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.
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