province. Of all 15 places, only one had three old copies of the Shaanxi Daily. The answer for this was explained to me by the owner of the last newspaper stand - it's the official Party paper, so no one reads it. Given the unflattering photograph, perhaps this is a good thing.
Oscar breakthrough
Following my appearance on provincial television in March 2008, a few weeks ago I was asked to take part in a 25-minute discussion programme about female university students wanting to be the mistresses and "er nai" (private prostitutes) of rich men. And following that, I was phoned up by different people from the same channel who wanted to make another programme. It's just this sort of random interesting opportunity that crops up now and then that retains my interest in living in this overcrowded country.
Every night on Shaanxi TV 2 there's a 30-minute mini-soap, different every night, all made by amateurs. Collectively they are known as bai shi. I took part in one back in 2007. Everyone speaks in local dialect, which varies from being very similar to standard Mandarin to completely unintelligible, especially to me. The point is that the stories reflect the lives of the average person, or laobaoixing (old hundred names). The programme I was to take part in was a mock Oscars-style awards ceremony, and there were to be six judges, with me being one of the judges by virtue of the fact that I am a foreigner who can speak some Chinese and was available for filming.
When I met two of the station personnel in Starbucks two weeks before to discuss it, they told me that Furong Jiejie (The Lily Sister) would be one of the other judges. She is the equivalent of a Z-list celebrity, somebody from this province who became famous via the internet for being ugly, wearing tight horrible clothes and performing a series of poses and dances ranging between silly and vomit-inducing. The show was to be filmed over three afternoons, with three awards per day, and will be broadcast over three different days over Chinese New Year on Shaanxi TV 2 - potential audience, 60 million (likely audience, much, much lower).
I turned up on Tuesday morning for rehearsals, which involved me watching the opening performance and doing nothing else. For each of the three days there was a fairly elaborate act involving the presenters, nominees for the awards and various dancers. There was also an in-house band, complete with electric drumkit, keyboard for making amusing noises when something funny was said and an array of interesting outfits, my favourite being on day two when they dressed up like Viennese aristocrats. The judges - myself, Furong, a film director, a comedian, a professor of arts and a representative from the show's sponsor – got to sit back and watch the on-site director getting in a flap when the nominees, all amateur actors, stood in the wrong place and didn't move when they were supposed to.
For most of the awards, the actors would introduce themselves, then we the judges would vote for who to get rid of. Then the audience (30 or so people on either side behind each of the two rows of judges) would have their say. Some of the awards included some secretly filmed clips where the nominees had been set up and covertly filmed, Jeremy Beadle style. Then the actors and presenters and judges would have some easy back-and-forth light-hearted banter about who should win and why, then we would have the final vote and present the awards (a clear plastic Oscar-like trophy and a piece of tarted up A4 masquerading as a certificate).
The most entertaining category was the Male Impersonating A Woman, which involved some humorous alternative uses for mantou (steamed buns). Some of the other categories, though, failed to get the atmosphere going, particularly when for one prize only one nominee turned up. It's also evident that amateur actors doing comedy is much more successful than amateur actors doing serious acting. With the overall nature of the show being a cross between a variety show, talk show and prize-giving ceremony, it was quite difficult to really get into it. I replied when asked, made a few light-hearted comments (most of which were drowned out by the accompanying keyboard sounds), but didn't 'shine' as I think I would have liked to. My career in provincial television hangs in the balance.
I didn't do myself any favours after filming on the final day, either. I was talking slightly nervously to the male presenter, Shitou (a very big cheese in Shaanxi province), and some other people outside in the car park. I have a tremendous habit of missing a key sentence at a key time. He said something about going to dinner with the other guys. However, I didn't really catch it, and assumed he was talking to the other people, which looking back on it is unlikely. So that was another chance missed. Although at least I did get a phone number, so we live and hope.
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
Riding a scooter in Xi'an
Winter cracked into action today, producing clear nostrils, cold fingers, stinging ears and a quickened step. I had the first three, but not the last, because as the proud new owner of a Xinri Electric Scooter, I don't have to walk to the bus stop. Instead, I can cruise past it on my way to work in coal-powered, psuedo-environmentally friendly silence.
I’ve been waiting a long time to buy one. My research told me that Xinri was the most reliable make, and if the adverts painted on the sides of the 704 bus are anything to go by, it appears Jackie Chan also drives a Xinri. That effectively was a deal clincher for me.
It comes with five different methods for locking it. Mostly I only have to use two, because my flat and workplace have secure parking places, and there are plenty of makeshift ‘bike parks’ around the city where you pay 1 kuai (10p) and get it looked after. However, leave it outside in an unfortunate position and that may be the last I see of it.
It also comes with a sort of rain cover that you drape over yourself when riding in rain. Whenever it rains, Xian becomes dotted with people wearing an assortment of different-coloured plastic sheets whizzing through puddles. Only at the third attempt did I manage to correctly put it on, thinking the two holes for the wing mirrors were holes for my arms and the see-through bit for the light was for my face.
The flats where I live have an old brick bike shed where the bikes live and where you can plug it in to charge it up over night. It’s looked over by an old lady of dishevelled appearance and a young girl with a bad limp, both of whom speak a language almost unintelligible (to me, at least). It’s dark and dingy inside, mostly filled with old unwanted bicycles covered in dust. Every time I come in she is either sitting in her chair by the stove warming her hands with the ginger cat wrapped around the base, or watching TV in the little room that she and the girl live in inside the bike shed. Sometimes I stop and have a chat. Topics are almost exclusively about someone she knows in Sweden, flight time from Beijing to London, the fact (or opinion) that I overpaid on the rent of my flat, and that I should watch out for the woman who reads the meter because she doesn’t trust her. Now winter has come, the two of them must be absolutely freezing.
My morning route takes me up the main South Street to the Bell Tower, centre of Xian, and along the main East Avenue, through the arches of the East Gate and straight along the main road more or less to my company. In the evenings, I take a left inside the East Gate and drive along the single-lane road that circles round right up against the entire inside length of the City Wall, until I come out at the South Gate, very near my flat.
Mostly every road is busy and requires maximum concentration at all times, leaving little room for enjoying the surrounds. However, that road I take in the evening is not really designed for cars. It’s very quiet, and passes some areas that retain a lot of original character, not to mention the ever impressive City Wall. Especially now I don’t have to take the overcrowded buses, it is a genuine pleasure to go to and from work. I particularly like being able to weave through gaps created by cars stuck in traffic.
With only a throttle, brakes and the all important horn to worry about, and a top speed of 35km/h (on full battery), driving is mostly a test of hazard awareness. The hazards come from many directions. The large intersections common in Xian are generally controlled by traffic lights, but right-hand turns at red lights are acceptable, so always looking in every direction is a definite must. Drivers of large trucks carrying earth from construction sites (la tu che) apparently have some code of conduct whereby they must drive at a speed of ridiculous or above. Fortunately, they only come out at night. The rampant proliferation of cars is less of a hazard due to the almost permanent low speeds everywhere in the gridlocked city. The main roundabout, for example, looks a little like that one around the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, but the low speeds make it surprisingly easy to negotiate. The bus drivers are masters of their trade, well used to two-wheeled vehicles entwining themselves around the bus as it drives along.
The electric moped is more common than its petrol-driven cousin, but less common than the bicycle and certainly less common than the car. However, the number one threat comes from the lowest rung of the ladder - the pedestrian. Particularly the elderly. I've seen a few minor incidents involving an old person and a car. Seeing as the driver is obviously a rich person and the old person, ticket warden, etc is not, issues of financial fairness are more important than whose fault it actually is. The crowd invariably supports the less financially well-off party with calls for 'pei qian' - 'cough up some money!'. Plus China is generally a country were old people are respected and looked after like children. Not wishing to have a potential mob hemming in my front wheel, I take extra care when approaching someone who looks like it would be expensive and culturally reprehensible to hit.
The elderly and other highly compensatable parties do have one advantage in that they are unlikely to suddenly run out into the road at any angle or speed that takes their fancy, which is what happened in what's the closest I've come to an accident. Fortunately my brakes were working so a potentially nasty low-speed accident was avoided. I delivered a choice selection of the finest words the English language has to offer, and continued on.
In fact, while road rage is fairly uncommon, it's quite liberating to be able to swear very loudly and directly without fear of retaliation. I make sure to swear in English, partly because my bad pronunciation might reduce the insulting impact of what I mean to say, and partly because one day someone actually might turn round and things could get very mafan (troublesome) indeed. Most of the time the pointedness is slightly lost on them, not to mention the humour of combining four different F-words into a grammatically correct sentence. Last week I was going at full speed when faced with five youths walking in the middle of the road in my direction, ie, the wrong direction. I engaged the horn early and continuously, which only scattered them very late, but one was so engrossed in his mobile phone that it was only when I was shouting "Out the way, you f***ing idiot!" at ear trumpet length from him that he finally perked up and jumped out of the way with the sort of expression that I was aiming for. About five seconds later they had managed to remember the rude words they saw in some Hollywood film and directed it back in my direction, although it took a further five seconds for me to understand it, by which time any chance of further exchanges were long gone.
The scooter can also be used as a means of generating income. Some people, mostly middle-aged blokes, operate informal taxi services. While it is technically illegal (and even carrying a second person is also illegal), it's also very handy given the uselessness of public transport in Xian. I've been approached before by people wanting a ride, but when they see it's a foreigner, they keep on walking and pretend they weren't approaching me. One of my proudest moments in China happened last week when I fooled one of my colleagues into thinking I was one of these taxi guys. I drove up slowly beside him and said 'zou bu zou' - 'where to, mate?', the standard greeting. He shook his head angrily. I drove slightly ahead and said it again. This time he was halfway through his angry 'piss off' expression when he saw it was me and his face dropped. Although it was only one sentence, it sounded native enough to fool him.
Overall, it's a lot of fun, practical and a huge improvement on the buses! Presuming, of course, I don't hit someone tomorrow.
Thursday, 22 October 2009
National Day holiday in Henan
Henan province in central China, adjacent to Shaanxi, is famous for fake products, thieves and the over-visited Shaolin Temple, and it was with such an illustrious reputation in mind that I gladly accepted a friend's offer last week to spend a few days of the National Day holiday in Henan. He is a university teacher, and had been invited by one of his students. I'm still not sure exactly why I was asked, but the idea of a cheap break from the city sounded good.
Things didn't start too well when Yu Bo's father (Yu Bo being my friend's friend) crashed the car three minutes after setting out. Apparently, turning late, suddenly, without looking and without indicating does have consequences; namely, Yu Bo's father having to fork out 3,500RMB to the taxi driver who crashed into the rear side door, and the yoghurt that my friend was eating at the time being sprayed all over the inside of the car and us. On the plus side, no injuries and the car we were driving was an insurance company car.
It was about a four-hour drive along the spanking new expressway to Xixia, a county in Western Henan and home of Yu Bo and family. On the way, the car was making several unpleasant noises, and her father had a habit of answering the phone, sending texts, drinking tea and gobbing out the window – mostly simultaneously - which made my friend and I slightly uneasy, and pleased to get to Xixia safely. On the way, the first interesting thing I found out was that my friend, Dong Hongjie, who I have known for over two years and was my Chinese tutor, is surnamed 董（dong, 3rd tone) not 东 (dong, 1st tone), as I have been calling him this entire time.
In the evening, we went to eat huoguo (hotpot) with her parents and her younger cousin, and then afterwards went for a stroll round the main square. Xixia is quite small (by Chinese standards), so, as with most people from Xian, the thing I mainly noticed was how relatively clean the air was. The main square is like most main squares - a big mass of concrete in front of the main government offices, adorned with fountains, which is pretty stupid in a country with severe water shortages.
The second day was 1 October, and the 60th anniversary of the founding of New China. It had been talked about for weeks, and the highlight was the 'da yue bing' (military parade), which all my colleagues at work were looking forward to. It was pretty interesting stuff, rows after rows of soldiers and performers going past Tianamen Square. Unfortunately the organizational abilities present do not seem to have filtered down to the company I work in.
In the afternoon, we went to Yu Bo's house for lunch. I had previously asked her what her father did for a job, and she said she didn't know, which is the answer I get the most when asking people what their parents do for a living. They live on the outskirts of the main town in a fairly big and well equipped, if old, house, which told me that they were not too short of cash. Her mother's younger brother's wife was also there.
We had seen her earlier at the hotel, and the first thing she said to me (and my friend, incidentally) was, 'Ooh, you're good looking". I should explain that Western people hear this all the time. I've seen some of the ugliest, fattest, most physically deformed people in the Western world being called 'hen shuai' (very good looking). And absolutely everyone, Chinese or foreign, fat or thin, supermodel or Ann Widdecombe, get called the female equivalent (meinu). It's difficult to formulate a suitable response to such vapish sentiments, particularly as she was quite attractive but was also married and had her five-year-old son with her. Anyway, lunch was excellent, and the dishes plentiful. Her parents were incredibly generous the entire trip. Most Chinese tend to think Western people, with the so-called 'AA system', or splitting the bill, are tightfisted and a bit weird.
After lunch, we went to Shimen Lake just north of the main town. It's a big lake formed by a dam, and surrounded by amazing, steep, rugged, tree-lined mountains of the sort seen in 'typical' Chinese paintings, and which were the main feature of our four days in Henan. Showing a sensible disregard for health and safety, the driver of the 10-seater boat allowed the three of us to stand outside on the front section, giving us a perfect view of the scenery and a perfect opportunity for my teacher friend to recite poetry and words of love and praise to the Motherland, which we had heard in the morning on TV.
The next day, the five of us - me, Hongjie, Yu Bo and her parents - went to Longtan Gou, about an hour's drive north of Xixia. As happened with most of the places we went, we didn't need a ticket because Yo Bo's father wangled our way in for free. During the entire time in Henan, we were constantly bumping into people her parents knew, which made things a lot smoother (and cheaper). And with all the places we went to not even near to being mentioned in Lonely Planet, it shows the value of travelling with locals.
Longtan Gou is a scenic spot, with water flowing down a ravine in the moutains, forming pools and waterfalls. Fortunately, there weren't too many people, and so we were able to enjoy the spectacular scenery. A series of steps and stairs wound their way up and through the ravine, passing about 15 pools in total, all with crystal clear water and clear blue skies overhead. It seemed the perfect place to go for a dip, but I would have been the only person, and I'd rather people took photos of the scenery, not me. As usual at these places, there were rocks noted for a resemblance to something or someone. I don't really get this (perhaps in the same way I don't get magic eyes), and I especially don't get the fairly considerable excitement bought on by a rock that looks vaguely like a fat pig.
With Yu Bo's mother setting the pace, we had to get moving quickly for lunch and then onwards another two hours or so in the car for whitewater rafting. The Chinese don't strike me as a particularly 'outdoorsy' people, and the rafting typified that. We were given yellow plastic bin liners to wear, and you could buy straw shoes for 3RMB to wear in the boat. Down by the waterside, old women were very insistently selling things that looked like bicycle pumps and cooking pots that you could use to get people wet with. And given that young children were allowed on the rafts as well, I wasn't expecting anything particularly stimulating. And so it proved, especially as after five minutes we stopped to buy some photographs that had been taken as we went over one of the very unrapid rapids.
However, back on the river and propelled by an old bloke in khaki uniform with a wooden pole, we became separated from the few other rafts on the river. It was very peaceful and pretty, despite the incessant wittering of my fellow crew. I asked if I could swim in the river, and was pleased to learn that I could. So I jumped in, closely followed by my friend who quickly realised that he probably needed a few more swimming lessons.
That was the first of several swims in the river that afternoon. The scenery was fantastic, tree-lined mountains rising high up in the cloudless blue sky, the water clear, calm and slow moving, and with no one else but our raft in sight. Several very pretty countryside houses were dotted along the river, their black tiles, white walls and crops around the house adding to the colourful scene. At one point, our raft stopped and the others got out and sat on the bank to allow our 'boatsman' to ferry a family across the river. They made their way slowly across, disembarked on the other side and disappeared off into the trees and up the mountain on the other side. I continued to drift contentedly on my way.
That evening, we had dinner in a restaurant, as we did for four of the five nights. Dinner at a restaurant is one of those things you probably learn about in Chinese culture courses, and it could perhaps be described as a big, pointy pain in the arse. Putting food from the dishes into other people's individual bowls (jia cai) is important, as is knocking glasses with the other people before drinking (jing jiu). When to do this, in what order, at what time, is something to be aware of.
My friend, and something of an advisor to me on all things Chinese, told me afterwards that for things like paying the bill, you'll only get a proper answer after four times of asking. For example, if you offer to pay the bill, you have to say it at least four times for the other person to consider it a genuine offer. He also told me that there is now something of a 'custom' in China these days, namely, that if you do really want to pay the bill, you'll pay during the course of the meal (ie, by excusing yourself to go to the bathroom when really you're going to pay the bill) instead of waiting until the end of the meal. There'll be a lot of perfect friendly jostling and discussions about "I'll get it", "No, I'll get it", "No, no, I insist, really". In some ways, it shows how genuinely hospitable Chinese people are. But to me it also feels like everything is a game, played on the surface, a riddle wrapped inside a dumpling inside a chop stick, where no-one really knows what is going on. And that's just dinner.
The next day, we found ourselves in a minivan and with another family (parents and one child) on our way to Neixiang, a small town containing the best preserved yamen, or ancient government office, in all of China. The yamen was where justice was administered, taxes collected and so on. It was certainly very impressive and pretty, the design showing the traditional Chinese attachment to symmetry, order and hierarchy. They also had a small show, showing how justice was administered, ancient style, which I failed to understand but certainly looked quite fun. The only disappointments were that most of the furniture had been destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, and Yu Bo's mother was again attempting to break her own Olympic record for sight-seeing.
After lunch, we went to what Xixia is probably most famous for - dinosaur fossil eggs. Unsurprisingly, it was complete rubbish. Dinosaurs are undoubtedly fascinating creatures, but there's only so much you can glean from looking at a few fossilised eggs through a window. The main building was inside a huge park, complete with plastic dinosaurs and naff piano music wafting out from speakers badly disguised as prehistoric foliage. Not that I could hear it, because we had one of Satan's children, ie, a tour guide, accompanying us. The spiel, rote-learned, spoken without any interest and directed into the caustic microphone, was enough to kill off any interest I might have had immediately.
For the final day, we drove for hours along a single-track road, then dirt track, deep inside the mountains. This was a new scenic mountain spot not yet officially opened, so there weren't too many many people again. The climb was fairly gentle, although two sections involved walking along a narrow walkway attached at right angles to a sheer cliff-face. The scenery all along was fantastic, the blues and greens a stark contrast and welcome change to Xian. On the top section were several pavilions and little walkways cut through the trees. Quite how they managed to get all the building materials up here is another thing. I could have quite easily stayed there the whole day, gazing across the peaks and valleys of China, but Yu Bo was going for the silver medal in sight-seeing, so we had to get going.
And that was that, a five-hour train journey the next day taking us back to Xian, and probably the last opportunity to go outside the city in a while.
Things didn't start too well when Yu Bo's father (Yu Bo being my friend's friend) crashed the car three minutes after setting out. Apparently, turning late, suddenly, without looking and without indicating does have consequences; namely, Yu Bo's father having to fork out 3,500RMB to the taxi driver who crashed into the rear side door, and the yoghurt that my friend was eating at the time being sprayed all over the inside of the car and us. On the plus side, no injuries and the car we were driving was an insurance company car.
It was about a four-hour drive along the spanking new expressway to Xixia, a county in Western Henan and home of Yu Bo and family. On the way, the car was making several unpleasant noises, and her father had a habit of answering the phone, sending texts, drinking tea and gobbing out the window – mostly simultaneously - which made my friend and I slightly uneasy, and pleased to get to Xixia safely. On the way, the first interesting thing I found out was that my friend, Dong Hongjie, who I have known for over two years and was my Chinese tutor, is surnamed 董（dong, 3rd tone) not 东 (dong, 1st tone), as I have been calling him this entire time.
In the evening, we went to eat huoguo (hotpot) with her parents and her younger cousin, and then afterwards went for a stroll round the main square. Xixia is quite small (by Chinese standards), so, as with most people from Xian, the thing I mainly noticed was how relatively clean the air was. The main square is like most main squares - a big mass of concrete in front of the main government offices, adorned with fountains, which is pretty stupid in a country with severe water shortages.
The second day was 1 October, and the 60th anniversary of the founding of New China. It had been talked about for weeks, and the highlight was the 'da yue bing' (military parade), which all my colleagues at work were looking forward to. It was pretty interesting stuff, rows after rows of soldiers and performers going past Tianamen Square. Unfortunately the organizational abilities present do not seem to have filtered down to the company I work in.
In the afternoon, we went to Yu Bo's house for lunch. I had previously asked her what her father did for a job, and she said she didn't know, which is the answer I get the most when asking people what their parents do for a living. They live on the outskirts of the main town in a fairly big and well equipped, if old, house, which told me that they were not too short of cash. Her mother's younger brother's wife was also there.
We had seen her earlier at the hotel, and the first thing she said to me (and my friend, incidentally) was, 'Ooh, you're good looking". I should explain that Western people hear this all the time. I've seen some of the ugliest, fattest, most physically deformed people in the Western world being called 'hen shuai' (very good looking). And absolutely everyone, Chinese or foreign, fat or thin, supermodel or Ann Widdecombe, get called the female equivalent (meinu). It's difficult to formulate a suitable response to such vapish sentiments, particularly as she was quite attractive but was also married and had her five-year-old son with her. Anyway, lunch was excellent, and the dishes plentiful. Her parents were incredibly generous the entire trip. Most Chinese tend to think Western people, with the so-called 'AA system', or splitting the bill, are tightfisted and a bit weird.
After lunch, we went to Shimen Lake just north of the main town. It's a big lake formed by a dam, and surrounded by amazing, steep, rugged, tree-lined mountains of the sort seen in 'typical' Chinese paintings, and which were the main feature of our four days in Henan. Showing a sensible disregard for health and safety, the driver of the 10-seater boat allowed the three of us to stand outside on the front section, giving us a perfect view of the scenery and a perfect opportunity for my teacher friend to recite poetry and words of love and praise to the Motherland, which we had heard in the morning on TV.
The next day, the five of us - me, Hongjie, Yu Bo and her parents - went to Longtan Gou, about an hour's drive north of Xixia. As happened with most of the places we went, we didn't need a ticket because Yo Bo's father wangled our way in for free. During the entire time in Henan, we were constantly bumping into people her parents knew, which made things a lot smoother (and cheaper). And with all the places we went to not even near to being mentioned in Lonely Planet, it shows the value of travelling with locals.
Longtan Gou is a scenic spot, with water flowing down a ravine in the moutains, forming pools and waterfalls. Fortunately, there weren't too many people, and so we were able to enjoy the spectacular scenery. A series of steps and stairs wound their way up and through the ravine, passing about 15 pools in total, all with crystal clear water and clear blue skies overhead. It seemed the perfect place to go for a dip, but I would have been the only person, and I'd rather people took photos of the scenery, not me. As usual at these places, there were rocks noted for a resemblance to something or someone. I don't really get this (perhaps in the same way I don't get magic eyes), and I especially don't get the fairly considerable excitement bought on by a rock that looks vaguely like a fat pig.
With Yu Bo's mother setting the pace, we had to get moving quickly for lunch and then onwards another two hours or so in the car for whitewater rafting. The Chinese don't strike me as a particularly 'outdoorsy' people, and the rafting typified that. We were given yellow plastic bin liners to wear, and you could buy straw shoes for 3RMB to wear in the boat. Down by the waterside, old women were very insistently selling things that looked like bicycle pumps and cooking pots that you could use to get people wet with. And given that young children were allowed on the rafts as well, I wasn't expecting anything particularly stimulating. And so it proved, especially as after five minutes we stopped to buy some photographs that had been taken as we went over one of the very unrapid rapids.
However, back on the river and propelled by an old bloke in khaki uniform with a wooden pole, we became separated from the few other rafts on the river. It was very peaceful and pretty, despite the incessant wittering of my fellow crew. I asked if I could swim in the river, and was pleased to learn that I could. So I jumped in, closely followed by my friend who quickly realised that he probably needed a few more swimming lessons.
That was the first of several swims in the river that afternoon. The scenery was fantastic, tree-lined mountains rising high up in the cloudless blue sky, the water clear, calm and slow moving, and with no one else but our raft in sight. Several very pretty countryside houses were dotted along the river, their black tiles, white walls and crops around the house adding to the colourful scene. At one point, our raft stopped and the others got out and sat on the bank to allow our 'boatsman' to ferry a family across the river. They made their way slowly across, disembarked on the other side and disappeared off into the trees and up the mountain on the other side. I continued to drift contentedly on my way.
That evening, we had dinner in a restaurant, as we did for four of the five nights. Dinner at a restaurant is one of those things you probably learn about in Chinese culture courses, and it could perhaps be described as a big, pointy pain in the arse. Putting food from the dishes into other people's individual bowls (jia cai) is important, as is knocking glasses with the other people before drinking (jing jiu). When to do this, in what order, at what time, is something to be aware of.
My friend, and something of an advisor to me on all things Chinese, told me afterwards that for things like paying the bill, you'll only get a proper answer after four times of asking. For example, if you offer to pay the bill, you have to say it at least four times for the other person to consider it a genuine offer. He also told me that there is now something of a 'custom' in China these days, namely, that if you do really want to pay the bill, you'll pay during the course of the meal (ie, by excusing yourself to go to the bathroom when really you're going to pay the bill) instead of waiting until the end of the meal. There'll be a lot of perfect friendly jostling and discussions about "I'll get it", "No, I'll get it", "No, no, I insist, really". In some ways, it shows how genuinely hospitable Chinese people are. But to me it also feels like everything is a game, played on the surface, a riddle wrapped inside a dumpling inside a chop stick, where no-one really knows what is going on. And that's just dinner.
The next day, we found ourselves in a minivan and with another family (parents and one child) on our way to Neixiang, a small town containing the best preserved yamen, or ancient government office, in all of China. The yamen was where justice was administered, taxes collected and so on. It was certainly very impressive and pretty, the design showing the traditional Chinese attachment to symmetry, order and hierarchy. They also had a small show, showing how justice was administered, ancient style, which I failed to understand but certainly looked quite fun. The only disappointments were that most of the furniture had been destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, and Yu Bo's mother was again attempting to break her own Olympic record for sight-seeing.
After lunch, we went to what Xixia is probably most famous for - dinosaur fossil eggs. Unsurprisingly, it was complete rubbish. Dinosaurs are undoubtedly fascinating creatures, but there's only so much you can glean from looking at a few fossilised eggs through a window. The main building was inside a huge park, complete with plastic dinosaurs and naff piano music wafting out from speakers badly disguised as prehistoric foliage. Not that I could hear it, because we had one of Satan's children, ie, a tour guide, accompanying us. The spiel, rote-learned, spoken without any interest and directed into the caustic microphone, was enough to kill off any interest I might have had immediately.
For the final day, we drove for hours along a single-track road, then dirt track, deep inside the mountains. This was a new scenic mountain spot not yet officially opened, so there weren't too many many people again. The climb was fairly gentle, although two sections involved walking along a narrow walkway attached at right angles to a sheer cliff-face. The scenery all along was fantastic, the blues and greens a stark contrast and welcome change to Xian. On the top section were several pavilions and little walkways cut through the trees. Quite how they managed to get all the building materials up here is another thing. I could have quite easily stayed there the whole day, gazing across the peaks and valleys of China, but Yu Bo was going for the silver medal in sight-seeing, so we had to get going.
And that was that, a five-hour train journey the next day taking us back to Xian, and probably the last opportunity to go outside the city in a while.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Jakarta trip
The power company I work for provides staff and services to new power plants in China as well as Sudan and Indonesia. Because of this, and also because the Vice Governor of this province was going to be visiting Indonesia, the boss asked me to go to Indonesia with him for a week. A free trip to a new country? I gladly obliged.
After taking all of Sunday to get from Xian to Jakarta, the Monday morning we took a taxi for a meeting in a subsidiary company of the Indonesian State Grid. This company owns one of the power plants that we've operated for the last two years in Sumatra, and the boss would like to be awarded the contract for the next two years as well. It was more of a small chat than anything. Unlike most Chinese bosses, my boss can speak reasonable English, so he did the negotiations by himself, with another translator (who sometimes acts as he business assistant) and me sitting around the table. I wasn't properly introduced, and the slightly nervous sideways looks I was getting from the Indonesian manager we were meeting showed he was slightly confused by the presence of this random Western person.
Afterwards we went for lunch with a Chinese student who works part time in Indonesia for an affiliated company. It was only after a while that I realised it was Ramadan, but the locals tucking into chicken and rice didn't seem to be too put out by it.
We took a 'microlet' back, which is a cross between a minibus and a taxi that ferries people around some parts of Jakarta. The temperature was in the mid-30s outside, and even hotter inside. Jakarta has apparently developed without much centralised planning. The traffic is pretty shocking, and if you get behind one of the bajahs (a round box on three wheels), you'll have a face full of exhaust fumes.
We were staying in Kota in the north part of Jakarta, which is where many of the overseas Chinese live and do business. In 1998 there was a backlash against the Chinese community, when many Chinese and overseas Chinese were killed, raped and had their businesses destroyed. When you mention Indonesia to a Chinese mainlander, this is the thing you are most likely to hear in reply. Part of the reason for it was to do with the fact that the Chinese business community is very strong, and they are generally richer than the locals. The big apartment block opposite my hotel, where my boss has a rented apartment, is populated almost exclusively by Chinese, including over 2,000 attractive young Chinese women who can earn up to a million RMB (90,000 pounds) a year in the various 'entertainment venues' in this part of town.
In the afternoon, I was free to wonder round. I walked south along the main road, which was lacking a pavement but did have a large open sewer running down the middle. It also had hundreds and thousands of small-engine motorbikes zooming along. Some of the junctions looked like someone had double booked a motorbike race and an F1 race on the same track, as motorbikes and cars vied for space. The huge Independence Monument in the centre of town, just over the road from the Presidential Palace, is a very tall and boring edifice commemorating independence from the Dutch. The open area surrounding it is huge, and included a deer park and plenty of military police vehicles. With such a huge rich/poor gap, it's probably a wise decision.
For the first three nights, the boss put me up in a very nice four-star hotel, where they have breakfasts which actually fill you up and the English-language Jakarta Globe gets put through you door in the morning. From reading it, it would seem corruption is a major issue in Indonesia. And when we went to a follow-up meeting the on Tuesday, there was a 'Fight Corruption' plaque in the meeting room, signed by senior members of the Indonesia State Grid. The meeting was to decide the requirements for bidders for the contract discussed the previous day. Asking one of the bidders (ie, us) to help design and advertise the bid proposal seems stupid to me, especially when our boss made recommendations that meant only our company can fulfill the requirements. Perhaps our boss was displaying some of the 'acumen' that has made the Chinese overseas community quite wealthy.
That afternoon, I wandered up the road to the very north of Jakarta, which is where the old colonial town was based. There were a couple of nice old-style buildings, but I was struck by the rundown nature of the area. Some of the old buildings looked like they had been bombed, and the surrounds were particularly insalubrious. I went to the internet bar to see if there was actually anything to do in Jakarta. It seems if you like heat, traffic jams, clubbing, prostitutes and expensive beer, Jakarta is for you.
On Wednesday, we took a taxi and sat in traffic for half the morning on our way to the Sultan hotel, a magnificent five-star hotel where the Shaanxi government delegation and other heads of Shaanxi industry were staying. It turns out we (the business assistant and myself) were going to translate a Memorandum of Understanding for the Shaanxi Minerals and Metallurgy Group Limited, one of the largest state-owned enterprises in Shaanxi and also in the Indonesian market. For whatever reason, they didn't have anyone available to translate it, so we gave the boss enormous face by translating it in the hotel lobby for him. And because he had a foreigner (me) doing it as well, his face was even bigger.
In the afternoon, after another excellent Chinese lunch, I took the bus to Blok M, a place sounding like part of a Dutch prison but actually a part of south Jakarta with lots of shops, Westerners and bars. Jakarta does at least have a few designated bus lanes, making bus travel much quicker and cheaper than taxis. The main bar street was quite disappointing, and the whole area was just one big shopping fest. Apart from queuing for ages in a sweltering hot bus station, I didn't stay long.
On the Thursday morning, we went back to the hotel via a very convoluted route thanks to the driver getting completely lost. We were to meet with the Vice Governor of Shaanxi province. This was the sole purpose of my coming to Indonesia - a chance for the Vice Governor (and other important Shaanxi people) to see that my company has a white Western foreigner working for it and is therefore a great company. We had to put on the blue power plant overalls our company's engineers wear, partly to look orderly, and partly to prove that I really do work here. We waited outside one of the hotel meeting rooms, waiting for the Vice Governor. While waiting, I found out that our boss is the younger brother of one of the top leaders in Shaanxi government, which goes some way to explaining why this company does quite nicely.
When the VG came out, our boss pounced, and introduced the three of us to him. Naturally, he was quite surprised to see me, and more more surprised when I spoke Chinese to him. The boss introduced me as 'Director of Translation', which is not true at all. The VG, a short, elderly, unassuming man, asked whether I really do work here. He checked again, complimented me on my Chinese to which I replied 'it's just average', which is definitely the right answer when someone, especially someone important, compliments your Chinese. He was impressed that I knew how to be modest (perhaps thinking modesty is something only Chinese can do), and with that hurried off to his next engagement, surrounded by a melee of other people.
And that was that. The entire point of my week in Indonesia was completed in half a minute. A bit later, we attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony between the largest company in Shaanxi - Shaanxi Auto Company - and an Indonesian company, where the Chinese company sold them 300 dumper trucks, some of which were parked outside the hotel for everyone to admire. A buffet lunch with no chairs for underlings followed, and before we left I managed to get the QQ [instant messaging service] number of the rather attractive and possibly useful secretary to the head of the Shaanxi Trade Promotion Department.
***
Still having a day and a half left, and with Jakarta offering nothing much more to see or do, I went to Indramayu, a town three hours from Jakarta where we have 20 or staff working at a new power station. Also going back were the business assistant and the two engineers who had come yesterday to be at the morning's main event. Halfway into the journey, I got talking to Mr Hou, a chemistry engineer on site. The night before, dinner conversation had resolved around the main topic of the week - 'China is more developed than Indonesia', 'Jakarta is a mess', 'Indonesians are not as rich as Chinese', etc, etc. Mr Hou had not said one word the entire evening. He looked slightly lost.
However, during the car journey on the way to Indramayu he talked at length and in depth about his past. He told me he was sixty years old, which would have made him sixteen in 1966, the start of the Cultural Revolution. I find this part of history fascinating, because it's not in a museum or a book, it's living people with stories to tell when conditions were very different to what they are now.
People of this age are called zhi qingnian, and they have similar stories to tell. He told me how he had left school at sixteen to go down to the countryside to do farmwork. Schools were closed, teachers paraded through streets as 'dunces', and students were sent to the countryside or joined the Red Guards. He stayed there for five years, until eventually he was allowed back, and found a job in a power station.
In 1964, China successfully launched an atomic bomb. "We had a special physics lesson for the whole school, explaining how it worked and everything. I remember that particularly clearly. And Old Mao, when he heard the news, didn't believe it at first".
"1960 was a particularly tough year. No-one had enough to eat. Everyday 'chi bu bao' (feel hungry). It was tough." His withered appearance, thinning hair, stooped posture and thick local accent were testament to the hardships that most young people now in Chinese cities have absolutely no idea about.
I ventured that in those days there were no thieves because there was nothing stealing. "No! It was because if you had something nice that no one else had, people would come round 'on patrol', asking were you got it, making accusations. Then more people would come. They'd ask a lot of of questions, it was dangerous. It was better not to get involved."
People of his generation generally admire Mao greatly. Given the enormous sway one man held over so many people for so long, I asked him what he thought about Mao. "Obviously, towards the end it wasn't perfect. People were scared, they couldn't give him advice. But I still think he's definitely a great man. Deng Xiaoping ruled in peacetime, so it was easy for him. Mao fought off the Japanese, Chiang Kaishek and uninvited foreign influence. He took China out of its highly backward state and made it stand up on its own two feet. People were hungry in the sixties, but better off than in the '30s and '40s. He was also a great military strategist and man of literature. For me, he's still a great man."
He talked about the work he has to do now. "Back then, I'd get 1,000 yuan (90 pounds) a month, and everything was simple. Now everything is done on computers. It's tiring, and my eyes hurt after a while."
Meanwhile, the other two people had not paid the slightest bit of attention to anything he said.
***
The next day, Friday, I had a quick tour round the power station before returning to Jakarta. Because of Idul Fitri, the end of Ramadan, people were streaming out of the capital to return to their hometowns, making the roads a nightmare. Our local driver, after driving for much of the way down the hard shoulder, took a detour through the very pretty countryside. Field after field of green crops and tropical trees, with rows of colourful houses with porches overlooking a bumpy old road and small flowing river, all under a bright blue sky, all a marked contrast to the greys and browns of northern China. The two (different) Chinese engineers with me were busy discussing how backwards Indonesia is, but I thought it was great.
Saturday was not a day I was looking forward to - a full day travelling with the boss. It started by the two engineers supposed to be coming back with us missing their flight. The inability of anyone in our company to plan anything can be quite amazing at times. On the plane to Guangzhou, the boss ignored my book-reading attempts to talk to me.
He is a short, fat man, 45 years old, local to this province, a good brain, not flashy, but not a people person, and obsessed with earning money. As we were flying over Hong Kong, he said HK was not nearly as good as Shenzhen, just over the border, because Shenzhen has a wider range of things to buy. Shenzhen is one of the most soulless places on the planet, but good for earning money, so I was not surprised by his choice.
We spent the afternoon in Guangzhou, an enormous, ugly, hot, shopping-mad city in southern China that I could not wait to escape from. At midnight, we arrived back in a chilly Xian to be driven home slowly and with two stalls by the boss's wife.
After taking all of Sunday to get from Xian to Jakarta, the Monday morning we took a taxi for a meeting in a subsidiary company of the Indonesian State Grid. This company owns one of the power plants that we've operated for the last two years in Sumatra, and the boss would like to be awarded the contract for the next two years as well. It was more of a small chat than anything. Unlike most Chinese bosses, my boss can speak reasonable English, so he did the negotiations by himself, with another translator (who sometimes acts as he business assistant) and me sitting around the table. I wasn't properly introduced, and the slightly nervous sideways looks I was getting from the Indonesian manager we were meeting showed he was slightly confused by the presence of this random Western person.
Afterwards we went for lunch with a Chinese student who works part time in Indonesia for an affiliated company. It was only after a while that I realised it was Ramadan, but the locals tucking into chicken and rice didn't seem to be too put out by it.
We took a 'microlet' back, which is a cross between a minibus and a taxi that ferries people around some parts of Jakarta. The temperature was in the mid-30s outside, and even hotter inside. Jakarta has apparently developed without much centralised planning. The traffic is pretty shocking, and if you get behind one of the bajahs (a round box on three wheels), you'll have a face full of exhaust fumes.
We were staying in Kota in the north part of Jakarta, which is where many of the overseas Chinese live and do business. In 1998 there was a backlash against the Chinese community, when many Chinese and overseas Chinese were killed, raped and had their businesses destroyed. When you mention Indonesia to a Chinese mainlander, this is the thing you are most likely to hear in reply. Part of the reason for it was to do with the fact that the Chinese business community is very strong, and they are generally richer than the locals. The big apartment block opposite my hotel, where my boss has a rented apartment, is populated almost exclusively by Chinese, including over 2,000 attractive young Chinese women who can earn up to a million RMB (90,000 pounds) a year in the various 'entertainment venues' in this part of town.
In the afternoon, I was free to wonder round. I walked south along the main road, which was lacking a pavement but did have a large open sewer running down the middle. It also had hundreds and thousands of small-engine motorbikes zooming along. Some of the junctions looked like someone had double booked a motorbike race and an F1 race on the same track, as motorbikes and cars vied for space. The huge Independence Monument in the centre of town, just over the road from the Presidential Palace, is a very tall and boring edifice commemorating independence from the Dutch. The open area surrounding it is huge, and included a deer park and plenty of military police vehicles. With such a huge rich/poor gap, it's probably a wise decision.
For the first three nights, the boss put me up in a very nice four-star hotel, where they have breakfasts which actually fill you up and the English-language Jakarta Globe gets put through you door in the morning. From reading it, it would seem corruption is a major issue in Indonesia. And when we went to a follow-up meeting the on Tuesday, there was a 'Fight Corruption' plaque in the meeting room, signed by senior members of the Indonesia State Grid. The meeting was to decide the requirements for bidders for the contract discussed the previous day. Asking one of the bidders (ie, us) to help design and advertise the bid proposal seems stupid to me, especially when our boss made recommendations that meant only our company can fulfill the requirements. Perhaps our boss was displaying some of the 'acumen' that has made the Chinese overseas community quite wealthy.
That afternoon, I wandered up the road to the very north of Jakarta, which is where the old colonial town was based. There were a couple of nice old-style buildings, but I was struck by the rundown nature of the area. Some of the old buildings looked like they had been bombed, and the surrounds were particularly insalubrious. I went to the internet bar to see if there was actually anything to do in Jakarta. It seems if you like heat, traffic jams, clubbing, prostitutes and expensive beer, Jakarta is for you.
On Wednesday, we took a taxi and sat in traffic for half the morning on our way to the Sultan hotel, a magnificent five-star hotel where the Shaanxi government delegation and other heads of Shaanxi industry were staying. It turns out we (the business assistant and myself) were going to translate a Memorandum of Understanding for the Shaanxi Minerals and Metallurgy Group Limited, one of the largest state-owned enterprises in Shaanxi and also in the Indonesian market. For whatever reason, they didn't have anyone available to translate it, so we gave the boss enormous face by translating it in the hotel lobby for him. And because he had a foreigner (me) doing it as well, his face was even bigger.
In the afternoon, after another excellent Chinese lunch, I took the bus to Blok M, a place sounding like part of a Dutch prison but actually a part of south Jakarta with lots of shops, Westerners and bars. Jakarta does at least have a few designated bus lanes, making bus travel much quicker and cheaper than taxis. The main bar street was quite disappointing, and the whole area was just one big shopping fest. Apart from queuing for ages in a sweltering hot bus station, I didn't stay long.
On the Thursday morning, we went back to the hotel via a very convoluted route thanks to the driver getting completely lost. We were to meet with the Vice Governor of Shaanxi province. This was the sole purpose of my coming to Indonesia - a chance for the Vice Governor (and other important Shaanxi people) to see that my company has a white Western foreigner working for it and is therefore a great company. We had to put on the blue power plant overalls our company's engineers wear, partly to look orderly, and partly to prove that I really do work here. We waited outside one of the hotel meeting rooms, waiting for the Vice Governor. While waiting, I found out that our boss is the younger brother of one of the top leaders in Shaanxi government, which goes some way to explaining why this company does quite nicely.
When the VG came out, our boss pounced, and introduced the three of us to him. Naturally, he was quite surprised to see me, and more more surprised when I spoke Chinese to him. The boss introduced me as 'Director of Translation', which is not true at all. The VG, a short, elderly, unassuming man, asked whether I really do work here. He checked again, complimented me on my Chinese to which I replied 'it's just average', which is definitely the right answer when someone, especially someone important, compliments your Chinese. He was impressed that I knew how to be modest (perhaps thinking modesty is something only Chinese can do), and with that hurried off to his next engagement, surrounded by a melee of other people.
And that was that. The entire point of my week in Indonesia was completed in half a minute. A bit later, we attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony between the largest company in Shaanxi - Shaanxi Auto Company - and an Indonesian company, where the Chinese company sold them 300 dumper trucks, some of which were parked outside the hotel for everyone to admire. A buffet lunch with no chairs for underlings followed, and before we left I managed to get the QQ [instant messaging service] number of the rather attractive and possibly useful secretary to the head of the Shaanxi Trade Promotion Department.
***
Still having a day and a half left, and with Jakarta offering nothing much more to see or do, I went to Indramayu, a town three hours from Jakarta where we have 20 or staff working at a new power station. Also going back were the business assistant and the two engineers who had come yesterday to be at the morning's main event. Halfway into the journey, I got talking to Mr Hou, a chemistry engineer on site. The night before, dinner conversation had resolved around the main topic of the week - 'China is more developed than Indonesia', 'Jakarta is a mess', 'Indonesians are not as rich as Chinese', etc, etc. Mr Hou had not said one word the entire evening. He looked slightly lost.
However, during the car journey on the way to Indramayu he talked at length and in depth about his past. He told me he was sixty years old, which would have made him sixteen in 1966, the start of the Cultural Revolution. I find this part of history fascinating, because it's not in a museum or a book, it's living people with stories to tell when conditions were very different to what they are now.
People of this age are called zhi qingnian, and they have similar stories to tell. He told me how he had left school at sixteen to go down to the countryside to do farmwork. Schools were closed, teachers paraded through streets as 'dunces', and students were sent to the countryside or joined the Red Guards. He stayed there for five years, until eventually he was allowed back, and found a job in a power station.
In 1964, China successfully launched an atomic bomb. "We had a special physics lesson for the whole school, explaining how it worked and everything. I remember that particularly clearly. And Old Mao, when he heard the news, didn't believe it at first".
"1960 was a particularly tough year. No-one had enough to eat. Everyday 'chi bu bao' (feel hungry). It was tough." His withered appearance, thinning hair, stooped posture and thick local accent were testament to the hardships that most young people now in Chinese cities have absolutely no idea about.
I ventured that in those days there were no thieves because there was nothing stealing. "No! It was because if you had something nice that no one else had, people would come round 'on patrol', asking were you got it, making accusations. Then more people would come. They'd ask a lot of of questions, it was dangerous. It was better not to get involved."
People of his generation generally admire Mao greatly. Given the enormous sway one man held over so many people for so long, I asked him what he thought about Mao. "Obviously, towards the end it wasn't perfect. People were scared, they couldn't give him advice. But I still think he's definitely a great man. Deng Xiaoping ruled in peacetime, so it was easy for him. Mao fought off the Japanese, Chiang Kaishek and uninvited foreign influence. He took China out of its highly backward state and made it stand up on its own two feet. People were hungry in the sixties, but better off than in the '30s and '40s. He was also a great military strategist and man of literature. For me, he's still a great man."
He talked about the work he has to do now. "Back then, I'd get 1,000 yuan (90 pounds) a month, and everything was simple. Now everything is done on computers. It's tiring, and my eyes hurt after a while."
Meanwhile, the other two people had not paid the slightest bit of attention to anything he said.
***
The next day, Friday, I had a quick tour round the power station before returning to Jakarta. Because of Idul Fitri, the end of Ramadan, people were streaming out of the capital to return to their hometowns, making the roads a nightmare. Our local driver, after driving for much of the way down the hard shoulder, took a detour through the very pretty countryside. Field after field of green crops and tropical trees, with rows of colourful houses with porches overlooking a bumpy old road and small flowing river, all under a bright blue sky, all a marked contrast to the greys and browns of northern China. The two (different) Chinese engineers with me were busy discussing how backwards Indonesia is, but I thought it was great.
Saturday was not a day I was looking forward to - a full day travelling with the boss. It started by the two engineers supposed to be coming back with us missing their flight. The inability of anyone in our company to plan anything can be quite amazing at times. On the plane to Guangzhou, the boss ignored my book-reading attempts to talk to me.
He is a short, fat man, 45 years old, local to this province, a good brain, not flashy, but not a people person, and obsessed with earning money. As we were flying over Hong Kong, he said HK was not nearly as good as Shenzhen, just over the border, because Shenzhen has a wider range of things to buy. Shenzhen is one of the most soulless places on the planet, but good for earning money, so I was not surprised by his choice.
We spent the afternoon in Guangzhou, an enormous, ugly, hot, shopping-mad city in southern China that I could not wait to escape from. At midnight, we arrived back in a chilly Xian to be driven home slowly and with two stalls by the boss's wife.
Dinner with Mr Wang and Mr Deng
From about April to October 1st, our company institutes a one-and-a-half-hour lunch break. Never mind that the receptionist likes to play pop music at excessively high volumes, the extra half hour is meant for us to sleep. Anyway, it means that by six o'clock, I am very hungry. Fortunately, there are many restaurants in the vicinity of the company. One is a hu lu tou restaurant, which is a fairly prevalent dish here in Xian.
I usually go there once a week. It consists of 'mo', a type of round bread, which you break into pieces yourself. Add in some rice noodles, mushrooms, quails eggs, herbs, spices and sheep intestines and it makes for a good dish. It seems the phrase 'sheep intestines' does not have much appeal, but if we eat sheep meat, why are the intestines any different? And, indeed, sheep blood, as someone quite accurately pointed out to me last week.
Anyway, at about 6.05pm, after parking my so-rubbish-it's-not-worth-stealing bike, I walk into the hu lu tou restaurant. Just as I think it's fairly empty, I see, at a table in the corner, sit Mr Wang and Mr Deng.
Mr Wang, more generally known as Wang Zong, is an important person in our company, project manager for various projects at home and abroad. I first met him properly during the spring outing our company arranged in April. He has, as a fellow translator pointed out at the time, a tremendous 'ability to summarise', which is great in an age of waffle, guff and spew. He spoke to me about Chinese culture, and is convinced I should become a Chinese professor (possibly because he knows I can never learn power station engineering). Probably about 50-55 years old, he has spent his entire life in a power plant. A power plant in China, particularly the 'old days', is a life. The power station complex consists of schools, hospitals, leisure and, of course, a job.
He speaks directly, to the point, without airs and graces, and with a thick North Eastern accent that makes it even harder to understand what he says. And I knew when I bumped into him evening, it would be more of the same intense listening practice. A warm welcome to sit down and join him and Mr Deng (project manager for a power station in Indonesia) was followed very closely by a sharp call to the waitress for another bottle of baijiu.
Baijiu is the Chinese liquor of choice. If you are a man, and especially if you don't smoke like me, then you need to be able to drink baijiu. Fortunately I can, so I quite welcomed the entire bottle being poured into my glass.
Firstly we ate 'liang cai' (cold dish), which is like the first course of a two course meal. During that, we drank the baijiu and spoke about many topics. Being a foreigner and an Englishman, we mainly spoke about foreign affairs, England and China. Not unlike many Chinese, Mr Wang spoke at length about the humiliation suffered by China from 1842-1949. They don't necessarily want to be number one, and they dislike, even mock, America for trying to be so. But they do not want to be bullied. They admire Stevenson, Watt and Britain generally for being a small country yet able to produce many famous inventors and conquer half the world's land mass.
The main course was eaten quite swiftly. Afterwards, the beer was finished, and more was talked about. I tried to ascertain exactly why Mr Wang would work for our company, at a time when working for a state-owned company is seen as a perfect job. He gave a full and detailed answer, which I completely failed to understand.
A short time afterwards, we left the restaurant. I unlocked my bike - correctly identified by Mr Wang as 'that one that no-one would want to steal' - and rode home.
I usually go there once a week. It consists of 'mo', a type of round bread, which you break into pieces yourself. Add in some rice noodles, mushrooms, quails eggs, herbs, spices and sheep intestines and it makes for a good dish. It seems the phrase 'sheep intestines' does not have much appeal, but if we eat sheep meat, why are the intestines any different? And, indeed, sheep blood, as someone quite accurately pointed out to me last week.
Anyway, at about 6.05pm, after parking my so-rubbish-it's-not-worth-stealing bike, I walk into the hu lu tou restaurant. Just as I think it's fairly empty, I see, at a table in the corner, sit Mr Wang and Mr Deng.
Mr Wang, more generally known as Wang Zong, is an important person in our company, project manager for various projects at home and abroad. I first met him properly during the spring outing our company arranged in April. He has, as a fellow translator pointed out at the time, a tremendous 'ability to summarise', which is great in an age of waffle, guff and spew. He spoke to me about Chinese culture, and is convinced I should become a Chinese professor (possibly because he knows I can never learn power station engineering). Probably about 50-55 years old, he has spent his entire life in a power plant. A power plant in China, particularly the 'old days', is a life. The power station complex consists of schools, hospitals, leisure and, of course, a job.
He speaks directly, to the point, without airs and graces, and with a thick North Eastern accent that makes it even harder to understand what he says. And I knew when I bumped into him evening, it would be more of the same intense listening practice. A warm welcome to sit down and join him and Mr Deng (project manager for a power station in Indonesia) was followed very closely by a sharp call to the waitress for another bottle of baijiu.
Baijiu is the Chinese liquor of choice. If you are a man, and especially if you don't smoke like me, then you need to be able to drink baijiu. Fortunately I can, so I quite welcomed the entire bottle being poured into my glass.
Firstly we ate 'liang cai' (cold dish), which is like the first course of a two course meal. During that, we drank the baijiu and spoke about many topics. Being a foreigner and an Englishman, we mainly spoke about foreign affairs, England and China. Not unlike many Chinese, Mr Wang spoke at length about the humiliation suffered by China from 1842-1949. They don't necessarily want to be number one, and they dislike, even mock, America for trying to be so. But they do not want to be bullied. They admire Stevenson, Watt and Britain generally for being a small country yet able to produce many famous inventors and conquer half the world's land mass.
The main course was eaten quite swiftly. Afterwards, the beer was finished, and more was talked about. I tried to ascertain exactly why Mr Wang would work for our company, at a time when working for a state-owned company is seen as a perfect job. He gave a full and detailed answer, which I completely failed to understand.
A short time afterwards, we left the restaurant. I unlocked my bike - correctly identified by Mr Wang as 'that one that no-one would want to steal' - and rode home.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Renting a flat in Xian in one evening
It took me a long time in Xian to discover these living areas - they can be well hidden. Many of these areas are affiliated with a factory, government department and so on - ie, the employees in that institution get assigned houses. This system doesn't really exist much any more - most people with money want to live in a new house with a lift, car park and no play area for their kids.
The bloke in charge emerged from his little concrete room next to the bike and moped shed, wearing the blue plastic flipflops that are the shoe of choice for many in the summer months. He was taking me to see a one-bedroom flat. I left slightly disappointed - as expected, 'fully furnished' is a phrase that needs some salt. We went back and I asked him what his commission was. He said a month’s rent, which was funny because his wife had told me the day before it was half a month’s rent (plus the standard is half a month anywhere anyway). He said, 'seeing as you can speak Chinese, I'll do it for half a month’s rent'. What he meant was I wasn't a foreigner who makes up for his lack of Chinese language skills with lots of money. Although hardly a sweeping triumph, I felt quite pleased.
Anyway, we looked at a two-bedroom flat as well. I asked the person packing up their things (out of earshot of the 'agent') if there was anything that wasn't any good - she pointed to the water heater used for the shower. The very same one that Mr Blue Flipflops had told me was 'absolutely fine' less than a minute ago, in fact. So rubbish was it that she even bought a new one. On the way down the stairs, I asked him how old the buildings were. He said they were built in 1995, 30 years newer than I thought they were, which proved my theory that buildings in China age incredibly quickly. A couple of days later, I had another theory - he was talking crap to get my money off me.
Slightly disappointed and promising to call him tomorrow (which I didn't do, naturally), I went to the nearest internet bar to search for flats. Most of the people looking for someone to live with requested girls only. No pets, cleanliness, a steady job and good 'societal relationships' (no drug-taking friends, etc) were other common requirements. I phoned one number, which was answered by a very brusque woman. At one point I thought she said 'you're not allowed to go home'. Turns out she said 'you not allowed to bring home people randomly'. Selective hearing can sometimes have its drawbacks.
As the flat was in the centre of the city near the Bell Tower, it was just a short walk. But with time of the essence, I flagged down a moped. These are mostly retired guys cruising (illegally) round the city earning some extra cash. I think they're great, and certainly necessary given the horrendously crowded buses. You wave them by shouting 'la bu la - do you take people?'. You have to be wary not to flag down a legitimate moped driver, however, as you'll look like a tit when they drive past, ignoring you.
I found the flat inside another living area. It was huge, an entire thriving community in itself, and right next to the Bell Tower and main streets, but you would have no idea it was there without prior knowledge. On entering, I was informed that the room had just been taken. I was presented with indoor flipflops (for wearing after taking your shoes off) and the offer of a glass of hot water, but I declined. As soon as the door closed, I had the idea of looking at it and offering slightly more if it was good. But like all my best ideas, they come too late, and without the necessary decisiveness to make it matter.
In the middle of this living area I found another small estate agents, the (probably fake) placards on the wall from various government departments suggesting this was a relatively big operation. The agent was a middle-aged man, bald, possibly blind, with strong dialect. I was assured every flat he suggested was 'piaoliang de hen!' - very beautiful. He thought some body language would aid my understanding when explaining the contents of the flat. The one for shower involved lots of gyrating.
The thing I like about these guys is that they never give a straight answer, and are just trying to maximise financial gain. The good thing is, it's always like this, so I feel less of a shit when asking him questions he doesn't like (ie, any question). If you’re absolutely confident the other guy is trying to get one over on you instead of just not sure, you can be firmer in your dealings.
Anyway, the landlords of a couple of flats were out so I couldn't see anything that night. After accepting a Good Cat cigarette and enjoying it while he did his 'this flat is beautiful / not a penny cheaper, my hands are tied / i will personally help you buy a second-hand tv' thing with a timid-looking Chinese lady from outside the province, I left. I went to another netbar to have another quick search for something. This netbar was above a nightclub with some very inebriated young woman falling out and off their high heels. If there was a competition for 'most attractive woman viewed from behind', China could well take it.
In the netbar I found a number and gave it a try. It sounded promising, but was told I had to wait until Sunday to actually see it. As it was nearing 10 o’clock, I decided it might be time to call it a day. But then the woman sitting next to me came over, heard I was looking for a flat, and offered to take me to the living area where she lived just round the corner to ask about flats. The first three things that went through my mind where 'what are you after', 'maybe she's a nymphomaniac', and 'you need a better facial wash, I wonder if they have tea tree oil here'.
Turns out she was a perfectly normal, friendly person. We walked the ten minutes back to the 'living area'. This one was the living area for the City Government. She said there were only old people living here now. Not surprising, really, given the money swashing through layers of Chinese government. Anyway, there were no flats again, so we said goodbye and, with the last bus back to the south of the city leaving shortly, I decided to call it a day.
TOP TIPS FOR RENTING A FLAT IN CHINA
• Be patient and respectful
• Don't be a sap, man!
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Consumers of the World - Unite!
May 1st is International Labour Day and as such is a public holiday in China. Falling on a Friday this year, it meant a three day weekend (although it used to be a whole week holiday). And what better way to show your solidarity with tea pickers in Kenya and steel workers in America than to go shopping, surely number 1 pastime of Chinese, way ahead of table tennis in terms of overall participants. Xiao Zhai is a favourite place of my girlfriend, and most other females under 35 in fact. I think the best adjective to describe it is 'swarming'. In one place, there was literally a traffic jam of people, the pavement too narrow to accommodate the herds of consumers. The ancient Chinese had a phrase apt for most situations, and here is no exception. 心静自然凉 (xin jing zi ran liang), which roughly translated means a calm heart (or state of mind) will cool yourself down, regardless of external conditions. Although back then the Chinese were much to sophisticated and cultured as to engage in anything like consumerism, it is extremely true. Having faced the hoards of people on hot, crowded, dusty shopping streets so many times now, I have developed a certain patience that did not previously exist. Also I ended up spending no money, which helped my mood.
Afterwards, at my behest, we went to a bar street, which was like sitting in a nice hot bath after a hard day at work on a Friday or snuggling under the warm duvet when outside its raining and horrible (also on a Friday). Empty chairs on tables lined the narrow street, cars were few, no shops selling rubbish, natural greenery provided shade, and an absolute fantastic blueberry smoothie thing made it my idea of a day off. And despite the lack of retail therapy opportunities, I think even my opposite number felt a degree of relaxation.
Last week at work, I've been in the simulator centre of the Xian Electrical College, which is a short walk from our company and the location for the next stage of the training we are giving Indonesian power station operators. The lying that goes on here is hilarious. We told them before that we had our own simulator centre, so the last few days everyone has been asking me if all these students on campus belong to our company. Hmmm, not quite. Displaying our company's almost inability to prepare anything properly, half of the simulator screens are in Chinese, i.e., useless for an Indonesian. But our translators have done a sterling job in providing hand written translations (tres professionel), and generally they've done the extremely difficult interpretation well. I sit at the back taking notes about their performance, as befits my title of 'translation consultant'. If I ever have to do it myself, the illusion will be revealed.
In other news, Saturday afternoon was spent doing the twice annual 'Wardrobe Switch'. It's spring, so the trousers, jumpers, jackets and anything remotely thick have been bagged and stored, and the shorts and flip flops reappeared after 6 months in hibernation. There's two types of people in Xian, those who are 怕冷(literally, scared of the cold) and those who are 怕热 (scared of the heat), and I definitely belong to the latter. The first year here I got sick, couldn't eat anything for 5 days and turned into a skeleton. Last year was better, but it's still going to be sleepness nights, drowsiness, decreased calorie intake and potential for flared tempers. All I have to do is remember the ancient Chinese - 心静自然凉.
Afterwards, at my behest, we went to a bar street, which was like sitting in a nice hot bath after a hard day at work on a Friday or snuggling under the warm duvet when outside its raining and horrible (also on a Friday). Empty chairs on tables lined the narrow street, cars were few, no shops selling rubbish, natural greenery provided shade, and an absolute fantastic blueberry smoothie thing made it my idea of a day off. And despite the lack of retail therapy opportunities, I think even my opposite number felt a degree of relaxation.
Last week at work, I've been in the simulator centre of the Xian Electrical College, which is a short walk from our company and the location for the next stage of the training we are giving Indonesian power station operators. The lying that goes on here is hilarious. We told them before that we had our own simulator centre, so the last few days everyone has been asking me if all these students on campus belong to our company. Hmmm, not quite. Displaying our company's almost inability to prepare anything properly, half of the simulator screens are in Chinese, i.e., useless for an Indonesian. But our translators have done a sterling job in providing hand written translations (tres professionel), and generally they've done the extremely difficult interpretation well. I sit at the back taking notes about their performance, as befits my title of 'translation consultant'. If I ever have to do it myself, the illusion will be revealed.
In other news, Saturday afternoon was spent doing the twice annual 'Wardrobe Switch'. It's spring, so the trousers, jumpers, jackets and anything remotely thick have been bagged and stored, and the shorts and flip flops reappeared after 6 months in hibernation. There's two types of people in Xian, those who are 怕冷(literally, scared of the cold) and those who are 怕热 (scared of the heat), and I definitely belong to the latter. The first year here I got sick, couldn't eat anything for 5 days and turned into a skeleton. Last year was better, but it's still going to be sleepness nights, drowsiness, decreased calorie intake and potential for flared tempers. All I have to do is remember the ancient Chinese - 心静自然凉.
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Working lunch
The dinner table is to a Chinese as the golf course is to an American - an ideal location for business discussions. Recently, I've been offered a position in a university in Xian to help establish links with overseas universities for exchange programs, and, accordingly, have been involved in discussions recently.
The first stage was interesting. My friend and former tutor is now a teacher in that university, so he is the all-important 'go-between'. I don't have much experience, but I've heard Chinese only like to do business with associates, or at least people they have some personnel connection with. When you consider its quite an individualistic society, with people looking to make money left right and centre, it is a sensible policy.
So in the last couple of weeks, I've been talking over a coffee in a quiet corner of a cafe about my position and that of the school with that friend. It reminds me of diplomats arranging the basics before the meeting of the political leaders. After two meetings, it was decided that last Friday was a good time to meet the university "lingdao", or leaders.
Expecting an evening of significant baijiu consumption, I had had an extra big lunch. So it was to my great surprise when I walked in and found three women sitting at the table. I had assumed it would be fat middle-aged men with white socks and bad teeth smoking 'Good Cat' cigarettes. I was introduced by my friend to them, and did the only thing appropriate on such occassions - immediately forgot their names.
I also forgot their titles, but it became apparent during the dinner that the woman to my left was the most important. She had a habit of laughing uproariously and spitting out shrimp legs at the same time. The other two (later three) were more demure, following the lead of the leg-spitter. The later addition was actually a former teacher of mine, and so with everyone reasonably familiar with each other, it was a pleasant evening.
The food was certainly a success. For occasions like this, there is always much more food than could possibly be eaten. Although I did my best to break this rule, taking a special fancy to a sort of fried rice cooked inside a pineapple.
Being from a university and with mostly woman in attendance, the atmosphere was more sincere than I had previously assumed. Firstly we made polite chat about this and that. Teacher Gao displayed her appalling command of French, and I complimented her heartily (what else can you do?). Teacher Xiang (the most important one) went off on a lengthy tangent about how she encountered wild animals last time she went to the mountains. Everyone listened patiently, possibly wondering the same thing as me - 'would it be rude if I kept eating that pineapply thing while she tells this incredibly boring, self-centred, anecdote'? It always amazes me how much most people like the sound of their own voice, even though it seems a certain way to ensure you are disliked my other members of your party.
After the eating was mostly over, we got to the 'zheng shi' - the point of the dinner. They want me to work in their university, setting up a website, contacting foreign universities, getting students to come to China. As I already have a job I like, but one possibly not able to renew my visa, the negotiations were tricky, and I discovered afterwards there were one or two misunderstandings. We also avoided the tricky question of money, although universities in China are overflowing with money, so hopefully it won't be too much of an issue.
At the end of the evening, the leader paid the bill, and being a teacher, she got 15% off, which is a common arrangement for restaurants in areas with universities and schools. She asked me if there were similar arrangements for teachers in England. I think not. The mostly undrunk baijiu was given to me, which is a real bonus because it is an expensive one. I left with my friend first, the three other teachers staying behind to discuss the events and to wonder if all foreigners have such a fancy for pineapply rice.
The first stage was interesting. My friend and former tutor is now a teacher in that university, so he is the all-important 'go-between'. I don't have much experience, but I've heard Chinese only like to do business with associates, or at least people they have some personnel connection with. When you consider its quite an individualistic society, with people looking to make money left right and centre, it is a sensible policy.
So in the last couple of weeks, I've been talking over a coffee in a quiet corner of a cafe about my position and that of the school with that friend. It reminds me of diplomats arranging the basics before the meeting of the political leaders. After two meetings, it was decided that last Friday was a good time to meet the university "lingdao", or leaders.
Expecting an evening of significant baijiu consumption, I had had an extra big lunch. So it was to my great surprise when I walked in and found three women sitting at the table. I had assumed it would be fat middle-aged men with white socks and bad teeth smoking 'Good Cat' cigarettes. I was introduced by my friend to them, and did the only thing appropriate on such occassions - immediately forgot their names.
I also forgot their titles, but it became apparent during the dinner that the woman to my left was the most important. She had a habit of laughing uproariously and spitting out shrimp legs at the same time. The other two (later three) were more demure, following the lead of the leg-spitter. The later addition was actually a former teacher of mine, and so with everyone reasonably familiar with each other, it was a pleasant evening.
The food was certainly a success. For occasions like this, there is always much more food than could possibly be eaten. Although I did my best to break this rule, taking a special fancy to a sort of fried rice cooked inside a pineapple.
Being from a university and with mostly woman in attendance, the atmosphere was more sincere than I had previously assumed. Firstly we made polite chat about this and that. Teacher Gao displayed her appalling command of French, and I complimented her heartily (what else can you do?). Teacher Xiang (the most important one) went off on a lengthy tangent about how she encountered wild animals last time she went to the mountains. Everyone listened patiently, possibly wondering the same thing as me - 'would it be rude if I kept eating that pineapply thing while she tells this incredibly boring, self-centred, anecdote'? It always amazes me how much most people like the sound of their own voice, even though it seems a certain way to ensure you are disliked my other members of your party.
After the eating was mostly over, we got to the 'zheng shi' - the point of the dinner. They want me to work in their university, setting up a website, contacting foreign universities, getting students to come to China. As I already have a job I like, but one possibly not able to renew my visa, the negotiations were tricky, and I discovered afterwards there were one or two misunderstandings. We also avoided the tricky question of money, although universities in China are overflowing with money, so hopefully it won't be too much of an issue.
At the end of the evening, the leader paid the bill, and being a teacher, she got 15% off, which is a common arrangement for restaurants in areas with universities and schools. She asked me if there were similar arrangements for teachers in England. I think not. The mostly undrunk baijiu was given to me, which is a real bonus because it is an expensive one. I left with my friend first, the three other teachers staying behind to discuss the events and to wonder if all foreigners have such a fancy for pineapply rice.
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Indonesians come to China
Last week our company started the training event that we have been 'preparing' for the last few weeks. There are 32 Indonesians, all men and with varying levels of experience as operators of power stations. They are here for nearly 2 months, mostly for training on a simulator.
I've been struck by how incredibly friendly and modest they are. During the opening ceremony, their 'leader' was fraught with nerves and could barely speak. He said if they made any mistakes or did anything culturally inappropriate, they were very sorry. Absolutely nothing of the sort from our side.
The presenter and translator for the speeches of the 领导, ling dao, or leaders, was me. I can be spotted in the background of two of these photos.
http://www.npgc.net/news_detail.asp?id=356&pid=6
The speech delivered by our boss was actually written by someone else, and the first time he saw it was when he unfolded it from his pocket. The Indonesians sung their national anthem with vigour and rythm; our side sung theirs feebly. (The only saving grace was no-one asked me to sing God Save the Queen). My favourite part was when the boss explained how the boiler engineer couldn't make it because he was still compling the teaching materials, when, in fact, the company did not even have a boiler engineer present at that time. As for my translation, it was reasonable. Even the translators in our company were surprised I could understand the Chinese, despite working here for nearly half a year. The Indonesians also looked slightly confused by my presence.
The training is in its 9th day now. I've not actually been told to do anything (I have a lot of freedom as one of the two 'experts'), but I've been listening to each lecture every morning. All I can say, the importance of preparation should never be underestimated. A fairly simple piece of organization, this training, and the people in charge have fucked it up royally. I don't actually translate myself, just sit at the back taking notes, and try to give advice to our translators (Chinese engineer speaks Chinese, Chinese translator speaks English, Indonesians listen - yes, this is as problematic as it sounds).
Our company is nothing if not thrifty. If you want to use a paper cup, you have to apply for one. My suit (which is not the right size at all) cost 300 RMB, but they charged me 500 RMB for it ('standard company policy'). Initially, the boss said that, because the Indonesians going to the mosque on Friday is nothing to do with them, they should go by public bus. 32 non-Chinese speaking Indonesians piling onto overcrowded buses going to a place they don't know the location of? Brilliant. The snacks offered daily for the 32 Indonesian trainings during training consists of one bag of biscuits costing 2 pence. The classroom offered was a room in a hotel on the 'staff area' floor with no windows or ventilation. Even when the big boss saw this, he was pissed off. Although he only changed it when he knew the management from the Indonesian side were coming to look.
But anyway, it continues, and we'll see what happens.
I've been struck by how incredibly friendly and modest they are. During the opening ceremony, their 'leader' was fraught with nerves and could barely speak. He said if they made any mistakes or did anything culturally inappropriate, they were very sorry. Absolutely nothing of the sort from our side.
The presenter and translator for the speeches of the 领导, ling dao, or leaders, was me. I can be spotted in the background of two of these photos.
http://www.npgc.net/news_detail.asp?id=356&pid=6
The speech delivered by our boss was actually written by someone else, and the first time he saw it was when he unfolded it from his pocket. The Indonesians sung their national anthem with vigour and rythm; our side sung theirs feebly. (The only saving grace was no-one asked me to sing God Save the Queen). My favourite part was when the boss explained how the boiler engineer couldn't make it because he was still compling the teaching materials, when, in fact, the company did not even have a boiler engineer present at that time. As for my translation, it was reasonable. Even the translators in our company were surprised I could understand the Chinese, despite working here for nearly half a year. The Indonesians also looked slightly confused by my presence.
The training is in its 9th day now. I've not actually been told to do anything (I have a lot of freedom as one of the two 'experts'), but I've been listening to each lecture every morning. All I can say, the importance of preparation should never be underestimated. A fairly simple piece of organization, this training, and the people in charge have fucked it up royally. I don't actually translate myself, just sit at the back taking notes, and try to give advice to our translators (Chinese engineer speaks Chinese, Chinese translator speaks English, Indonesians listen - yes, this is as problematic as it sounds).
Our company is nothing if not thrifty. If you want to use a paper cup, you have to apply for one. My suit (which is not the right size at all) cost 300 RMB, but they charged me 500 RMB for it ('standard company policy'). Initially, the boss said that, because the Indonesians going to the mosque on Friday is nothing to do with them, they should go by public bus. 32 non-Chinese speaking Indonesians piling onto overcrowded buses going to a place they don't know the location of? Brilliant. The snacks offered daily for the 32 Indonesian trainings during training consists of one bag of biscuits costing 2 pence. The classroom offered was a room in a hotel on the 'staff area' floor with no windows or ventilation. Even when the big boss saw this, he was pissed off. Although he only changed it when he knew the management from the Indonesian side were coming to look.
But anyway, it continues, and we'll see what happens.
Monday, 16 March 2009
Spring Break Ltd
A couple of weeks ago our company organised a 2-day 'chun you' 春游 (spring break), which is something where most people get out and about to make the most of the relatively pleasant spring weather. Most companies will offer this, and our boss, always one for skiving off work and driving her car round the outskirts of the city, organised a visit to some surrounding attractions for our 40-strong team. (Last week, she fell asleep on the couch in her office after a little too much liquid at lunchtime).
(photos available at this address: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=70507&id=510992267&l=35c1d2039f )
We gathered at 8am outside the company and boarded the coach. Just as I'm wondering where we're going, a microphone screeches and a booming, lispy voice comes at me from every direction. That was when I realised I was facing for the first time something I normally try and avoid - a tour guide.
My worst fears were confirmed when she tried to get us to do some 'wake-up games'. The sight of girls rubbing their heads with their left hand and boys rubbing their ears with their right hands holds zero amusement for me, and apparently for everyone as well, because no-one else joined in. Not to be deterred, our courageous guide, a young girl named Xiao Wang, sang us a very moving rendition of the Chinese equivalent of 'wheels on the bus' (or some such). The accompanying round of applause was, if not generous, at least sympathetic. At least we weren't distributed matching visors, and the attempts at colour-coding us into teams proved beyond her powers of organisation.
First stop was a small town next to Xian called Lantian. Almost every city or large town in China is famous for something, and Lantian is famous for jade. So we stopped in the main street and piled into a shop selling jade. I was surprised by how fascinated everyone was by the jade on offer as a) you can buy it everywhere and b) its probably fake. Instead I sat in the backroom with a copy of the Shaanxi Morning Post.
Later that morning, we drove to the outskirts of Lantian to Wang Shun Mountain. Snow still covered the ground, and with the clear blue skies and trees just starting to leave behind winter, it provided a very pleasant backdrop. Taking advantage of this rare opportunity for solitude, I charged ahead and was able to make the 3 hour climb to the top unfollowed by the rest of my 'team'. Stone steps snaked their way slowly up, past waterfalls and pavilions, the footprints of early climbers marking the way where the snow was heavy. Higher up, it was possible to see the surrounding peaks, stretching far away, with the occassional pavilion perched on the side.
However, it was still in China, which meant someone decided that the sound of birdsong and rushing water is insufficent, and needed to be completed by background music. Speakers were rigged to the overhead cable car, and the sort of music you hear in lifts in faux up-market shopping centres accompanied me up the mountain. It was even louder at the top, lilting across the ranges like goo.
The afternoon was followed a longish bus trip to the south of the province (Shaanxi) to Zhashui. On the bus, I was nominated by the assistant guide (a complete twat) to sing a song. I opted instead for a joke, and I'm pleased to say it went down like a sack of rain-soaked rice. Nothing like having to repeat a punchline. Three times. In Chinese.
Anyway, when we got there, the attraction was an ancient street where a film was once shot. In the evening, some of the men in our party thought it would be fun to get me drunk, but their shameful ability at drinking meant their efforts were short lived. The woman boss kept trying to encourage us to 'kao rou' (barbequing slithers of skewered-meat). Instead I was listening to the Chief Engineer in the company tell me all sorts of things that if I had only understood I am sure would have been of the utmost interest.
Sunday morning, I got up early and went for a wonder through the fields. With urbanisation incerasing at planet-destroying rates, its easy to forget that China is an agricultural based country. We got up nice and early and took a ride to the a series of caves with those 'rock icicle' things in. Inside were lots of surprisingly interesting and attractive rock formations and even more tourists. Our group got seperated after about 3 seconds and all different groups then moulded into one, big, slow moving group, like an oil spill in the ocean.
I have to say something about photography. Chinese just love taking pictures, particularly of themselves. Every time anyone got to anything remotely of interest ("this rock is slightly more pointy than the last one!"), they stand in front of it and get someone to take a picture of them. Invariably there are two 'poses', the word 'pose' now being a part of the lexicon of most young urbanites. One is the V sign (victory, not piss off), and the other is a completely expressionless face. I couldn't help but snigger when 3 of them had their battery run out. The forlorn, almost dazed, expression, was a photo opportunity in itself (if only they hadn't run out of battery). For them, that was the end of the trip, and they made swiftly for the exit.
Heading back to the smog of Xian, it was nice to have had a reminder that there is a whole lot more to China (and possibly life generally) than banging around in a city all day.
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Who is Saddam Hussein
The last couple of weeks I've been doing some recruitment work for company, part of which involved me writing a short exam to test the written English ability of applicants. The final section was a reading comprehension and proofreading exercise. The final question was 'Who is Saddam Hussein'? I chose this question as a general knowledge question, although his name also appeared in the text. Here are some of the incorrect answers.
The President of Iraq
He is a terrorist, he always destroy the peace of the world
He is a publicly financed glorification of serving leader
He is the ex-President of Packstein and was hung years before
The president of Irak
A terrorist, the head of Iraq, did harm to the people in Iraq and also to the people in the whole world
He was thought to a terror and devil by Americans, but a hero in his country
The President of Afghanistan
America's President
The leader of a mideast country named Israel
The President of Iraq
He is a terrorist, he always destroy the peace of the world
He is a publicly financed glorification of serving leader
He is the ex-President of Packstein and was hung years before
The president of Irak
A terrorist, the head of Iraq, did harm to the people in Iraq and also to the people in the whole world
He was thought to a terror and devil by Americans, but a hero in his country
The President of Afghanistan
America's President
The leader of a mideast country named Israel
Sunday, 1 March 2009
'If you are honoured enough to join our company..."
Last Thursday I took part in a recruitment meeting for our company at the leading university in Xian. Officially due to the snow, although more probably due to the low salary on offer, attendees numbered around the 40 mark.
The presentation was delivered in a lecture room by our 'boss', the woman married to the Actual Boss. I used to think she was quite formidable, but have come to realise that she is hopelessly unqualified for this position. In fact, the whole company reminds me of a monarchy, with people being in high positions or promoted depending on their 'guanxi' (relations) with the other important people. Skill and ability are strictly secondary. It sounds a bit of a cliche to say this about China, but this is what was told to me the day after by the former head of the translation department. To save face, she wasn't sacked directly, but put in a position where leaving was the only real option. It's grim up top.
Anyway, back to the presentation. She fumbled about for 5 minutes with the computer, which turned out to be only preparation for even greater fumbling later on. Even if she had remembered to introduce herself, such was the paucity of her comments and apparent lack of knowledge about the company that the attendees must have been wondering 'Who is this woman', 'What does this company do again?', 'Why is her hairstyle like that of a racoon?', etc.
After skipping over unimportant facts like the nature and requirements of the job, etc, she went on to the bulk of her presentation - showing photos of Indonesia and Sudan, where the company have staff working overseas. She had turned into Judith Chalmers, telling us the delights of beaches and lobsters in Northern Sumatra. My favourite picture was the one of the outside of the car park building at Jakarta Airport - truly a decision-maker for those potential employees.
Then onto the videos. She decided to show some footage of the New Years Party. Just as my feeling of mortification was setting in (me in a dress is not pretty), I was saved by her terrible computer skills as she did not know how to press the 'Play' button on Windows Media. My favourite clip was of two people repairing an old, two wheeled wooden cart next to a pile of coal. So this is the high technology of which you speak! Sign me up!
Our current team of English translators suffers from the slight hindrance of not being to speak or understand English, so this time I interviewed all the people who had not already left to test their English. The level was extremely good. The head of the translation department (age:23) only came to this company by accident because she thought it was a state-owned company, and I got the feeling some of these guys might be under the same false impression. I asked one girl the differences between young and middle-aged people in China, and was given a slightly ribald and detailed response centering on sex.
Afterwards, Mrs Boss, myself and one of her lackeys (supposedly HR manager) had a good laugh comparing the attractiveness of the various female translators in our company. If only Mrs Boss paid as much attention to her presentations as she did to her withering critiques of the physical features of her staff, we might actually get somewhere.
The presentation was delivered in a lecture room by our 'boss', the woman married to the Actual Boss. I used to think she was quite formidable, but have come to realise that she is hopelessly unqualified for this position. In fact, the whole company reminds me of a monarchy, with people being in high positions or promoted depending on their 'guanxi' (relations) with the other important people. Skill and ability are strictly secondary. It sounds a bit of a cliche to say this about China, but this is what was told to me the day after by the former head of the translation department. To save face, she wasn't sacked directly, but put in a position where leaving was the only real option. It's grim up top.
Anyway, back to the presentation. She fumbled about for 5 minutes with the computer, which turned out to be only preparation for even greater fumbling later on. Even if she had remembered to introduce herself, such was the paucity of her comments and apparent lack of knowledge about the company that the attendees must have been wondering 'Who is this woman', 'What does this company do again?', 'Why is her hairstyle like that of a racoon?', etc.
After skipping over unimportant facts like the nature and requirements of the job, etc, she went on to the bulk of her presentation - showing photos of Indonesia and Sudan, where the company have staff working overseas. She had turned into Judith Chalmers, telling us the delights of beaches and lobsters in Northern Sumatra. My favourite picture was the one of the outside of the car park building at Jakarta Airport - truly a decision-maker for those potential employees.
Then onto the videos. She decided to show some footage of the New Years Party. Just as my feeling of mortification was setting in (me in a dress is not pretty), I was saved by her terrible computer skills as she did not know how to press the 'Play' button on Windows Media. My favourite clip was of two people repairing an old, two wheeled wooden cart next to a pile of coal. So this is the high technology of which you speak! Sign me up!
Our current team of English translators suffers from the slight hindrance of not being to speak or understand English, so this time I interviewed all the people who had not already left to test their English. The level was extremely good. The head of the translation department (age:23) only came to this company by accident because she thought it was a state-owned company, and I got the feeling some of these guys might be under the same false impression. I asked one girl the differences between young and middle-aged people in China, and was given a slightly ribald and detailed response centering on sex.
Afterwards, Mrs Boss, myself and one of her lackeys (supposedly HR manager) had a good laugh comparing the attractiveness of the various female translators in our company. If only Mrs Boss paid as much attention to her presentations as she did to her withering critiques of the physical features of her staff, we might actually get somewhere.
Sunday, 15 February 2009
Valentines Day
5000 years of glorious history, from the bone-reading clerics of the Shang Dynasty all the way through to Bruce Lee, a fair supply of festivals have been invented and accumulated during this time. A festival celebrating the act of love, lovers, etc, is among them. The traditional 'Lover's Day' in China is the 7th day of the 7th lunar month (in August), and I read about the story in the Intermediate (Lower) Chinese textbook a couple of years ago. It seemed a nice story, about a boy and a girl separated by an evil old woman, and only allowed to meet once a year. They are represented by two stars in the sky.
But that's old, boring, and, crucially, is not commercially viable. So what we need to do is forget that rubbish and learn something from those rich, car-owning Westerners - celebrate Valentines Day. A perfect opportunity to spend ever larger proportions of our small salaries on crap no-one wants for the girl we love.
So what is the correct way to show our appreciation and affection? Money. Or, if you have it, loads of money. Flowers are good, although be sure to buy a bunch bigger than your loved one's best friend, otherwise she will be even more offended than if you had bought nothing. Blue roses have been on offer this year. Chocolates, as well, are good, preferably Western brands (knock off ones acceptable, she'll never notice).
Other ideal presents include kingsize fluffy animals, and it seems the older your precious sweetheart is, the bigger should her new bedtime companion be. Disney character balloons and thin ones twisted into the shape of hearts are offered at street corners. If you're feeling devilish, you could buy all of them, although this might cause the oh-so-disastrous event of her floating away. Another good idea is taking her to her favourite shops, such as those specialising in Mickey Mouse handbags.
Be aware, that the love you hold for her is directly proportional to the amount of money you spend on her, or if she's an understanding type, a percentage of your income. Failure to show the necessary 'love' will result in temper tantrums, beatings and charges of irresponsibility and uselessness.
For the man, prepare a pair of padded gardening gloves and a 20litre backpack as all those flowers, toys, animals and tat purchased will be carried round the shops, to the restaurant and home by you. After all, we wouldn't want anyone to get weighed down by foliage. Your other free hand should at all times be in some way connected to the petal on your other side.
How to choose a restaurant? Option A is to choose a place where your cupid once expressed a desire to go, and being the thoughtful knight, you remembered. This place has a nice environment, excellent food and is something a little different from the usual. Option B is to go to a really expensive one. Select Option B. Worried that it's like dining in a car showroom? Don't be. Just pay the bill, you'll be fine.
After dinner and more definitely-not-boring-as-hell window shopping and actual shopping, a trip to a favourite authentic Western restaurant is a good plan. Be sure to buy the 'meal' where you can get free plastic dolls of characters from the hit movie 'Madagascar'. Preferably choose a seat where your loved one will face away from other people - the table nearest the 'staff only' door or next to the washroom are best. If you choose one open to the comings and goings of high-heel girlfriends and present-clinging boyfriends, you will be subject to the number one pastime of 50% of girls in this part of the world - comparing. It's a super fun game, mainly for her. She gets to compare her level of happiness with others by using the GMR - Gift-Money Ratio, a simple calculation made in under 1 second through careful study of other species in the field of vision. Any perceived slight on her part - for example, girl in the white coat had a bigger Mickey Mouse than her - will be remembered for many days and weeks, and will result in a sullen taxi ride home.
And way the day is over, never mind. There are festivals seemingly every week here (last week was a day when you're supposed to get your hair cut), so you'll have more opportunity to express your feelings to your significant other and your sorrow to your bank manager.
But that's old, boring, and, crucially, is not commercially viable. So what we need to do is forget that rubbish and learn something from those rich, car-owning Westerners - celebrate Valentines Day. A perfect opportunity to spend ever larger proportions of our small salaries on crap no-one wants for the girl we love.
So what is the correct way to show our appreciation and affection? Money. Or, if you have it, loads of money. Flowers are good, although be sure to buy a bunch bigger than your loved one's best friend, otherwise she will be even more offended than if you had bought nothing. Blue roses have been on offer this year. Chocolates, as well, are good, preferably Western brands (knock off ones acceptable, she'll never notice).
Other ideal presents include kingsize fluffy animals, and it seems the older your precious sweetheart is, the bigger should her new bedtime companion be. Disney character balloons and thin ones twisted into the shape of hearts are offered at street corners. If you're feeling devilish, you could buy all of them, although this might cause the oh-so-disastrous event of her floating away. Another good idea is taking her to her favourite shops, such as those specialising in Mickey Mouse handbags.
Be aware, that the love you hold for her is directly proportional to the amount of money you spend on her, or if she's an understanding type, a percentage of your income. Failure to show the necessary 'love' will result in temper tantrums, beatings and charges of irresponsibility and uselessness.
For the man, prepare a pair of padded gardening gloves and a 20litre backpack as all those flowers, toys, animals and tat purchased will be carried round the shops, to the restaurant and home by you. After all, we wouldn't want anyone to get weighed down by foliage. Your other free hand should at all times be in some way connected to the petal on your other side.
How to choose a restaurant? Option A is to choose a place where your cupid once expressed a desire to go, and being the thoughtful knight, you remembered. This place has a nice environment, excellent food and is something a little different from the usual. Option B is to go to a really expensive one. Select Option B. Worried that it's like dining in a car showroom? Don't be. Just pay the bill, you'll be fine.
After dinner and more definitely-not-boring-as-hell window shopping and actual shopping, a trip to a favourite authentic Western restaurant is a good plan. Be sure to buy the 'meal' where you can get free plastic dolls of characters from the hit movie 'Madagascar'. Preferably choose a seat where your loved one will face away from other people - the table nearest the 'staff only' door or next to the washroom are best. If you choose one open to the comings and goings of high-heel girlfriends and present-clinging boyfriends, you will be subject to the number one pastime of 50% of girls in this part of the world - comparing. It's a super fun game, mainly for her. She gets to compare her level of happiness with others by using the GMR - Gift-Money Ratio, a simple calculation made in under 1 second through careful study of other species in the field of vision. Any perceived slight on her part - for example, girl in the white coat had a bigger Mickey Mouse than her - will be remembered for many days and weeks, and will result in a sullen taxi ride home.
And way the day is over, never mind. There are festivals seemingly every week here (last week was a day when you're supposed to get your hair cut), so you'll have more opportunity to express your feelings to your significant other and your sorrow to your bank manager.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Chinese New Year
Although in China for over 2 and half years now, last week was my first chance to properly spend Chinese New Year. Using my miserly 6 days holiday, I went back to a friend's hometown, Baoji. It's the second largest city in the province, and an hour away on the fast train. Or if you're a 'true' local like me, you'll take the super cheap and super crowded slow train. Millions of people travel for twenty or thirty hours with no seat during this time of year, so I certainly wasn't complaining about my seated two and a half hour journey.
When I got off the train to be met by my friend (who was, in keeping with what is apparently another Chinese tradition, late) I was briefed on the correct ways to address the family members. This is a delicate area of etqiuette. I should address the mother as 'ai yi' (aunt) and the father as 'shushu' (uncle). This is both polite and personal. Calling family members by their names would be extremely rude, and the older they are the ruder it would be. Although I knew all this before and was prepped going up the stairs to the flat, it's easier said than done. I feel uncomfortable calling people things other than names (or possibly amusing insults). I was told on opening the door to say 'aiyi, shuhu, nihao' (hello). All I managed was a weak 'nihao', thus committing a faux pas.
That evening we watched the short TV programme I made in 2007 . When I tell people about it, one of the first comments is 'how much money did they give you for it'? My answer that I did it for the fun of it and only got 200yuan was met by the mother in the usual way - bafflement, almost disapproval. A Chinese person thinks anyone who doesn't take every opportunity to make money is either unlucky or stupid.
Baoji is the second city of this province, home to about a million people, most of whom are actually descendants of people who came here from outside the province. My friend's paternal grandparents came here from North East China to work, and the maternal grandparents came from central Henan province, where they were escaping from a flood caused by the deliberate breaking of a dam by Chang Kaishek during the Civil War in the 1940s. Like most people in Baoji, they don't speak the local language of the province. To be unkind, Baoji is, like many Chinese cities, noticeable for it's sameness. But it has much better air than Xian, and the mountains surrounding it provide a welcome reminder of nature.
The father used to work in the electrical equipment factory, and as such the three of them live in the 'family living area', row after row of six storey flats provided for the families of the factory employees. Most employees would retire at 50, and so he runs a small place where people play mahjong. In fact, 20 years ago I would not be allowed into this area, as half of the city was closed to foreigners.
Their family is like that of millions of others. The father has two sisters and a brother, the mother has four sisters and a brother. With the only child policy, the family photo of the mother's side was noticeable for its lack of young faces. The parents grew up at the back end of the Cultural Revolution, and never enjoyed the relative wealth and openness which their kids do. They speak frankly and without airs. Like most Chinese men, the father liked to impart words of wisdom about Chinese history and culture to me. If I had 1 yuan for everytime someone told me how many years old Chinese culture is (answer: 5000), I'd be a rich man (and would not have to make TV programmes for a living anymore). I can also drink baojiu, Chinese alchoholic spirit a bit like vodka, which went down well.
The second day, we went round the corner to the house of the paternal grandparents. Visiting relatives is one of the main New Years activities, with the others being making and eating dumplings, buying clothes, setting off fireworks, sleeping and watching TV. I made the same mistake again of not addressing them in the correct way (although I did splutter out a weak 'nainai' (grandmother) at some point). The food was like the food for the entire 5 days - superb.
The next day we went round again for making and eating dumplings and watching TV. The dumplings were delicious and plentiful. Most of her relatives had absolutely no idea how I could eat something as disgusting as bread, and how I manage to get enough sustenance without rice and mantou (steamed buns) was equally perplexing. With the constant urging of various uncles and aunts to eat more throughout the holiday, I've definitely put on some pounds.
On the evening of New Years, we went outside to 'fang pao', set off firecrackers. We had some exceptionally loud ones. All they did was emit an enormous bang and leave red stuff everywhere. But good fun. The point is too frighten away bad spirits. I imagine the cats were also frightened away. For similar reasons, actually, you're not meant to throw out the rubbish on New Years Eve in case you throw out the good spirits (and possibly some unused fireworks). Some of the neighbours had gone all out and bought loads of 'proper' fireworks, which made for a very spectular and noisy night. The blatent disregard for safety was extrmely refreshing. My over-riding impression was how much it sounded like war, with booms of various intensity heard all around. The fireworks go on for 15 days, by which time I imagine all spirits and timid creatures will have been thoroughly dispensed of.
The highlight for me, though, had to be the next day, when we went to an uncle's house to see the relatives of the other side of the family. After lunch and TV watching, I was taken to the unmissable Titanium Factory. The whole complex employs 20,000 people, and consititutes a small town on its own, known simply as '71'. The relatives work there, and as such live 'onsite' in the family living area. It is the largest titanium factory in China, I was told proudly, and given its location right in the mountains, probaly the most inaccessible of all of China's titanium factories. It was moved here in the 1960s by Chairman Mao as part of his attempt to protect the key industries from possible war.
We piled into the back of a black Volkswagen Santana (with Snoopy steering wheel) to drive the short distance to the factory itself. It consists of different buildings, connected by a single road. They've had 30 years to move it, but maybe the scenic location is too much of a draw. Inside was a mixture of titianium in various forms, crumbling old machinery and brand new Italian and Germany equipment. The mountainous setting was a nice change from the city. In fact, if I had kept walking south through the mountains, I would have made it into panda country and Sichuan.
Which is probably where all those evil sprits went.
When I got off the train to be met by my friend (who was, in keeping with what is apparently another Chinese tradition, late) I was briefed on the correct ways to address the family members. This is a delicate area of etqiuette. I should address the mother as 'ai yi' (aunt) and the father as 'shushu' (uncle). This is both polite and personal. Calling family members by their names would be extremely rude, and the older they are the ruder it would be. Although I knew all this before and was prepped going up the stairs to the flat, it's easier said than done. I feel uncomfortable calling people things other than names (or possibly amusing insults). I was told on opening the door to say 'aiyi, shuhu, nihao' (hello). All I managed was a weak 'nihao', thus committing a faux pas.
That evening we watched the short TV programme I made in 2007 . When I tell people about it, one of the first comments is 'how much money did they give you for it'? My answer that I did it for the fun of it and only got 200yuan was met by the mother in the usual way - bafflement, almost disapproval. A Chinese person thinks anyone who doesn't take every opportunity to make money is either unlucky or stupid.
Baoji is the second city of this province, home to about a million people, most of whom are actually descendants of people who came here from outside the province. My friend's paternal grandparents came here from North East China to work, and the maternal grandparents came from central Henan province, where they were escaping from a flood caused by the deliberate breaking of a dam by Chang Kaishek during the Civil War in the 1940s. Like most people in Baoji, they don't speak the local language of the province. To be unkind, Baoji is, like many Chinese cities, noticeable for it's sameness. But it has much better air than Xian, and the mountains surrounding it provide a welcome reminder of nature.
The father used to work in the electrical equipment factory, and as such the three of them live in the 'family living area', row after row of six storey flats provided for the families of the factory employees. Most employees would retire at 50, and so he runs a small place where people play mahjong. In fact, 20 years ago I would not be allowed into this area, as half of the city was closed to foreigners.
Their family is like that of millions of others. The father has two sisters and a brother, the mother has four sisters and a brother. With the only child policy, the family photo of the mother's side was noticeable for its lack of young faces. The parents grew up at the back end of the Cultural Revolution, and never enjoyed the relative wealth and openness which their kids do. They speak frankly and without airs. Like most Chinese men, the father liked to impart words of wisdom about Chinese history and culture to me. If I had 1 yuan for everytime someone told me how many years old Chinese culture is (answer: 5000), I'd be a rich man (and would not have to make TV programmes for a living anymore). I can also drink baojiu, Chinese alchoholic spirit a bit like vodka, which went down well.
The second day, we went round the corner to the house of the paternal grandparents. Visiting relatives is one of the main New Years activities, with the others being making and eating dumplings, buying clothes, setting off fireworks, sleeping and watching TV. I made the same mistake again of not addressing them in the correct way (although I did splutter out a weak 'nainai' (grandmother) at some point). The food was like the food for the entire 5 days - superb.
The next day we went round again for making and eating dumplings and watching TV. The dumplings were delicious and plentiful. Most of her relatives had absolutely no idea how I could eat something as disgusting as bread, and how I manage to get enough sustenance without rice and mantou (steamed buns) was equally perplexing. With the constant urging of various uncles and aunts to eat more throughout the holiday, I've definitely put on some pounds.
On the evening of New Years, we went outside to 'fang pao', set off firecrackers. We had some exceptionally loud ones. All they did was emit an enormous bang and leave red stuff everywhere. But good fun. The point is too frighten away bad spirits. I imagine the cats were also frightened away. For similar reasons, actually, you're not meant to throw out the rubbish on New Years Eve in case you throw out the good spirits (and possibly some unused fireworks). Some of the neighbours had gone all out and bought loads of 'proper' fireworks, which made for a very spectular and noisy night. The blatent disregard for safety was extrmely refreshing. My over-riding impression was how much it sounded like war, with booms of various intensity heard all around. The fireworks go on for 15 days, by which time I imagine all spirits and timid creatures will have been thoroughly dispensed of.
The highlight for me, though, had to be the next day, when we went to an uncle's house to see the relatives of the other side of the family. After lunch and TV watching, I was taken to the unmissable Titanium Factory. The whole complex employs 20,000 people, and consititutes a small town on its own, known simply as '71'. The relatives work there, and as such live 'onsite' in the family living area. It is the largest titanium factory in China, I was told proudly, and given its location right in the mountains, probaly the most inaccessible of all of China's titanium factories. It was moved here in the 1960s by Chairman Mao as part of his attempt to protect the key industries from possible war.
We piled into the back of a black Volkswagen Santana (with Snoopy steering wheel) to drive the short distance to the factory itself. It consists of different buildings, connected by a single road. They've had 30 years to move it, but maybe the scenic location is too much of a draw. Inside was a mixture of titianium in various forms, crumbling old machinery and brand new Italian and Germany equipment. The mountainous setting was a nice change from the city. In fact, if I had kept walking south through the mountains, I would have made it into panda country and Sichuan.
Which is probably where all those evil sprits went.
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