Falling in Love Again

Like any episode of love at first sight, it happened when I was least expecting it. I stepped off the plane and fell in love with Seoul. Maybe the love will burn out in a hot ball of flames but I don't care.  I'm only here for five days so I'm having a little holiday romance with the city itself.

It has coffee in spades, fabled Asian stationery shops dot the landscapes, there's walking and mountains that juxtapose the trendy bars and dessert cafes and, and, and. Every corner turns up something new: food, Korean BBQ, deep fried delights, check, check. Shopping: makeup street, Gangnam district, shoes(!), check, check, check. Culture: Royal Palace on one corner, old village on the next. Yes.

Again, there's a notable difference in levels of polite from China. Its neighbour, a short 1.5 hour flight from Shanghai, is a world away. People have been friendly and helpful. Yesterday's taxi driver apologized profusely for the traffic jam and as a peace offering for something deeply out of his control, offered us a stick of gum.

This is the Asia of my imagination.

Zhangjiajie

For the second part of China week we got back on the bus and made our way to Zhangjiajie National Park in Hunan Province. It's an area of outstanding natural beauty and as such, UNESCO had designated it as a world heritage site, a dangerous one at that:

Unfortunately it's no secret. Over the course of two days, we vied with over 20,000 Chinese tourists who snaked up, over and around the narrow paths climbing through the mountains at 2,000 meters. We fought pushing crowds with men carrying sedan chairs on their shoulders and kept on counting our 100-student group repeatedly.

We started with a boat ride:

Then we climbed thousands of stairs (no exaggeration) to make it to the viewpoint. For this leg of the trip, we had much of the mountain to ourselves. It turns out the laowai are the only crazy people who want to exert themselves on the way up. The rest of the hordes took buses, elevators and cable cars to the summit. Admittedly, the views were stunning.

Until we got to KFC at the top of a mountain and an hour-long queue for the Bailong Elevator, marketed as a glass elevator down 2,000 meters through the park's stunning scenery. What they don't tell you is that only the eight people in the immediate front get a view. The 35 other people who fit get a great view...of the back of everyone else's heads. That may have set me over the edge.

The rest of the tutor team still seemed in good spirits; but all teachers break on China Week trips and an impending breakdown was coming. Our last stop on the campaign trail took us to a 'scenic walk' down a narrow two-person path that ran immediately alongside a monorail track. We marched the kids down one way and back another--they tried to drop out, to fall, to use the toilet but as gatekeepers of the path, we trudged along with them in tow.

Jonathan, a teacher on the trip, had been hoarding a chocolate chip flapjack with zealous vigor.  He paused and unwrapped it in a kind of manic glee singing the praises of processed sugar.  And as he opened it, the structural weaknesses created from being crammed in a backpack for seven hours manifested themselves.  The flapjack flopped to the ground and in what can only be considered a toddleresque tantrum, Jonathan began screaming and swearing at the universe. He stomped the sugary goodness into the ground and threw the wrapper into the wind only to have it fly back in his face. We were beside ourselves in tears of exhausted laughter. Jonathan was done--he spoke very little the rest of the day.

Unfortunately that wasn't the end of the trip. In a top-5 China Day moment, we queued with our students to get on a bus. Only local tourists tried to push in; we got our British on--queue jumping is just not on. Unfortunately, in China, resistance is futile and the ensuing altercation involving a lot of pushing, shoving and a litany of curses that I couldn't understand.  I listened to the volley of abuse being hurtled at teachers and students alike whilst the kids, many whiter than white bread with Mandarin skills to rival any Chinese person, followed back and forth with their heads bobbing, mouths agape.  At one point, my Year 11 boys formed a human wall in front of me; as we ran for the bus pushing Chinese tourists out of the way, I vowed never to return to a national park.

But we made it back, all kids in tow, minus one flapjack. The rest of the trip was a flurry of restaurants serving meat dripped 'vegetarian' food and bus rides where the kids plugged into their conversations and music on headphones. I kissed Shanghai soil four days later thanking my lucky stars I was back in a city.

China Week--Yichang

In the second annual Jen goes on China week as part of a 100 student, 10 staff member tour, the Year 11 team wandered to the far regions of Yichang, home of the Yangtze River and Three Gorges Dam, then onto Zhangjiajie, home of the stunning landscapes made famous by Stephen Spielberg's film, Avatar.

On paper, this sounds like a marvelous opportunity. In reality, traveling to well-known Chinese tourism hotspots means there's never a peaceful moment, and that's not even considering the students.

There's pushing. And spitting. And queueing. And waiting. And watching the queueing not happening as people are pushing and spitting their way to the front of everything. In short, Chinese domestic tourism is a lot of hard work. In one short afternoon, it can make you question your faith in humanity.

After juggling 100 passports and checking in as many students, we sprinted through the airport for our miraculously on time flight. This was perhaps the highlight of the trip. We flew to Yichang (3 hours), got on a bus (3 more hours) and drove to this bridge area rest stop which was also kind of nice:

 The kids barbecued their own meat skewers; we prepared for food poisoning.

And then onto the hotel where we, again, had to check in 100 students and 100 passports into 50 rooms and make them be quiet. The hotel room stunk of years-old cigarettes and desperation. But the view the next morning was pretty nice:

After a breakfast of indecipherable pieces in the hotel's 'revolving restaurant', we took to the Yangtze for a three-river cruise.  The highlight:

Because of recent river disasters that shall not be spoken of, our school's administration demanded that students wear lifejackets at all times.  This presented several problems, namely in that 110 lifejackets were difficult to procure. This trauma was compounded with the fact that when the correct number were distributed we had to then, gasp, break them out of the plastic bags that housed them.

The views probably would have been lovely if not for the pollution or the myriad container ships that floated lazily past us on their way to their more western destinations.  Happily, I was able to put a face to the drawings my dad and I used to do growing up.  I suppose having a father who works in international logistics it would make sense why he had intimate knowledge of container ships...

After three hours of 'cruising' and a journey through a gargantuan lock (cue 8 million photos), we made for lunch and then a drive to the Three Gorges Dam, China's answer to the Hoover Dam and a lot less amusing.  There were no dam jokes, no dam guides, no dam anything. I remember touring the Hoover Dam in my teens and thinking it was pretty dam exciting.

I think the Three Gorges Dam should have been great considering it is the world's largest power station. It converts more kilotons of electricity than any other manmade facility. But if you're 15 and touring a Chinese facility by looking idly on at various gears and handles, I don't think you care. If you're in your 30s and following around a group of 15-year-olds who don't care, you too care neither.

I mean it's big: 

 But I found the signage funnier:

Perhaps the best part of our first full day was after all the touring. We took the kids to a mall. There was a Walmart that sold Spam that catered to the Chinese market:

And on the way home...dancing aunties! It's a nationwide trend for random gaggles of women to gather in communal space in towns and cities with their boom boxes in tow.  They gather to exercise and perform various dance moves in unison. In Yichang, they were extra entertaining because, to join this particular group, one had to be wearing the dancing auntie uniform: 

As a testament to how lovely our students were, they joined in at the back, in the middle, right next to these ladies. And they arm pumped and leg swung and got into the spirit of the dance.

In a brief moment of bliss, I was grateful for China Week. Brief, it was indeed brief.

On Long Distance

I am no stranger to the long distance relationship—the weepy, protracted airport farewells; the gnawing doubt about the next reunion; the learning to be just one in a space that once occupied two.

There are some days when the whirlwind of foreign adventure sweeps you off your feet and traipsing the city from dumplings to market to impromptu street parade makes the distance worthwhile.  Adventure often justifies the decision to pick up your life and pack your bags to a faraway foreign nation rendering you a phone call away from the people you love—friends, family, significant others alike. You almost forget the first few difficult weeks where you knew no one and were convinced that it was all a mistake.

At the end of the day, you are an independent human being. Long distance relationships/living provides a lot of time to be exactly who you are. Sex and the City coined the idea of ‘secret single behaviour’, those things you can only do when you’re home on your own, things that a significant other might not necessarily understand.

I’m not sure I have any overtly secret behaviours like Carrie, et al. but there are things that I love about living on my own.  A lazy cup of coffee whilst stretched diagonally across the bed, beans on toast as a classy meal because I just can’t be bothered to cook, leaving my shoes anywhere, everywhere.  And there’s a real joy in waking up at 5:45am and turning on all the lights and blasting my music instead of watching with increasing rage as Paul mini-snores under the covers until his 8:30am alarm goes off. It’s jealous quasi-rage but rage nonetheless.

But do not be mistaken. In my own far too proud independent feminist ways, I am hiding a tiny little empty space. I am not lying on the couch in a fug of depression sighing the days away.  But still. The tiny little empty space persists.

China sometimes takes this to a new level. Some days the Internet is great and you forget about the Great Firewall. But then there are some when you sit on a Skype line with a more-than-shitty Internet connection, voice that doesn’t project and a video screen that doesn’t work and you cry your whole way through a series of instant messages.

So for me, long distance is a fight against the tiny empty space. It’s about reconciling my need for adventure and my love for a renally challenged Anglo-Italian. Of course the girl who’s a flight risk falls for the medically grounded man boy. Of course.

The Tour of the Dumplings

On Lindsay's final full day in China, we decided some tasting was in order. Eating in China can be quite tricky as a vegetarian but we signed up for a walking tour with Untour, a small business run by American expats with an excellent command of Mandarin.

At 450RMB, the tour itself was a bit on the pricey side considering a plate of dumplings will cost you upwards of 10RMB. But the knowledge of the city, the local information and the dumpling making class at the end made it all worth it. Our guide was knowledgeable and even managed to have local shops cater to my vegetable eating ways. I'll be honest, most of the day was very veggie unfriendly but I have a soft spot for dumplings so that seemed kind of okay.

We started our tour at 10am in the dripping humid heat of the Former French Concession. From there, we meandered to dumpling stands, jianban (Chinese crepe-esque pancakes), Harbin dumpling houses and had a mid-tour stop for a coffee. We were already full at this point but opted to persevere--it seemed only kind, only economical.

Our next stop took us to Dongping Lu in the Former French Concession where we enrolled in a dumpling making class with a local, and very charming, Shanghainese chef:

 

 Finished product!

By 12:30 I was beyond full, a feeling that lasted the rest of the day. In an attempt to walk it all off, we made two more stops before finishing. The first was at a local wet market, an experience I always enjoy. We wandered through produce variable in colour, texture and size before stopping for the Chinese version of Portuguese egg tarts at Lillian Bakery, a Shanghai institution. As if we needed dessert. We waved a farewell to our tour guide and waddled slowly home in the heat and humidity feeling more than contented. It was definitely worth the money.

Besides the dumpling tour, Untour also offers a range of other culinary experiences. For a similar price, you can go on the Street Eats Breakfast Tour which caters to vegetarians or on the Shanghai Night Market tour which will take you on a journey to the dying Shanghai art of outdoor food markets. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Lost in Translation

Chinglish: one of the top ten things I'll miss about China when I, one day, leave.

In Chengdu airport...the disabled toilet:

In Chengdu's wide and narrow alleys:

 On the corner near our hostel:

 Right next to:

Mt. Emeishan: where do I even begin?

Warm prompts to stop the business. Yep, I think that sums it up exactly. 

Mt. Emeishan

Mid-trip Lindsay and I decided to get brave and try the Chengdu regional bus system out. Cue miming and general looks of panic. But it worked and we got tickets to the town of Emei home of Mt. Emeishan, one of Buddha's four sacred mountains in China. At 3,099 meters we prepared for cold weather, stairs and general national park ridiculousness. 

After checking into the Teddy Bear Hotel (just as ridiculous as you might imagine), we made for a wander of the town and bought passes to enter the national park. All of this in mime. Our initial aim was to spend the night on the mountain in one of the many monasteries that offer cheap accommodation to pilgrims making the trek to the top. After being elbowed out of the way by a granny wielding 100 renmibi notes, we gave up on that dream. I'm still not cutthroat enough to elbow grannies out of the way.

Once we started the walk and not so curiously, the stairs were relatively empty in comparison to the hundreds of people queuing for the cable car to the top. Feeling hardy, we climbed and climbed and climbed. It took us no less than 10,000 steps and a journey through the valley of the monkeys to make it to the top.

After my Thailand monkey adventure, I steered clear of the large monkeys dotting public footpaths. I watched in horror as Chinese tourists ignored the 'do not feed the monkeys' signage and were subsequently stalked by primates who growled and lurched viciously for their salty snacks.  

Wikitravel's page on Mt. Emeishan devotes nine lines to the monkeys in the 'Danger and Annoyances' section apportioning the use of bolded capital letters to attest to their danger: 'Be aware of the thieving monkeys, have lost their fear of humans due to unregulated handouts of junk-food from Chinese tourists and note that they can be VERY AGGRESSIVE and dangerous more so than cute. Caution is strongly advised. Some people take sticks for their defense. It is very important not to carry anything in your hands such as bags, bottles, plastic or anything shiny or eatable. It is advisable not to look them in the eyes, since it can be perceived as a sign of aggression.'

Lindsay snapped photos and I hid by checking out the various viewpoints and signs pleading with me not to jump:

     

 Three hours in our epic climb the feeling in our legs began to burn beyond recognition. We contemplated giving up until two things happened. First, we reached signs of life. Only the Chinese would build a foot court at the top of a sacred mountain:

 And as we marvelled at this in the middle of a set of stairs, we became curiously aware of the fact that we were blocking the way and a Chinese couple loomed near us.  I jumped out of the way only for the woman to kind of shove her husband towards us, smile and snap a photo. Before we had any time to react, she threw her phone to her husband, grabbed Lindsay and my hands and shoved herself between us.  Pulling us close she smiled and smiled and smiled while her husband snapped away. Now, we're famous on the wall of some couple whose main happiness in life was taking a photo with two Western tourists.

Closer to the top it got better and better. The Golden Summit loomed in the distance and prompted us to the summit:

Closer:

 And closer:

 With Buddha looking in all directions, we were always being watched. But the weather cleared up in some feat of delight and we could see for miles.

As a sacred place, people also lit up their incense and said their prayers: 

 I will, one day, update this with photos from my camera which are much farther reaching and comprehensive. In the meantime, I leave you with my best impression of a royal elephant:

 

More Chengdu, More Pandas!

After an epic moving and unpacking, I hopped on a flight to Chengdu where I'd meet Lindsay who was flying from Beijing. My flight was scheduled to land an hour before hers but that's okay, because China and Chinese airports.

Of course, the nature of things had better plans in mind. For only the second time in myriad flights in China, we left on time. For perhaps the first time in history, we landed 35 minutes early. I was willing to take this as a success and lump the extra time reading away on my Kindle. But China never disappoints and between finding the other terminal (an 800 metre walk in 38 degree heat) and finding the unmarked, I swear to you, arrivals gate, Lindsay's flight was scheduled to arrive three hours late.

The amenities of Chengdu airport are as such: approximately 4 plastic chairs at arrivals (all occupied); a plethora of seats in departures (all occupied); one vendor selling dried squid, dried chicken feet, dried guts; one 7-11 where the shop assistant follows you around like you're a second-rate criminal about to stash a bag of 'italian meat flavoured but 100% vegetarian' crisps into your carry on luggage. After perusing the 'shops', I took to crouch-squatting on a metal bar (queued for the privilege) for the remainder of the time.

Jen: 0, Chinese Airports: 100

When Lindsay did eventually arrive, we made it back to Chengdu Flip Flop Hostel, still the best place to sleep in the city. I took her on a tour of everything I loved and wanted to see again including the illustriously oiled aubergine and the various twisty lanes and alleys.

This was all time filling for the main attraction though. Pandas were on the agenda and pandas we went to see. Same tour, better pictures.

Still chilling in the same position I left him in last time: 

He climbs:

He flips:

He charms all the ladies:

 If only:

 

The tiny print reads:  Gong Zoi has a mild temperament and a later-than-average nose. He is the character model of Kung Fu Panda.'

 Large proboscis and all, I think he's rather fetching:

 We also caught red panda in treetops. I guess it's as good a nap position as any:

Lindsay was geeked out to the max. Pandas? Pandas! In the process, her shiny happy I've never been in China before face, must have shone through--we were greeted with a China I have never experienced. People were kind and helpful, taxis picked us up and didn't try to fleece us; she was, indeed my lucky charm.

Pandas and good manners: winner, winner.