A camel for hire

Next up, we have China from 1997…

“On holiday again??” I hear you shout. However, this time it was actually a “cultural investigation tour” (at least that’s what my supervisor told me to write on my travel form). To this end I headed to China for 10 days in order to investigate the culture, just so that I could report the findings to your good selves.

Twenty of us met for the first time at Narita and headed for Beijing. This being Japan, we were booked into fancy hotels and supplied with guides with flags so that we would feel like we hadn’t left Japan. Us being gaijin, we soon wandered off on our own to backstreet markets and indulged in patently dangerous activities such as speaking to the locals.

Before departure I had 2 images of China – one of the “old-style” China with millions of Mao jacket-sporting cyclists toiling in the fields and the other of the “new-style” China with millions of designer label-sporting cyclists toiling in the markets as part of the great leap forward into capitalism. As it happened, I was to encounter both. In fact, in Beijing, there were a surprising number of mountain bikes (albeit looking just as old and decrepit as the classic model).

Our first day was taken up with a trip to the Great Wall and Tiananmen Square. The Wall was pretty spectacular – stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions and swarming with tourists. However, if you walked for about half an hour you got the whole thing to yourself. We also had the great luck to meet a whole bunch of Japanese high school kids on a school trip. Naturally they were in full uniform. Meanwhile, Chinese people were trying to persuade us to buy all manner of junk (“I climbed the Great Wall” certificates and t-shirts inter alia) as well as trying to entice us to have our photo taken on a real live camel. Deng Xiaoping is to be thanked heartily for opening China up to such delights.

Then it was back to Tiananmen Square for some kite-flying lessons from the locals and a look at the Hong Kong countdown clock (snapshot: 107 days/5165143 seconds). On the subject of HK, I saw a guy wearing a jacket emblazoned with “Hong Kong Return Motherland 1997.7.1″. Also, most museums had an unusual pricing policy – one price for Chinese and “compatriots” (whatever one of them is) from HK, Macau and Taiwan, one price for “overseas Chinese” and another price for foreign devils. The whole Taiwan issue was quite interesting – the news portrayed it as just another part of China and everything was carefully worded to reinforce this impression. Staying in the aforementioned fancy hotels, we could experience the joy of the BBC, NHK, CNN and other sundry satellite stations. However, the local stuff was fascinating. In particular, the revolutionary karaoke programmes. Quite often there would be a video of police/army types marching/looking starry-eyed/torturing dissidents (only joking) to the accompaniment of patriotic songs for the masses to learn and cherish when the camel photo trade is slack.

Having had the requisite amount of patriotism instilled in us, we were judged solemn enough for the trip to see Mao’s mausoleum. As a connoisseur of mausoleums, you’ll be interested to hear of a couple of the finer points perhaps missed by the casual visitor. Firstly, this one offered flowers for sale to visitors (I suppose the camel was otherwise engaged). Now, being the standard in-the-front-door-and-out-the-back design, this proffers an opportunity for a bit of entrepreneurial recycling i.e. deposit your flowers at the statue of Mao in the lobby (which looks for all the world like the Lincoln memorial) and have your flowers sold to someone else while you tour the sarcophagus. Also, being a recent entrant in the formaldehyde stakes, our Mao looks rather more sprightly than Lenin. It should also be noted that the locals haven’t adopted the cosy “uncle” moniker in the same way as Ho Chi Minh is referred to as “uncle Ho”. So, having now visited Lenin, uncle Ho and Mao, it only remains for a trip to the Philippines to see Ferdinand Marcos and a return to Pyongyang to see Kim Il Sung to complete the set.

The rest of the day was taken up with a stroll around the Forbidden City and a trip to Beijing’s most celebrated Peking Duck eatery. In the window, they proudly display pictures of past patrons, including such luminaries as George Bush and Maggie Thatcher. On the strength of their enthusiastic recommendations, we subsequently enjoyed the duck and its trimmings, with the possible exception of the duck soup, which tasted like cold dishwater.

That night it was off to the acrobatics show. We were treated to the likes of people jumping through hoops, a large number of people on a single bicycle and contortionist women twisting their bodies into weird shapes, all the while balancing candelabra on the heads, feet and hands. The highlight though was boy in a panda outfit with a cheeky face, subsequently dubbed “panda boy”, who performed all manner of acrobatics with metal tubing and planks of wood.

The next morning witnessed our first pre-dawn appearance in the lobby. This time it was for a visit to Tiantan Park to see the early morning taichi. There were loads of old folk doing taichi, aerobics, playing badminton and making weird squawking noises. Highly entertaining. I even had a game of badminton (with table tennis bats) with an old guy. He had obviously been practising for years and I was soon shamed into submission. We managed a quick look around the Temple of Heaven just after it opened and just before the herds of Taiwanese compatriots spoiled the early morning idyll.

It was around this time that we developed our fascination for tacky junk markets. Delights such as Mao’s little red book, Mao alarm clocks and even Mao lighters that play revolutionary songs when opened (just in case your memory isn’t so good) were just waiting to be haggled for. This also gave us a good opportunity to put our newly developed Chinese skills into practice. It is always useful to learn “too expensive” in any language and Chinese is no exception (“taiquaila” in case you were wondering). After a morning of frenetic bargaining, a nap in the hotel was called for.

The afternoon brought a trip to the foreign languages bookstore. This place would appear to be one of the few places in China with a noticeable Soviet influence. Indeed, they were selling posters of Marx and Stalin! Also, they employed the classic Soviet buying system whereby you browse the shelves, take what you want to one counter, get a bill, take it to another counter, pay, return to the original counter and finally make off with your purchase. On the way back, I went passed Beijing station. The outside was crowded with people from the four corners of China, carrying massive packages, shouting incomprehensibly and milling around aimlessly. The inside was almost deserted – there were guards checking tickets and x-raying luggage at the entrances.

The night brought another opportunity for cultural investigation, in the form of a trip to the opera. As far as I could gather, this was the historical story of the monkey god who stole the peach elixir and ended up fighting various people in brightly hued costumes. I say this because the plot was written on big display boards at the side of the stage. However, the narration was in fluent Chinglish and would occasionally disappear at crucial moments.

Being fluent in Japlish of course afforded me some insight into the narration. Having studied some Japanese was also useful in some situations in China. For example, after failing to communicate “where is the book department?” in English (nothing like a bit of cultural imperialism) and sign language, I resorted to writing the kanji, which produced instant comprehension. I also spotted a couple of interesting kanji compounds. Firstly, the meaning of the kanji for pepsi cola is “hundred thing tasty drink”. Secondly, the kanji for the USA is not “rice country” as it is in Japan but in fact “beautiful country”. Hmmm.

The next day, we were back in the lobby at some ungodly hour for the flight to Xi’an, home to the terracotta warriors. We were met at the airport by our local guide, Hiu. He proudly told us that his English name was Spencer, as in Spencer Tracy. It was Frank Spencer that came to my mind. His pet phrases were “I read it in a book” and “there are 3 things to remember about ~”. He knew everything there is to know about Xi’an and, in the way of an experienced presenter, he would tell us the 3 points, recap them and later test us on them. And he had a flag. Also, because we were a young group, he took it upon himself to regale us with his jokes. Luckily space doesn’t permit their reproduction.

At the terracotta warriors, you could meet the last remaining farmer that discovered the underground army back in the seventies. Legend has it that 3 farmers were digging a well and happened on 6000 warriors and horses dating from Qin dynasty (200BC). Then they got a job for life signing postcards for tourists. Having been the only person in Scotland not to have seen the warriors when they came to Edinburgh in the eighties, it was good to see them in the clay, so to speak.

Xi’an is also home to a large Muslim population. The sights and smells of the old Muslim quarter are very intriguing. The less said about Chinese toilets the better. The food market contains the usual array of intestines, snakes and turtles, as well as many other unidentifiable articles that would please any haggis producer (old Chinese maxim: we’ll eat anything with 4 legs, apart from tables and chairs). Dinner in Xi’an’s premier Muslim restaurant consisted of dumplings and mutton soup with a piece of flat bread crumbled into it. Intriguing (there’s that word again).

On our second day in Xi’an we visited the Big Goose Pagoda, which the ever trusty Spencer informed us was the starting point for the famous “Journey to the West” saga, as popularised by the (Japanese) TV series “Monkey”. It was with great disappointment that he told us that Pigsy was actually a fictional creation. On our way back to the hotel after dinner we were passing some kind of park when we heard disco music. A quick peek over the fence revealed none other than an open-air disco. After parting with 5 yuan (about 40 pence) we entered to the sight of couples young and old ballroom and line dancing to 2 Unlimited! The sight of 6 weirdo foreigners dancing was just too much of a curiosity for the locals, who immediately formed a circle around us and gaped incredulously. Despite our pleas for them to join us they just continued to stare unbelievingly. Resorting to divide and conquer tactics we split up and managed to slightly diffuse the crowd. Eventually they got used to the concept and started dancing again. Some of them were even brave enough to try out their English on us. Priceless.

Next it was off to Guilin. After hearing many horror stories about internal Chinese flights à la Aeroflot, we were pleasantly surprised by China North West. They even handed out a questionnaire about their service and asked us to nominate any particularly good or bad flight attendants. Whatever next?

Guilin is famed for being the most beautiful place in the world and is the site of the famous limestone karst peaks, as depicted in classical Chinese painting. Incidentally, Ha Long Bay is known as the Guilin of Vietnam. The prospect of a return to Ha Long Bay was weighing heavily on me. Thankfully, the near death experience of my previous visit was not to be repeated. Actually, Guilin city is quite similar to Hanoi – there are a couple of picturesque shady lakes and the place has a sub-tropical feel to it. Also like Hanoi there are many people who are keen to try out their English. However, unlike Hanoi, there are strings attached to these conversations. They usually end up along the lines of “would you like to come and see my gallery?” As a result of being the most beautiful place in the world, the locals are ever keen to rip off the tourists any which way they can. This ranges from arbitrary pricing (you should always confirm the price and exactly what you’re going to get for it beforehand) to having to haggle for the toilet admission price!

The next day was taken up with a boat trip down the Li river to Yanshou. Being a captive audience for half a day offered a prime opportunity to fleece the Japanese tourist of his/her yuan, in the form of overpriced food on the boat. However, being sly westerners we had of course liberated large quantities of croissants and sticky buns from our deluxe hotel breakfast. On arrival in Yanshou we were greeted by innumerable market stalls selling our favourite tacky junk. The stall-holders had mastered the perennial “hello, postcard” greeting (even if they weren’t selling any postcards) and they even had a camel.

Finally, we headed for Shanghai and all its colonial ambience. According to the 1989 census, Shanghai is the fourth largest city in the world after Mexico city, New York and Tokyo. Back in 1989 they were claiming 13 million souls. It’s no doubt a lot higher these days and it certainly felt like every last one of them was out shopping the day we were there. Crossing the road was a major logistical exercise. Shanghai is a shining example of the aforementioned new China (considerably more so than Beijing). Walking along Nanjing Street, past all the designer shops, you could quite easily be in Tokyo. The shiny new metro certainly highlights the tattiness of the one in Beijing.

Another feature of the new China is the introduction of wedding shops. In these, prospective couples go and get dressed up in tails and wedding dresses (you can choose blue or yellow ones, if you so desire) and have their photos taken. Nothing much unusual in that. Except for the fact that crowds of curious passers-by come and stare at the opulence of it all, no doubt making the couples feel like performing goldfish.

After searching unsuccessfully for “hello, postcard” people, I ventured into the old French quarter for an eye-opening tale of two cities. Compared to the glitzy department stores, the dilapidated colonial buildings from the twenties and thirties were positively Dickensian. Everyone’s washing hanging in the street, old people playing mah-jong, haircuts on the street corner, cobblers, children playing.

By this point, the group had disassembled into several smaller groups. However, for our last night we decided to have a group night out. So it was off to the restaurant across the road for some crispy fried snake (quite possibly the least tasty thing I’ve tried in a long time) followed by a trip to the disco. The disco was standard western fare (no 5 yuan bargains here) with a foreign DJ and platforms for dancing on (how could we resist those?). However, it’s most impressive feature was the retractable roof – at the designated moment the DJ opened the roof to reveal a beautiful night sky, complete with brightly shining moon. Awesome.

So there you have it – 10 days, 4 cities, one snake and several camels. On my return to Japan, I couldn’t help noticing how clean, tidy (boring) and, in particular, quiet everything was. Coming from the country where effective honking is a mandatory component of any driving test and where drivers have to practice every few seconds to retain their license to the country where a honk and a bow are used as an apology for pulling out in front of you was certainly a jolt to the system.

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